The hut was old.
Older than the trees surrounding it.
Older than the warped wooden fence outside.
Older, it sometimes felt, than the old man coughing beneath the blankets.
It sat alone at the edge of a quiet patch of land somewhere deep in the Land of Fire, far from the villages, farther still from the roads most people used.
The roof creaked when the wind pressed against it.
The walls let in drafts no matter how many times they were patched.
But it was home.
Inside, the air carried the smell of herbs, soil, and boiled rice.
A weak fire crackled in the corner.
Beside it, a young boy moved from task to task with practiced ease.
He couldn't have been older than nine.
His red hair was messy from work, tied back poorly in a way that suggested he had done it himself. His frame was still small, but there was a quiet sharpness to the way he carried himself. He stepped lightly across the wooden floor, gathering bowls, setting water to boil, sorting dried herbs, then moving toward a small sack of vegetables near the door.
Uzumaki Kisuke had been working since sunrise.
From the bed, the old man watched him in silence for a while.
Then he let out a tired breath.
"Kisuke."
The boy glanced over his shoulder.
"What?"
The old man's voice was thin, but there was still a little life in it.
"You should rest sometimes too."
Kisuke snorted softly as he adjusted the lid over the pot.
"I do rest."
The old man gave him a look.
"You can't sleep for four hours and call that rest."
Kisuke shrugged.
"It's enough rest for me."
A weak chuckle escaped the old man.
"Not to normal people."
Kisuke walked over to a shelf and began arranging a few bottles and folded cloths.
"I don't mind the work."
His answer came easily because it was true.
The crops had to be watered.
The herbs had to be ground.
The traps had to be checked.
The fire had to be kept going.
The medicine had to be measured.
If he didn't do it, nobody would.
The old man studied him for a moment.
There was fondness in his tired gaze.
And something heavier behind it.
Kisuke picked up a small pouch, frowned at how light it felt, then clicked his tongue.
"I'm going to have to go to the Capital tomorrow."
The old man blinked once.
"The Capital."
Kisuke nodded.
"I need to sell some crops."
He crouched by a wooden crate and began sorting what was still good enough to take.
"There's enough turnips, beans, and those bitter herbs old ladies like buying for some reason."
He glanced back.
"I should be able to make enough for more medicine."
The old man went quiet.
Kisuke kept talking while working.
"And maybe some proper bandages this time. The cheap ones fall apart too fast."
Still no response.
That made Kisuke look up.
The old man was staring at the ceiling now.
His face had gone calmer somehow.
The kind of calm that only showed up when someone had already made peace with something.
Kisuke's hands stilled slightly.
The old man spoke after a while.
"Kisuke."
His tone was different this time.
The boy didn't answer right away.
"I don't have much longer to live."
The room went still.
The fire cracked softly.
Outside, the wind brushed against the walls.
Kisuke lowered his eyes to the crate in front of him and started rearranging the vegetables again, even though they didn't need rearranging.
Then he said flatly,
"Then hurry up and go already."
The old man blinked.
Kisuke didn't look at him.
"So I can hog your treasure."
For a second there was silence.
Then the old man laughed.
A weak, breathy laugh that turned into coughing halfway through.
Kisuke was at his side immediately, handing him a cloth and a cup of water with the ease of long habit.
The old man waved him off once the coughing passed.
"You really are a rotten brat."
Kisuke sat back on his heels.
"You raised me, so if anyone is to blame it's you."
"That explains it."
Kisuke huffed.
The old man smiled faintly.
It had been four years since he found the boy.
Four years since a starving little child with red hair and guarded eyes had wandered too close to his patch of land.
Four years since he had taken him in.
Fed him.
Named him properly.
Taught him how to survive.
In those years, the old man had told Kisuke many stories.
Some were half-nonsense.
Some were obvious lies meant to entertain.
But some were true.
Or true enough.
He had once been a shinobi of Konohagakure.
A ninja of the Hidden Leaf.
Long ago, before age hollowed out his body and sickness sank its claws into his bones.
And one day, according to him, he had gone rogue.
Just because he had stolen something valuable and ran.
A treasure from Konoha.
That part always made Kisuke roll his eyes.
Mostly because every time the old man told the story, the details changed.
Sometimes it was a scroll.
Sometimes it was gold.
Sometimes it was a secret so dangerous it could ruin nations.
Once, when he had been in a particularly strange mood, the old man claimed it was a bottle of sake so legendary that the Hokage himself had cried when it vanished.
Kisuke never believed half of it.
But the old man always insisted there really was a treasure.
Somewhere.
The old man's chuckle faded into a softer smile.
"Listen, Kisuke."
He shifted slightly in bed.
"About the treasure—"
"Wait, old man."
Kisuke's voice sharpened.
The change was immediate.
His posture straightened.
His eyes narrowed.
The old man noticed at once.
"What is it?"
Kisuke didn't answer.
His senses spread outward in silence.
Far beyond the hut.
Far beyond the field.
Farther still into the forest and path beyond.
[Kagura Mind's Eye.]
The sensory technique had always been his strangest gift.
It let him feel chakra the way other people felt rain or heat.
Signatures.
Movement.
Emotion.
Intent.
And right now, he felt three people approaching.
His gaze shifted toward the wall as if he could see through it.
Three chakra signatures.
All moving in this direction.
Kisuke's expression hardened.
Then, after a second, eased slightly.
'Not hostile.'
That was the first thing he noticed.
Their chakra didn't flare with killing intent.
Didn't carry that jagged edge he had learned to recognize in wild animals, bandits, or desperate men.
So they probably weren't bad people.
Probably.
But they were still coming here.
And that was enough.
His senses lingered on the third chakra signature.
Then his eyes sharpened more seriously.
'Big!'
No.
Huge.
It was controlled, but dense. Deep and heavy.
Comparable to his own.
And Kisuke knew better than most that his own reserves were absurd.
He had realized that years ago.
Even without formal training, even without understanding everything he carried in his blood, he had always known one thing.
His chakra was no joke.
Yet one of the people approaching had enough that he could feel it distinctly through the others.
That alone was strange.
Dangerous, even if the intent wasn't.
The old man pushed himself up slightly.
"Kisuke?"
The boy stood.
"I'll be back."
The old man frowned.
"Kisuke."
But Kisuke was already moving.
He crossed the hut in a few quick steps, grabbed the cloak hanging by the door, and pushed it open.
The evening air rushed in at once.
Cold and quiet.
The old man called after him.
"Kisuke!"
But the boy ignored him.
His eyes were already on the forest path ahead.
Whoever they were—
He would stop them before they got any closer.
---
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