Chapter 1: Shadows in the Snow
The cold was absolute.
It wrapped around Santos like a shroud, numb yet sharp as a blade. The wind whispered through the pine trees, carrying the scent of frozen earth and distant smoke. Above, a gray sky pressed down, heavy and unforgiving, blanketing the mountains in an endless winter.
But Santos did not shiver.
Not a tremor ran through his dark skin, nor did his breath falter in the icy air. He lay on his back in the snow, his bare chest rising and falling steadily, long curls of jet-black hair plastered against the cold white canvas. His dark green cargo pants were stiff with frost, and his black boots sunk into the powder, but the snow around him seemed to recoil, melting a narrow circle of darkness at his side.
Around his neck hung a purple tribal necklace, softly pulsing with a strange energy that felt like a heartbeat of its own.
He opened his eyes, and the world came into sharp focus—too sharp.
The snow was more than white; it was fractured with subtle lines, veins of life flowing beneath the surface.
His vision shifted, revealing the flow of chakra pulsing faintly in the trees, in the air, and in something approaching him.
Four figures.
Their chakra signatures burned bright and steady like campfires in the cold night, moving silently through the forest.
Santos's breath hitched.
Byakugan.
The word rippled through his mind like a forgotten echo.
He hadn't lived here before—had no memory of this place—but the strange white eyes glowing in his skull, his near-360-degree awareness, and the way his vision peeled back the world's illusions proved otherwise.
The figures drew nearer.
Santos crouched, letting the darkness seep from his skin like thick smoke, pooling beneath his feet.
The shadows obeyed his unspoken will, rising like countless chains—slender, black as obsidian, and sharp as broken glass. They wrapped around his arms and wrists, coiling like serpents ready to strike.
A shiver ran down his spine. This power pulsed inside him like a living thing—hungry, desperate.
One of the approaching figures stepped into the clearing.
His armor was cold steel, worn and etched with the symbols of the Land of Iron. His eyes scanned the snow, a furrow of concern creasing his brow.
"You should not have survived the fall," the man said quietly, voice calm but firm.
Santos's gaze fixed on the man, eyes pale white with the Byakugan's clarity.
"I don't know how I survived," Santos replied, voice low.
The samurai drew his blade instinctively, but Santos moved faster—chains erupted from the ground, lashing out with crackling energy.
But the samurai did not flinch. Instead, he raised a hand.
"Wait. I mean you no harm."
The chains stopped inches from the samurai's throat, coiling like a protective cloak around Santos.
"I am Kenshiro," the man said. "Captain of the Northern Watch. You are far from home."
Santos nodded. "I don't remember where I am."
Kenshiro's gaze softened. "You are in the Land of Iron. Few come here—and fewer leave."
The snow deepened as silence settled between them.
Santos flexed his fingers, the chains retreating like shadows at dawn.
"Teach me," he said, voice firm.
"Then rise," Kenshiro replied.
The moment Kenshiro offered his hand, Santos felt the weight of choice settle over him like the snow's silence.
He grasped it firmly.
Together, they walked from the frozen clearing into the heart of the Land of Iron's northern outpost.
The path was carved through ancient pines, the scent of pine needles sharp and crisp in the cold air. Each step crunched loudly against the snow, the noise swallowed quickly by the vast wilderness.
Santos's gaze flickered to the sky, gray and heavy with snow clouds, then down at the soft glow pulsing at his neck. His fingers brushed the purple tribal necklace, its warmth stark against the biting cold.
Kenshiro spoke first, breaking the silence.
"Few know how you survived the fall. The mountains do not forgive the weak. You have strength beyond your years."
Santos said nothing.
He had no words for a past he could not remember.
As they approached the outpost, the heavy wooden gate creaked open. The fortress was carved from dark stone and reinforced timber, snow piled thick on its roofs. Inside, the cold was sharper still, biting through fabric and flesh alike.
Guards turned at their approach, eyes wary but respectful.
The courtyard was quiet, save for the low murmur of samurai voices and the steady pounding of a forge.
Santos's attention was caught by the warmth radiating from the smithy—the firelight dancing in the dusk—and the harsh clang of hammer striking metal.
A few of the samurai paused, eyes narrowing at the newcomer's bare chest and unfamiliar aura. Whispers followed him like a chill wind.
"Is he a ghost?" one muttered.
"Not a ghost… something darker," another replied.
Kenshiro ignored the murmurs, leading Santos through a narrow hall lined with ancient banners bearing the Land of Iron's sigil—a silver mountain rising through storm clouds.
They entered a small chamber warmed by a low fire and simple furnishings. Food was placed before Santos—rice, smoked fish, and a bowl of thick soup steaming gently.
Santos hesitated, then ate.
The flavors were foreign but grounding—earthy, salty, alive.
Kenshiro sat across from him, eyes fixed.
"You have power," he said quietly. "But raw, untamed. The darkness you command is not a curse, but a tool. If you learn to master it, you could become the deadliest warrior the Land of Iron has ever seen."
Santos met his gaze, feeling the weight of expectation.
"I don't know how to control it," he admitted.
Kenshiro nodded. "Then we will teach you. But first, you must learn our way—the way of the samurai. Discipline, honor, restraint."
For the first time since waking, a small spark of something—hope, perhaps—kindled within Santos.
The next days were a blur of training and discovery.
Training with Shadows
Santos's nights were haunted by whispers—echoes of his forgotten life and the shadows that stretched within him.
By day, he sparred with Kenshiro and the younger samurai, moving with unnatural grace. His body responded to the wooden sword like a living extension, but it was the darkness beneath his skin that was his true weapon.
He learned to summon chains—long, supple ropes of blackness that could lash, bind, and rend. At first, the chains moved awkwardly, heavy and clumsy. But with focus, they became light as silk, sharp as blades, and as strong as iron.
One morning, as snow fell silently outside the training yard, Santos stood shirtless, muscles taut, eyes glowing faintly.
He lifted his hands, and the shadows on the ground writhed and twisted.
Chains burst forth, spiraling upward in a whirling storm. They wrapped around practice dummies, snapping and clinking like living steel.
Santos's breath steadied as he molded the darkness.
Then, with a sharp flick, the chains shot outward, binding a dummy in seconds.
"Excellent," Kenshiro said, watching from the sidelines. "Your control improves daily."
Santos's lips twitched.
This power is mine.
Training Days in the Snow
The sun rose pale and distant, filtering weakly through the clouds that stretched over the Land of Iron's northern outpost. For Santos, the cold had lost its bite, replaced by the sharp sting of sweat and exertion. His bare torso glistened with frost-touched moisture, muscles taut beneath dark skin that seemed to drink in the gray light.
For weeks now, he had trained tirelessly under Kenshiro's watchful eye. Each morning began before dawn, the sharp clink of wooden swords cutting through the silence as the samurai drilled the basics of stance, balance, and footwork.
Santos's body moved with the fluid grace of a panther—every strike precise, every block deliberate. Yet it was beneath his skin where his true strength dwelled. The shadows curled and writhed with his every breath, a dark tide bound to his will.
His fingers traced the cold earth, and from the soil emerged his signature weapon: chains of darkness, rippling like serpents made of pure night.
He flexed his wrists, coiling and uncoiling the chains with practiced ease. They could lash out to bind opponents, sharpen into whips to cut through armor, or weave into barriers that absorbed blades.
The younger samurai watched with a mixture of awe and fear, whispering amongst themselves about the boy who commanded darkness itself.
One late afternoon, a month into his training, Santos stood alone in the courtyard. The sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the snow. His breath came in steady clouds as he summoned chains that danced across the frost, the metal links ringing faintly like the tolling of a distant bell.
Suddenly, Kenshiro appeared, his silver hair catching the last light.
"You improve quickly," he said, voice rough but kind.
Santos nodded. "The darkness listens."
Kenshiro smiled, a rare softness touching his eyes.
"Tomorrow, you will spar with Daiki. He is eager—and strong."
Santos's eyes narrowed. "I will be ready."
The samurai clapped him on the shoulder and disappeared into the fading light.
The Village on Fire
The next morning, Santos woke to an unnatural stillness. The air was thick with smoke, the acrid scent of burning wood clawing at his throat.
As he neared the village gates, a plume of black smoke rose against the snowy backdrop. Flames licked at wooden roofs and walls, turning familiar buildings to ash.
Shouts echoed—clashing steel and the crackle of chakra.
The village was under attack.
Without hesitation, Santos sprinted toward the chaos. His bare feet barely made a sound as he pushed through streets filled with panicked villagers fleeing from masked shinobi bearing the twisted insignia of the Hidden Stone—Iwa.
A sudden sharp pain exploded in his back—a kunai thrust before he could react.
Pain bloomed, hot and fierce.
But before he could scream, the world blurred.
His body dissolved into living shadow.
Chains of darkness erupted around him, twisting and slipping as he phased through the kunai's deadly arc.
The blade sliced clean through empty air.
Santos reformed behind his attacker, chains wrapping like serpents around the shinobi's wrists and ankles, binding him tight.
The intruder struggled, but the chains only tightened—black links grinding with the force of crushing steel.
With a harsh pull, Santos yanked the shinobi to the ground.
"You will not harm this place," Santos hissed, voice low and cold as the shadowy chains.
Others charged—lightning-fast jutsu flaring through the smoky streets.
Santos moved like a shadow himself, phasing through fire and blade, striking unseen and uncatchable.
His powers awakened in fury and instinct—a living darkness he had never fully understood until that moment.
After the Battle: The Obsidian Katana
When the last enemy fled or fell, the village lay in ruin—smoke curling from smoldering ruins, ash falling like snow.
Kenshiro was nowhere to be found.
Panic gnawed at Santos's chest as he searched the ruined streets.
Finally, he entered Kenshiro's chamber.
It was untouched by flame but filled with silence.
On the polished wooden floor lay a single object: an obsidian katana, its blade black as a starless night and shimmering with an eerie glow.
Santos knelt, fingertips trembling as they brushed the hilt.
The sword had been Kenshiro's most treasured possession—passed down through generations, a symbol of honor and legacy.
But Kenshiro himself was gone.
The weight of loss settled heavy in Santos's heart.
He clenched his fists, shadows rising around him protectively.
"I will become strong enough," he vowed silently, eyes burning with a cold fire.
"To protect those who show me kindness… and to never lose another."
Ashes, Steel, and Thunder
The snow had stopped falling.
For days, silence reigned over the burned remains of the outpost. The once-busy courtyard was now little more than scorched beams and smoldering rubble. The scent of char still hung heavy in the air, bitter and clinging.
And in the middle of it all, Santos stood alone.
He was shirtless still, the cold never bothering him. The tribal necklace at his throat pulsed faintly, as if it, too, mourned the silence.
In his hands, he held the obsidian katana.
It was unlike any weapon he had touched before.
The blade was long and slightly curved, blacker than night, with faint purple etchings that pulsed like veins. It didn't reflect light—it devoured it. When held to the fire, it cast no glint. Instead, the shadows around it seemed to stretch and coil as if drawn to its presence.
He remembered the way Kenshiro spoke of it.
"This sword has passed through my family for generations—not for killing, but for balance. You draw it only when your soul demands it."
Now it was his.
Santos exhaled slowly, lowering himself into a kneeling stance in the courtyard. Scattered around him were the remnants of the wooden training dummies—shattered and scorched from the earlier battle.
His pale eyes closed. The Byakugan's vision dimmed.
Instead of chakra networks, he focused inward.
The darkness inside him stirred.
Not with anger.
Not anymore.
Now it moved with focus.
Santos rose and took his stance. The sword hummed as he lifted it. He stepped forward, slicing the air with a slow, deliberate arc. The weight was perfect. The balance, exact. His grip was unfamiliar at first—but day by day, it became second nature.
He trained alone for weeks.
From sunrise to dusk, he carved shadows into forms—shaped darkness into spears and shields, and used the katana to guide and tame them. His chains wrapped around the blade, fusing steel and shadow into something new.
He could feel the sword speaking.
It didn't talk with words, but through movement. Through memory. Through instinct.
Each swing whispered of discipline.
Each block reminded him of the kindness he had lost.
He bled, he ached, he healed—alone.
But in solitude, Santos became sharp.
And when the last ember in the village had died, Santos sheathed the obsidian blade across his back, called the shadows to his side, and turned toward the southern path.
The Land of Iron had given him strength—but the world was calling.
He was ready to answer.
Into the World
The wind was louder beyond the mountains.
Santos traveled alone for weeks, crossing ridgelines and frozen rivers, weaving through dead forests and frozen gorges. He did not sleep often—only when the body demanded it. He hunted when needed, but the darkness often provided.
At night, he trained beneath the stars.
He carved new forms from shadow—chains tipped with blades, hardened gauntlets, even wings of darkness that helped him leap farther, glide faster.
But the world beyond the Land of Iron was not kind.
In the third week of his journey, Santos entered a ravine veiled in mist. The silence here was not peaceful—it was predatory.
He knew before he saw it.
A shinobi was watching.
Clash in the Ravine
The voice came from above, deep and smooth.
"You've got good instincts, kid."
Santos halted. His eyes rose to the cliffs.
A man stepped from the rock like a shadow—tall, dark-skinned, dressed in worn Kumogakure gear with the headband slashed through.
His chakra was wild—storm-like. Pulsing, dense, and fast.
A missing-nin. A-rank, at least.
One glance through the Byakugan told Santos everything—lightning flowed through the man's muscles like fire in a forge. A battle-hardened warrior.
The man smirked, flipping a kunai in one hand.
"You're far from any village. And that sword on your back? Doesn't belong to just any drifter."
Santos said nothing.
Instead, he unlatched the obsidian katana from its sheath.
The missing-nin raised a brow. "Oh? You want to dance?"
He vanished.
Santos barely moved in time—his chains exploded outward, intercepting the kunai mid-air. Another chain blocked a palm strike laced with lightning. The rock cracked from the force.
The shinobi laughed. "Nice. You're fast."
Santos's eyes narrowed. He moved like a ghost—chains sweeping across the field, forcing the shinobi to leap, dodge, and spin with expert grace.
Then Santos phased into darkness, sinking into the earth.
The missing-nin landed, turning in time to see the shadow rise behind him.
Santos emerged in a swirl of black mist and brought down his sword in a clean, vertical arc. The shinobi caught it with a braced forearm glowing with lightning, and the force flung both back across the ravine.
They landed hard—dust and snow erupting.
Blood stained the edge of Santos's katana.
The shinobi sat up, grinning, rubbing his cracked knuckles.
"…You're not some lost Genin."
Santos raised the blade again.
"I'm no one," he said. "But I will become something."
The missing-nin tilted his head.
"…What's your name?"
"Santos."
"Hmm. Santos." The man stood, dusting snow from his coat. "You got guts. And you didn't hesitate to try and kill me."
He grinned.
"I like you."
Santos blinked.
"You ever been trained in jutsu? Taught to control that storm in your veins?"
Santos didn't answer. The question made his grip tighten slightly.
The missing-nin nodded.
"Didn't think so. You've got raw power. That darkness? Those chains? They're hungry—but they're blind. If you want to make it out here, you're gonna need to sharpen more than your sword."
He extended a hand.
"I'm Raigo. Former Jōnin of Kumo. Current nobody. You've got potential, Santos. I'll teach you—if you've got the nerve."
Santos stared at the hand.
The katana at his side pulsed quietly.
For a long moment, he didn't move.
Then slowly, he reached out—and clasped Raigo's wrist.
"Teach me."
Raigo smirked. "Then let's make you dangerous."
Chapter 2: The Dark Path ForwardStorms and Sparks by the Fire
Word Count (this part): ~2,050
The forest crackled with cold.
It was a clear night, and the air bit at the skin like knives, crisp and dry in a way that made even breath feel sharp. Overhead, the stars glistened like silver shuriken embedded in black velvet—still, distant, and uncaring.
Santos sat cross-legged beside a small fire nestled in a clearing surrounded by frost-laced trees. His obsidian katana was propped gently against a fallen log nearby, and his bare upper body gleamed faintly in the flickering orange glow. His skin drank in the heat, though he didn't feel cold. He never really did.
Shadows danced and curled lazily around his shoulders, moving to a rhythm that matched the flames—alive, but waiting. Patient. Hungry.
Across from him, Raigo stretched out with his back to a large rock, one leg bent and the other sprawled, his lightning-scarred arm resting on his knee. His thick frame was wrapped in worn travel gear, and his spiked hair caught the firelight with streaks of copper. His forehead protector—slashed clean through—hung loosely from his hip like a reminder of the man he used to be.
He stared into the fire with the eyes of a man who had seen too many wars and walked away from all of them.
The fire cracked loudly between them, throwing tiny sparks into the night.
Raigo took a swig from a metal flask, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then held the flask out toward Santos.
"Drink?"
Santos glanced at it, then shook his head. "No."
Raigo shrugged. "Suit yourself. Helps with the cold."
"I don't feel cold," Santos said quietly.
Raigo looked him over for a moment, then snorted. "Didn't figure you did."
More silence.
Just wind and fire and the soft shifting of darkness around Santos like a cloak of ink.
Then Raigo leaned forward slightly.
"So," he said, voice casual but deliberate, "what's the dream, kid?"
Santos blinked.
"…Dream?"
"Yeah. The dream. The goal. The reason you're still fighting. You didn't crawl out of a burning village with chains made of shadows just to wander around with a rogue like me. So what is it?"
Santos was quiet for a while, his eyes on the fire. His Byakugan wasn't active, but his vision still flickered with unnatural clarity. The way the flame bent. The way the embers curled upward. The way the wind shifted and carried the smoke west.
He didn't answer immediately.
His fingers rested on his knees, relaxed, but there was tension in his shoulders. A shadow curled tighter around his arm, reacting to the emotions he wasn't ready to name.
Raigo waited.
Finally, Santos spoke—slowly, carefully.
"I want power," he said, voice low.
Raigo nodded once, as if expecting it. "Sure. That's what most people want."
But Santos wasn't finished.
"I don't mean strength," he said, eyes still locked on the flames. "I don't mean to win a fight or survive. I mean real power. The kind that makes people stop and stare. The kind that changes the air when you walk into a room. The kind of power that makes nations bow their heads because they know—without a doubt—that if they cross you, everything they know will burn."
He looked up, and for a moment the firelight reflected in his Byakugan like molten silver.
"I want to be a name that's whispered in war rooms. A force that makes villages tremble. I want to stand alone—and still be unstoppable."
The silence that followed was heavy. Even the fire seemed to quiet itself.
Raigo didn't speak right away.
He looked at Santos, really looked at him—at the hard line of his jaw, the stillness in his frame, the cold certainty in his tone.
And the deep, yawning emptiness behind his eyes.
After a long pause, Raigo leaned back against the rock again.
He let out a low, humorless laugh and shook his head.
"Damn," he muttered, "you sound just like I did when I was your age."
Santos raised an eyebrow.
Raigo tilted his head back and looked at the stars.
"I used to say the same things. Told my squad I'd become Raikage. That I'd make the Cloud the strongest village in the world. That people would beg for peace just by hearing my name. I wanted lightning to bend when I spoke. Wanted gods to flinch."
He took another drink.
"I thought power would solve everything. That if I was strong enough, no one I cared about would die. No one would betray me. No one would forget me."
Santos said nothing. He listened, quietly.
"But here's the thing about power," Raigo said, eyes darkening. "It doesn't love you back. It doesn't hold your hand when you lose someone. It doesn't give a damn if you bleed for it. And when you chase it for too long… you forget why you wanted it in the first place."
He looked across the fire at Santos, his gaze suddenly sharp.
"You've got power, kid. I've seen it. Those chains, that phasing, that sword? That's not common. That's legend-making stuff. You've got the spark of something that could really shake the world."
Santos's fingers tensed slightly.
"But if all you want is to make people kneel... then what happens when they do? What do you have left?"
Raigo's voice softened—not weak, but gentler than Santos had ever heard it.
"You need people, Santos."
Santos blinked.
"What?"
"People. Not soldiers. Not tools. People. The kind who'll sit next to you at a fire and not care if you're a monster or a hero. The kind who make you laugh when you forget how. The kind you'd protect without question—not because you were told to, but because they're yours. Like family."
Santos's chest tightened. He looked away, his eyes sinking into the firelight again.
"I don't have family."
Raigo didn't answer for a moment.
Then: "You can still make one."
The wind stirred the trees, and the shadows swayed around Santos like ghosts.
"I had a squad once," Raigo continued. "Three of us. Me, Junpei, and Ayaka. Junpei was smart. Strategist. Ayaka? She could kill with a single senbon. We trained together. Bled together. We were tight—closer than brothers."
He paused, staring into the flames.
"And then we got a mission we shouldn't have taken. Junpei died. Ayaka got blamed. I defended her. The elders said I was insubordinate. Gave me a choice: exile or execution."
Santos listened in silence.
"I ran. Ayaka didn't. She followed orders. Stayed loyal. I haven't seen her since."
Raigo's voice grew quieter.
"I've done a lot of things since then. Some of them good. Some of them I'll carry to the grave. But I'll tell you this, kid—every time I cut down a bastard who deserved it, every time I stole from a corrupt noble, every time I fought a warlord's army solo... it meant nothing compared to the days I spent with those two."
He looked up again, and his eyes met Santos's.
"You can be feared. Or you can be remembered. You can burn the world down—or you can change it."
Santos was quiet for a long time.
His hand brushed the hilt of the obsidian katana beside him.
The fire crackled. The darkness around his shoulders stirred gently.
"...I don't know how to be anything but a weapon," he said softly.
Raigo smiled.
"Then let's start with making you a weapon worth carrying. And after that—we'll work on the rest."
Echoes in the Flame
Word Count: ~2,300
The fire burned lower now.
Ash drifted gently into the night air, glowing faintly before fading into the cold. Raigo had gone quiet again, eyes fixed on the embers as if they contained something he'd lost a long time ago.
Santos sat across from him, motionless, save for the shadows gently coiling around his arms and shoulders like a living shroud.
It was quiet in the forest. Only the distant call of a night bird broke the stillness. And the wind through the trees whispered softly, like the voices of ghosts.
Raigo took a slow breath, then began to speak again.
"I told you about Ayaka and Junpei," he said, voice quieter than before. "But I never told you what they meant to me."
Santos didn't answer, but his attention sharpened.
Raigo didn't look up. He stared into the fire as he spoke, like the memories were playing there in the flames.
Raigo's Story
"We were thrown together young—barely twelve. Ayaka was older by a year. Always serious. Always quiet. She could throw a needle through a kunai hole at twenty meters."
A small smile tugged at Raigo's lips.
"And Junpei? Smartest guy I ever met. He couldn't punch his way out of a paper bag, but he'd trap you in a genjutsu so subtle you wouldn't know you were in it until you were six layers deep and confessing your secrets to a tree."
Santos's lips twitched slightly.
Raigo didn't notice. He continued.
"We trained for years. Missions in Lightning Country. Escort jobs. Recon. A few assassinations, when the time came. We grew up watching each other's backs. Laughing over campfires. Sharing rations during storms."
His voice grew distant.
"But more than anything—we trusted each other. I could fall backwards into a cliff and know Ayaka would catch me. I could charge headfirst into a trap and Junpei would have an escape plan. That kind of bond…"
Raigo looked up then, eyes hollow.
"It's rare. And when it breaks… it breaks something inside you."
Santos felt a cold tightening in his chest.
Raigo's voice dropped to a rasp.
"The last mission was supposed to be simple. Clear out a warlord's hideout. Low resistance. We'd done worse."
He paused. Swallowed.
"But we were set up. Someone leaked our route. There were sixty men waiting when we arrived."
Santos's pale eyes widened slightly. Even in his short time training with Raigo, he knew the man didn't scare easily.
"We fought like hell," Raigo said. "But Junpei went down first. Took three spears trying to protect a civilian girl."
Raigo's jaw clenched. His knuckles whitened on the flask.
"Ayaka froze. I didn't. I… I lost control."
Sparks popped in the fire, echoing the pain behind the words.
"I killed twenty of them in a minute. Lightning turned the sky white. The others ran, but it didn't matter. Junpei was gone."
He looked at Santos.
"I carried his body back to Kumo. Ayaka never spoke a word the whole way. When the elders blamed us—blamed her—I refused to let it slide. So I struck a superior. And that was that."
Raigo leaned back, letting the weight of the memory fall like stone in a pond.
"I still see them sometimes. In firelight. In dreams. I hear Junpei's laugh. I see Ayaka sharpening her senbon. And every time I do, I wonder—what if I'd been stronger? What if I'd had the power to save them both?"
He let out a bitter exhale.
"That's why I told you. Power isn't enough—not alone. Without people to stand beside you, it doesn't mean anything."
Santos was quiet.
But his hands had begun to tremble.
Santos's Flashbacks
Raigo didn't notice at first. But then Santos leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his fingers threading into his curly black hair.
"…I see them too," he whispered.
Raigo glanced up.
"My family," Santos murmured. "I didn't… I didn't remember them before. Not until now."
His shadows writhed suddenly—tensing around his shoulders and arms like nervous animals.
"They're coming back… in flashes. Like broken glass. Just now. While you were talking."
Raigo set the flask down. His voice softened.
"Tell me."
Santos's face was pinched, as if the words themselves hurt.
"My mother. She had dark skin like mine. Long braids. She used to sing in the mornings—soft and low, like a lullaby that belonged to the wind. I can't remember the words… but I remember the sound. It made me feel safe."
His voice cracked, just slightly.
"My father was tall. Broad shoulders. Always smelled like smoke and metal. He worked the forge… I think. He used to let me sit on his shoulders when he was hammering, and I'd laugh because the sound made my bones rattle."
He closed his eyes.
"I had a little sister."
Raigo's breath caught, just once.
"She had wild hair. Bigger than mine. She used to hide in the pots and jump out to scare me. I remember chasing her around a garden… one with white stones and little lanterns. And she laughed like… like wind chimes."
His fists clenched in his lap.
"Then—fire."
The shadows around him pulsed. Slowly. Heavily.
"Smoke. Screaming. A night full of ash. I remember someone grabbing me—pulling me from a window. I remember looking back and seeing the house fall in on itself. I remember…"
He stopped.
The fire crackled.
Raigo watched him, quiet, letting the boy speak in his own time.
"I think I died," Santos said finally. "In that moment. The part of me that was a son. A brother. A boy."
He looked up, eyes pale and shining in the firelight.
"What's left now is something else."
Raigo's gaze held his.
"That 'something else' still remembers," he said gently. "That matters. That means there's still a piece of you worth saving."
Santos looked away.
"I don't know if I want to be saved."
Raigo leaned forward, voice steady.
"Doesn't matter. That part of you is fighting to live. Memories don't come back for no reason. And trust me—when you start remembering what you lost, it means you're starting to want it again."
Santos's throat tightened.
He looked into the fire, letting its warmth bleed into the cold emptiness beneath his ribs.
"…Then what do I do now?"
Raigo shrugged lightly.
"You train. You get stronger. Not just to destroy—but to protect. To make sure no one else's sister disappears in fire. You keep your memories close. Let them sharpen your edge, not poison it."
He leaned back again.
"And if the day comes that you need to fight a nation... then let it be for something that matters."
The Name Beneath the Ashes
Word Count (this part): ~2,500
The next morning, the sun rose behind a veil of gray mist.
The forest was quiet again. Soft frost lined the ground, and the campfire from the night before had burned down to cold coals. Santos sat alone at the edge of a stream nearby, shirtless as always, the tribal necklace resting against his chest and his obsidian katana laid across his knees.
The water moved slowly, but the reflection it gave him wasn't still.
His shadow shifted on the surface, rising and falling gently—not with the light, but with his breath. It pulsed with him now. Reacting. Listening.
Raigo stood a few meters away, arms crossed, leaning against a tree.
"I told you yesterday," he said, voice firm but calm. "Your power isn't just about what you can do. It's about what you feel."
Santos didn't respond. His eyes stayed on the water.
Raigo pushed off the tree and walked closer.
"You've got raw talent. Your shadow chains respond to your commands faster than most people form hand seals. But they're just tools if they don't carry your intent."
He knelt beside the boy, pointing to the reflection.
"You want them to strike harder? Last longer? Move smarter? Feed them meaning. Let them carry the weight of what you've lost. Let them become more than shadow—make them memory."
Santos frowned slightly. "You want me to fight with sadness?"
Raigo shook his head. "Not sadness. Truth. Every chain you summon, every construct you form—let them remember with you. That's how you reach the next level."
He stood and stepped back.
"Try again. Focus. Don't just command the darkness. Share with it."
🛠 Shadow Forging: The Grieving Bind
Santos stood and closed his eyes.
The world fell away—the breeze, the forest, even Raigo's steady breathing. All that remained was darkness.
He reached inward, letting his heartbeat slow… letting the cold silence draw memories to the surface.
A flash: his mother's braids brushing against his cheek.
Another: his sister's laughter echoing through a garden.
His father's calloused hands.
The taste of roasted chestnuts in winter.
The color of the stone tiles in their kitchen.
A lullaby in a language he no longer knew the name of.
It all came rushing back—painful, beautiful, fleeting.
He opened his eyes.
And summoned the shadows.
Chains erupted from the earth—but they weren't like before.
They pulsed with feeling. They vibrated not with rage, but with longing. Each link etched in delicate patterns, reminiscent of the whorls in his mother's weaving or the spiral carvings on his father's forge.
They didn't lash wildly. They moved with grace, circling him like dancers. Protective. Focused. Alive.
Raigo's eyes widened. "Well, I'll be…"
The chains solidified into a pattern—six of them stretching out in sharp curves, curling into the shape of a mourning lotus around him.
Santos's voice was barely above a whisper.
"…Grieving Bind."
The chains shot outward, faster than Raigo had ever seen, piercing through three thick oak trees in perfect unison. The wood shattered from within—quietly, almost respectfully—and the trunks fell like felled statues.
Not a single link rattled.
When they returned to Santos, the chains moved slower—like wind chimes in a graveyard.
Santos dropped to one knee, not from weakness, but from the emotional toll. His breath shook—not from pain, but from release.
Raigo exhaled deeply, arms crossed again.
"You just created a signature technique," he said. "One that can only belong to you."
Santos looked up.
And for the first time, he smiled.
💭 A Name Remembered
Later that day, while Raigo prepared firewood for the evening, Santos sat alone beneath a broad pine tree, sharpening the edge of his katana with a stone.
The day's training had exhausted him—but something tugged at the edge of his mind. A thread he couldn't ignore. As if all the memories he'd unlocked were trying to give him one last piece.
He closed his eyes again.
This time he didn't reach for emotion. He just listened.
Through the silence of his mind, a voice came—his mother's voice, warm and gentle.
She was laughing.
Not loudly. Just soft, in that way she used to when brushing his hair back.
"Santos… Santos Orozco. Come inside, mi lucero. It's almost dark."
The name rang like a bell in his chest.
Orozco.
He opened his eyes.
The world shifted—just a little.
He wasn't just "Santos," the boy with the Byakugan and the shadows. He had a last name. A family. A history. A root.
He stood quickly, dropping the sharpening stone, and rushed toward the edge of the camp where Raigo was crouched beside the fire, arranging kindling.
Raigo looked up, one brow raised.
"What, you fall on your sword or somethi—?"
"I remembered something," Santos said breathlessly.
Raigo straightened, alert. "Yeah?"
"My name," Santos said. His voice shook—not from fear, but from something close to joy.
He placed a hand over his chest.
"Santos Orozco. That's who I am."
Raigo blinked.
"…Orozco," he repeated. "That's… that's good."
Santos nodded hard, grinning now. "It was my mother. I heard her say it. Just her voice. Like she was right next to me."
Raigo's expression softened.
"You're getting it back."
"Even if it's small," Santos said, "at least I know I came from somewhere. That I was loved. That I existed before the darkness."
Raigo clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze.
"Names have power," he said. "Don't let anyone take that from you. Orozco... that's a name worth remembering."
Santos nodded, heart still pounding.
For the first time since he was reborn into this strange world—he didn't feel lost.
Lightning Breaks the Chains
Word Count: ~3,300
The night came heavy with thunder.
The fire crackled in the clearing, but Raigo's eyes weren't on the flames. They were scanning the trees—reading the air, the birdsong, the way the wind moved. Something was off.
Santos stood across the camp, shirtless, obsidian katana resting on his back, dark green cargo pants dusted with pine needles. His shadow chains coiled lazily near his feet, echoing his unease.
Raigo said nothing. He just grabbed his pack and slung it over his shoulder.
"…We've got company."
Santos turned instantly. "Shinobi?"
"Not your average patrol. These bastards are organized," Raigo muttered. "Feels like bounty hunters. Real ones."
He turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing.
"They've been tracking me since the Thunder Marsh. I hoped we lost them in the ravine. Guess not."
Santos tensed. "Then let's fight."
Raigo gave a tight smile.
"That's the plan."
💥 Ambush
The forest exploded.
Paper bombs triggered in the trees to the north, lighting the night in bursts of white and flame. Three masked shinobi appeared instantly, kunai in hand, chakra laced with lightning. Another two dropped from the south, flanking Raigo with coordinated speed.
Raigo didn't flinch.
He vanished in a flash of lightning body flicker, reappearing mid-air and slamming both fists together in a burst of raw Raiton chakra. The blast sent one attacker flying into a tree.
Santos moved as his instincts demanded—his chains shot out like serpents, latching onto a tall attacker to the east. He yanked hard, pulling the man off-balance—and brought the katana down through his chest in one clean, brutal arc.
He didn't pause to watch the body fall.
The remaining enemies regrouped, forming a tight triangle formation. Their leader—a tall woman with a burn-scarred mask—pointed at Raigo.
"The traitor dies tonight."
Raigo chuckled. "You're welcome to try."
He turned to Santos, eyes briefly soft.
"Protect the fire."
Then he charged.
⚡ The Final Battle
Raigo fought like a storm unleashed.
Lightning danced across his skin, glowing in fractal veins of blue-white. He weaved between the hunters with ease, using terrain, misdirection, and force. Every strike cracked the earth, every block sparked. But they were experienced—high-rank hunters, likely former Jōnin like him.
Santos fought beside him at first, his chains slamming through tree trunks and wrapping around ankles, tearing enemies to the ground. He phased through a blade aimed at his chest and retaliated with a dark tendril that crushed a ribcage.
But the leader didn't fight recklessly.
She saw it—the connection between Raigo and the boy.
She broke formation.
She went for Santos.
Raigo saw it before Santos did.
And in one blur of movement, he was there—in the way.
The enemy's kunai, charged with piercing lightning, sank deep into Raigo's side.
Santos spun, shadows flaring around him like wings.
"RAIGO!"
The older man staggered. Blood spilled down his ribs.
He turned, drove an elbow into the attacker's jaw, and sent her flying—but the damage was done.
He dropped to one knee, panting, vision swimming.
Santos was at his side instantly. Chains lashed out, driving the last hunter back as he fell beside Raigo.
"No—no, you're okay. I can seal the wound—"
Raigo shook his head slowly. "Too deep. Lightning… got the lung."
Santos pressed a hand to his chest, darkness forming into a compressing seal—but the blood didn't stop. It kept rising.
Raigo coughed, crimson dripping from his lips.
Santos's hands were shaking now.
"You're not dying. You're not. You told me I had more to learn. You said—"
"I meant it," Raigo rasped. "But that's not how life works, kid."
His hand—trembling, bloodied—reached up and gripped Santos's shoulder.
"You listen to me now."
Santos leaned in, eyes wide and wet.
Raigo's gaze was still sharp, even as it dimmed.
"Never lose your smile," he whispered. "But only show it to your family. The ones you trust. The ones who see you as you."
Santos's lips trembled. "Raigo—"
"You're stronger than I ever was. And you're going to be someone the world remembers. But don't let that power eat you alive."
Raigo swallowed hard, breath shallow.
"Find people. Hold them close. Cherish them."
His eyes began to close.
"And don't… forget about me…"
He coughed—once, wet and painful.
"…Son."
The word cracked something open in Santos's chest.
Raigo's grip loosened.
And then…
He was gone.
🌑 Grief Unleashed
Santos didn't scream.
He didn't cry.
He just sat there, holding Raigo's body as the fire burned lower and the forest grew still.
His shadows writhed around him like a storm contained.
The enemy leader stirred—injured, limping, trying to retreat.
Santos stood slowly.
His Byakugan flared.
His chains erupted.
But this time… they moved differently.
They didn't just strike.
They sang.
A low, deep hum filled the air as the darkness moved, coiling into intricate patterns—a black blooming lotus. The Grieving Bind came to life, sharper, faster, fed now by heartbreak.
He whispered something only the chains could hear.
And they obeyed.
The last attacker didn't even have time to scream.
🌌 The Night After
The forest was silent again.
The flames were dying.
Santos sat beside Raigo's body, wrapped now in his cloak. The obsidian katana rested across his lap. His head bowed low.
But something in him had changed.
He wasn't empty.
He was full—of memory, of love, of fury, of purpose.
He had lost two families.
But both lived in him now.
He stared up at the stars.
And for a single second…
He smiled.
Chapter 3: Wanderer of Ash and StormPart 1: The Wraith of Chains
Word Count: ~3,200
The sun hadn't risen.
Dawn hovered just below the horizon, bleeding the sky with faint streaks of violet and deep blue. A chill hung in the air, sharper than before—an emptiness that no fire could warm.
Santos stood alone at the edge of the glade, eyes fixed on the small rise of earth before him.
Raigo's grave.
There were no stones, no carved epitaphs. Just earth, packed with care. Santos had covered it with Raigo's black-and-red cloak, folded tight like a banner, and planted the man's sword upright at the head—its hilt catching the faint glow of coming morning.
The obsidian blade Santos carried rested on his back, but it was the forehead protector in his hand that weighed most.
Kumo's symbol, scar slashed clean through it.
Santos turned it over in his fingers, roughened by training and grief. The metal was warm from his grip, but cold at the edges. He pressed it to his chest once, then slowly folded it in half and slid it into his pocket.
His jaw clenched, but his eyes were calm.
He had cried—once, the night before, when the last of the fire died. Now, there were no more tears left. Only stillness. Only purpose.
"…I'll remember," he said quietly.
The wind stirred the trees. The katana at Raigo's grave shivered, and the cloak beneath it rippled gently.
Santos lowered his head one last time.
Then turned and walked away.
☁️ The Wandering Begins
He didn't return to any village.
He didn't head to any capital.
He walked where roads disappeared. Slept in forests, caves, and abandoned watchposts. Followed rumors instead of maps. The only belongings he kept were his katana, the tribal necklace at his throat, Raigo's forehead protector tucked in his cargo pocket, and the shadows that followed him like a second skin.
When he needed money, he found work—but not from normal shinobi channels.
He found the off-book requests. The missions passed in whispers.
"A cursed forest no team returns from."
"A noble's son missing in the Land of Wind."
"Bandits using forbidden jutsu in the northern canyons."
"A rogue Mist hunter-nin with a bounty and bloodlust."
Missions other villages refused. Too dangerous. Too mysterious. Too unwinnable.
Santos took them.
And never left a witness.
No one ever saw him enter. No one saw him leave.
Only rumors remained.
A man cloaked in shadow. A sword that moved like smoke. Chains that came from nowhere. Eyes pale as death itself. Silent. Efficient. Unstoppable.
They gave him a name.
The Wraith of Chains.
It spread in whispers. From bartender to traveler. From mercenary to shinobi.
"If you hear the chains before you see him… you're already dead."
"He takes missions no one else will touch—and leaves no trace."
"He doesn't kill for pleasure. He kills for purpose. Be glad you're not one of them."
"Some say he's not even human. Just revenge in human form."
And Santos?
He said nothing.
He was the Wraith now.
But when he sat by his own fire at night, surrounded by still trees and wind, sometimes he'd take the headband out of his pocket. Look at it. Remember the sound of Raigo's voice.
Never lose your smile… but only show it to your family.
He didn't smile often.
But when he did—it was real.
And it was rare.
🕸️ An Impossible Job
It was six months after Raigo's death when the first high village reached out.
Not directly.
Through back channels.
A black scroll delivered by hawk, no name, no seal—only a location, a task, and a bounty high enough to fund a border patrol for a year.
The mission?
"Infiltrate a secret Iwa weapons depot buried in the Land of Rivers. Destroy its supply lines. Kill the handler in charge. Do not be seen. If captured, your name does not exist."
No shinobi team had returned from the mission in over a year. It was considered a trap. A graveyard.
Santos read it. Folded the scroll.
Then vanished into shadow.
🧊 Two Weeks Later
In the Land of Rivers, a mountain exploded.
The depot collapsed from the inside—its storage crates wrapped in darkness, its guards bound by chains that moved without light. The handler? Found dead, impaled in five places, a single kanji burned into the stone wall above him in shadow-black script:
鎖 ("Chains")
The scroll's return hawk landed at a nondescript drop point three countries away, carrying nothing but a single bloodied kunai.
No report.
No words.
No proof beyond the results.
But the scroll master, reading the quiet message, only whispered one name:
"The Wraith."
🥀 A Life Between Legends
Months passed.
More missions. More whispers.
He never asked for recognition. Never sought fame. But his name became myth.
In Rain Country, a village poisoned its own well to stop him from entering.
In the Land of Snow, a warlord built a shrine to him after losing his entire guard to unseen chains in one night.
In the Land of Grass, an underground gang hired five missing-nin to trap him.
None returned.
They found only one mark on the stone wall where the bodies lay, bound in darkness:
A single blooming lotus—painted in shadow.
🌘 At Night, When Alone…
He never forgot Raigo's last words.
And though he rarely smiled…
He never stopped looking for those who could earn it.
Those who reminded him of what it meant to feel like a person, not a ghost.
He didn't know when it would happen. Or where.
But he carried that hope.
Hidden under his skin.
Wound into the links of every chain.
Waiting.
The Girl with Cloudy Eyes
Word Count: ~3,300
The rain was falling.
Thin sheets of it whispered through the forest, washing the air clean and quiet. The sky above was steel gray, heavy with stormlight, and every tree shimmered with wet bark and mist.
Santos moved like a shadow among the trunks, silent and invisible.
Another mission complete. Another name crossed from a ledger.
But he felt it before he saw it—the wrongness in the air. The spike in chakra. The desperate breath of a child.
He turned toward the sound, instinct sharp.
A scuffle.
🌀 A Kidnapping in Progress
Down in a clearing, hidden between moss-covered roots, a girl struggled against a tall shinobi in black. Her pale eyes were wide with terror, her arms bound behind her back with a suppressing seal. The man behind her—slim, fast—wore no village headband, but his movements screamed Cloud-nin.
He grabbed the girl roughly, lifting her by the collar.
"You Hyuga brats are worth ten times your weight in gold," he sneered. "Don't worry, Princess. Once we get you to Kumo, they'll treat you just fine—after they rip that bloodline out of you."
The girl whimpered, kicking, but she couldn't break free.
Santos narrowed his eyes from the shadows.
The chain tattoos around his arms pulsed faintly.
This wasn't his mission. This wasn't his business.
He should've walked away.
He didn't.
⚔️ Intervention
The attacker barely had time to sense the shift in the air.
A chain burst from the ground behind him, wrapping around his leg with impossible speed. Before he could react, another chain slammed into his gut, sending him flying backward and crashing into a tree with a loud CRACK.
The girl dropped to the ground with a gasp.
Santos appeared between her and the attacker, his back turned to her. He stood tall for a seven-year-old—lean muscle, long curly hair slick with rain, tribal necklace resting against his bare chest. His dark green cargo pants clung wetly to his legs. The obsidian katana on his back gleamed under the stormlight.
He didn't say a word.
The attacker stumbled to his feet, blood running from his mouth.
"Who the hell—"
Another chain slammed into his side, and this time the man screamed.
Santos stepped forward slowly.
"You don't get to touch her," he said quietly.
The attacker spat. "You're just a kid—!"
Santos's eyes snapped wide open—Byakugan blazing like twin moons.
The man froze.
"…That's not possible…"
Chains burst from every angle—six total, each one moving with surgical grace. They bound the attacker's limbs, lifted him into the air, and compressed until his bones cracked like twigs. His body hit the ground seconds later—silent. Unmoving.
Santos turned back to the girl.
She was kneeling, stunned, drenched in rain, staring up at him with the same eyes he carried.
Byakugan.
🌧️ An Awkward Meeting
Santos crouched beside her, cutting the seal bindings with a single dark edge from his finger. His chains receded silently behind him, disappearing into the earth.
"You're okay now," he said quietly.
The girl blinked.
She studied him. Pale lavender eyes meeting his.
"…You're like me," she whispered.
He nodded once.
She hesitated. "Are you from the Leaf?"
"No."
"Then… why did you help me?"
Santos didn't answer at first. He looked toward the forest, making sure no others were nearby. The silence told him everything.
"Because no one else did."
The girl stared. Her eyes shimmered—not with fear anymore, but with something close to awe.
He stood.
She rose with him, rubbing her wrists. "My name is… Hinata. Hinata Hyuga."
Santos's eyes flicked to her for a long moment.
His name was not something he gave lightly. Raigo's last words echoed in the back of his mind.
"Only show your smile to your family. The people you trust."
But something in this girl… something in her fragile bravery, in the way she looked like him, made him believe, for the first time since Raigo's death, that maybe—just maybe—he could trust someone new.
He gave a soft nod.
"…Santos."
Hinata tilted her head. "Just Santos?"
He hesitated.
Then gave a half-smile, soft, brief.
"Yeah. Just Santos."
She nodded, smiling back.
And in that quiet clearing, as rain washed the blood away, a silent connection formed between two children who should've never met.
☁️ A Bond Between Shadows
Santos led her back toward the road, keeping to the edges, always hidden. Hinata followed him without question, trusting him with a purity only a child could give.
They didn't speak much.
But Santos felt something shift.
She didn't flinch at the sight of his chains.
She didn't stare at his skin or his necklace or his bare chest.
She didn't look at him like a weapon.
She just looked at him.
Like a boy. Like a person.
Like someone worth remembering.
They paused at the edge of a riverbank where Leaf shinobi were no doubt still searching. He could hear them in the distance. Someone shouting Hinata's name.
She turned to him, small fingers gripping the edge of his hand.
"…Will I see you again?"
Santos looked toward the trees.
"…Maybe."
Hinata nodded, understanding.
She stepped forward and—shy, but brave—hugged him.
Santos stood still for a moment… then placed a hand lightly on her back.
When she stepped away, he was already fading into the shadows again.
🌫️ Aftermath
The Leaf shinobi found her minutes later.
Unharmed.
The attacker? Nowhere to be seen. Only deep gouges in the earth and shattered trees where the chains had struck.
The med-nin tending to Hinata asked gently, "Do you remember what happened? Who saved you?"
She looked down the forest path, eyes soft.
"…Just someone passing by."
"But did you catch his name?"
She nodded.
"Santos."
They asked for a clan. A village. A description.
She said nothing more.
And even at seven years old… she understood why.
Chapter 4: Chains in the LeavesPart 1: A Mission in the Mist
Word Count: ~3,400
The Land of Fire was damp with spring mist.
Early morning dew clung to the grass and leaves, softening every step. Birds hadn't yet begun to sing, and the sky was still that pale gray-blue that promised dawn but withheld warmth.
Santos Orozco moved like smoke across the wooded hills, unseen and silent.
He didn't use roads. He didn't leave tracks.
All he had was the target: a stolen scroll hidden in an old shrine outside the village of Tonoka. The client—unnamed—wanted it retrieved before sunrise. The payment was high. Too high.
He should've known.
🗝 The Scroll Shrine
The shrine sat in a shallow basin between two hills, shrouded in vines. Old stone steps led to a cracked archway, where faded kanji read: "May truth be buried and never unearthed."
A trap if there ever was one.
Santos crouched low at the base of the slope. His Byakugan activated—veins raised around his eyes, sight tunneling through the terrain, seeing not just the walls but the chakra signatures around and beneath the shrine.
Nothing.
No movement. No guards. Not even wildlife nearby.
Too clean.
Too silent.
Still, he advanced.
🔓 The Moment of the Trap
He stepped through the archway.
Chains of darkness followed him loosely, drifting around his shoulders. His katana rested on his back, undrawn. The tribal necklace at his chest pulsed faintly as he passed under the old stone.
Inside, the shrine was bare—just an altar, cracked and moss-covered.
And on it: a scroll sealed in bright crimson wax.
Santos approached cautiously.
He held out one hand.
The moment his fingers touched the scroll—
Boom.
The world exploded in golden light.
Santos tried to leap back, but his body froze. A strange force wrapped around him—not physical, not chakra, but something older. Something anchored. His shadows shrieked and collapsed, like animals suffocating in a net.
He tried to phase through it.
Nothing.
He tried to summon his chains.
Nothing.
His eyes widened. He staggered, hand at his chest.
My chakra… it's gone.
🔒 Sealed
A sigil appeared beneath his feet—glowing like hot metal.
A voice echoed through the shrine.
Old. Steady. Powerful.
"Wraith of Chains. You've eluded us long enough."
Santos looked up sharply.
A tall figure stepped through the veil of mist—cloaked in red and white, his face lined with age and sharpness.
The Third Hokage.
Flanked by two elite ANBU—one with a boar mask, the other with a weasel—he moved with the kind of calm that made most men flinch.
Santos's heart pounded, but his expression was flat.
"…You."
Hiruzen Sarutobi nodded slowly.
"I expected you to sense the trap. But I underestimated how far your name had drifted ahead of your judgment."
Santos bared his teeth. "You're not my Hokage."
"No," Sarutobi agreed. "But you are my concern."
He raised a hand.
The shrine's air shimmered—folding in, as if space itself twisted. Fūinjutsu marks scrawled across every surface. Paper seals ignited. A sealing barrier locked into place.
Santos tried again to summon shadow.
Nothing.
The Hokage watched him calmly.
"You're not being executed," he said. "Not today."
Santos spat at his feet. "I don't want your mercy."
"This isn't mercy," Sarutobi replied. "It's strategy."
He signaled.
The ANBU moved forward.
Santos tensed, trying to run, but his legs gave out. His muscles didn't respond.
He hit the ground, teeth clenched, panting.
The Hokage knelt beside him.
"You've been operating in secret for too long. No village. No allegiance. No name. But you saved Hinata Hyuga."
Santos blinked once.
"You're surprised we know?" Sarutobi asked. "We were watching. We let it happen. Because we needed to know what kind of creature you are."
"I'm no creature," Santos growled.
"No," the Hokage said softly. "You're something much rarer."
He rose.
"A weapon that chooses when to be human."
🕳 Into the Leaf
They bound him in chakra-resistant cuffs and carried him through the forest—not by trail, but through space, via ANBU teleportation seals. His senses warped and twisted, the world flickering like torn paper.
When the world righted itself, he stood in a chamber beneath Konoha.
Dark. Cold. Reinforced with ancient seals. A prison, but not a cell. A vault built to hold power.
Santos's cuffs glowed faintly—sapping every drop of chakra he tried to move.
The ANBU left. The door sealed shut.
Alone.
For the first time in over a year… the Wraith was caged.
🕰 Later…
He didn't know how long passed.
Hours? Days?
No visitors. No interrogations.
Only silence.
Until a knock echoed at the door.
Then a voice.
Young. Soft. Nervous.
"…Santos?"
He looked up sharply.
His Byakugan activated.
A chakra signature he recognized—bright, pulsing with gentle warmth.
The door creaked open.
And there stood Hinata Hyuga.
In the Darkness, a Whisper
Word Count: ~3,500
The door creaked shut behind her.
Santos sat in the corner of the chakra-dampened cell, wrists still bound, chains absent, eyes dim. His tribal necklace hung loosely at his chest, his hair clinging to his face from the cold sweat of the sealing.
But when he looked up and saw her…
He blinked—slow, disbelieving.
"…Hinata?"
She nodded shyly, stepping closer into the dim blue glow of the barrier seals lining the walls. The faint hum of chakra suppression filled the silence between them.
He sat up straighter.
"You shouldn't be here."
"I know," she said quietly. "I snuck out."
She clasped her hands behind her back, fidgeting, but her eyes met his bravely.
"I heard the Hokage talking to my father," she added, voice barely above a whisper. "They didn't know I was there."
Santos leaned forward slightly, expression unreadable.
"What did they say?"
Hinata swallowed.
"They said… you might be one of us. A Hyuga. That your eyes… and the records… that they don't match anyone outside the clan."
Santos's brow furrowed. "I don't remember… anyone named Hyuga. I don't remember much of anything."
Hinata nodded.
"They also said… they didn't want the other elders to know. They're scared of what it would mean if someone with your bloodline came from outside the village."
He scoffed. "So instead of asking me… they trap me. Seal my chakra. Lock me in a room like some cursed scroll."
"I think the Hokage was… trying to protect you."
"By caging me?" Santos snapped. "He doesn't care about me. I'm a threat to his order. A crack in his perfect picture of the Leaf."
Hinata didn't flinch.
Instead, she stepped closer—right to the edge of the suppression field. Her small hands reached out and gently brushed the transparent seal line. She couldn't cross it. But her voice did.
"I care."
Santos froze.
The cold around him cracked.
"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she said, smiling gently. "But when I heard your name... I knew."
His breath hitched.
"You remembered."
She nodded. "You saved me. I never forgot."
He lowered his head for a moment, voice quieter now. "I thought I'd become something else since then. Something that couldn't be remembered. Not by someone like you."
"You haven't."
He looked up again.
Her pale lavender eyes—so familiar—shimmered not with fear, but hope.
"You're still Santos," she whispered. "Even if they call you the Wraith."
💭 Truth in the Silence
They sat like that for a while—silent, but together.
Santos broke the quiet first.
"…I remember something new now."
Hinata tilted her head.
"My last name," he said. "Orozco. I remembered it after my teacher died."
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
"He called me son… before he died." Santos looked down at the floor. "Said not to lose my smile. But to only show it to the people who mattered."
He looked back up at her.
And gave her a tiny smile.
"…This counts."
Hinata smiled back, shy but genuine.
"I'm glad."
👣 Shadows Approaching
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
ANBU.
Hinata's face paled slightly. "I… I have to go."
"They'll be furious if they find you here."
She nodded.
"I don't care."
She turned to go, then stopped—hesitating at the door. She turned back, reached into her sleeve, and pulled out a folded piece of cloth.
Santos raised an eyebrow.
Hinata stepped forward and slid it under the edge of the seal barrier. He caught it.
It was a thin piece of embroidered fabric—a sash. Worn, soft, but beautifully patterned. The kind used to wrap a keepsake scroll.
"My mother made that for me when I was little. I thought I'd lost it, but… it was just hidden."
She looked down.
"I think maybe… you need it more."
Santos stared at it in his hand.
The footsteps got louder.
Hinata turned again.
"…I'll come back," she whispered. "No matter what they say."
Then she was gone.
The door clicked shut behind her.
🔒 Alone Again
Santos looked at the cloth in his hands.
Then at the barrier around him.
Then at the ceiling.
His chakra was sealed. His weapons confiscated. His chains silent.
But his mind?
His mind had never been sharper.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.
"…She remembered."
A whisper.
A lifeline.
A seed of something stronger than rage.
The Mind's Abyss
Word Count: ~3,600
The chamber was colder than before.
Dim, quiet. Lit only by a lantern affixed to the far wall, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The chakra-sealing barrier around Santos had not been lifted. His wrists were still bound with suppression cuffs. His body still sluggish.
But his mind?
Sharp. Focused. Waiting.
The heavy steel door creaked open, and once again the Third Hokage entered—his red and white robes trailing like smoke, eyes calm but unreadable. This time, he was not alone.
Behind him stood a tall man with long blond hair tied neatly back, sharp blue eyes, and a clan insignia on his chest that Santos recognized from Raigo's old mission scrolls.
Yamanaka.
Mind experts.
Santos narrowed his eyes.
"I'm done talking," he muttered.
"You haven't said anything yet," Sarutobi replied evenly, stepping inside.
"That's my point."
The Hokage gave a small, weary sigh.
"I won't insult your intelligence, Santos. You know exactly why we need answers. You possess the Byakugan, but were born outside Konoha. You wield an unknown bloodline limit—darkness manipulation of a level we've never catalogued. You use sealing techniques and combat patterns found nowhere in current records. You are, to put it plainly, a complete anomaly."
Santos didn't flinch.
"And you're afraid of that."
"Concerned," Sarutobi corrected. "Especially when a young man with so much power operates outside the system. We don't know your goals. We don't know who trained you. We don't know where your loyalties lie."
"My loyalty died with my teacher," Santos said flatly.
"Your teacher—the rogue from Kumo."
Santos's hands twitched in his cuffs.
Sarutobi's tone softened slightly. "I don't want to make an enemy of you, Santos. I truly don't. But if we don't understand where you come from… we'll never know if we can trust you."
Santos smirked.
"I never asked you to."
The Hokage's eyes sharpened.
Behind him, the blond Yamanaka stepped forward.
"This is Inoichi," Sarutobi said. "He's here to help us access your memories."
Santos's smirk faded.
"You're going into my mind?"
Inoichi's voice was calm but firm. "Only if you refuse to cooperate. I'd prefer not to use the technique."
"Then don't."
"You leave us no choice," the Hokage said quietly. "I will not gamble the safety of this village."
Santos's jaw clenched.
He said nothing.
Sarutobi gave Inoichi a single nod.
"…Begin."
🧠 The Mind Dive
Inoichi stepped forward, forming a seal with one hand. His eyes narrowed in concentration.
"Shinranshin no Jutsu."
A faint glow pulsed between them as the mental link formed. Santos tried to resist—tried to block the connection—but the chakra suppression rendered him almost defenseless.
The jutsu connected.
And the room disappeared.
🌀 Santos's Mind
Darkness.
First, a haze. Then sharp images—flashes of memory playing like broken film.
Screams.
Ash.
A house on fire.
A woman reaching out to a boy—her voice muffled, her eyes wide with terror—
And then nothing. A gap. A void.
The memory cuts.
Replaced by a freezing wasteland—snow and steel.
A child alone in the Land of Iron, scavenging for food, hiding from samurai.
Then:
Raigo.
A man with lightning scars and a tired smile, holding out his hand.
Training.
Campfires.
Laughter.
Then: Raigo dying.
The blade. The blood.
The whisper: "Don't forget me, son."
Then:
Chains.
So many chains. Black and twisting. Binding enemies. Tearing through bandits.
A boy drenched in blood and shadow, eyes pale as the moon.
And—
A face.
Blurry.
Unseen.
Standing in smoke. Reaching into the boy's mind.
Then—another gap.
A hard cut in the memory.
Like someone took a knife and sliced out entire years.
Inoichi's mental presence recoiled slightly.
These memories... they're sealed.
Not hidden. Not repressed. Sealed.
By an expert.
He dug deeper.
The barrier cracked—showing glimpses underneath.
A lab.
Voices in white coats.
The word "subject" used again and again.
The number 017 stamped onto a child's back.
Chains forming in the dark, twisting around test equipment.
Then screaming.
Then—blankness.
The memory was burned out.
🧠 Back to Reality
Inoichi stumbled back, breath ragged.
His hand gripped the side of the wall. Sweat streamed down his face.
Sarutobi turned to him.
"Well?"
The Yamanaka wiped his forehead.
"…He's telling the truth."
"And?"
Inoichi looked at Santos.
"There's so much pain. Loss. Violence. More than most shinobi see in a lifetime. But…"
He hesitated.
"Parts of his memory are missing. Cleanly cut. Professionally sealed. It's not natural. It's engineered."
Santos looked away.
Sarutobi frowned. "Can they be recovered?"
"Maybe. But not easily. And if we try to force it… we could damage him."
Santos laughed once—bitter.
"Already damaged."
Sarutobi studied him for a long, silent moment.
"Do you know what they took from you?"
Santos looked up, eyes burning.
"I don't even know who 'they' are."
Inoichi added softly, "He remembers his last name. Orozco. That's all. Everything before the Land of Iron? Gone. But someone did this to him."
Sarutobi turned away, hands clasped behind his back.
"They turned a child into a weapon. And now that weapon walks the world alone…"
He looked over his shoulder at Santos.
"…Or maybe, not alone for much longer."
A Name Among the Living
Word Count: ~3,800
🍂 The Proposal
Santos sat against the far wall of the chakra-dampened room, wrists still cuffed, his body worn from isolation. The faint hum of the suppression seal around him never faded—not even in sleep.
He'd memorized the grooves in the stone.
The silence broke when the Hokage returned, this time alone.
He stepped forward, unhurried. The weight of leadership clung to him like mist.
"You've been patient," Sarutobi said.
"No," Santos replied flatly. "I've been trapped."
The Hokage gave a tired smile. "That ends today."
Santos glanced up, cautious.
"Here's the offer," Sarutobi said, tone shifting to pure diplomacy. "You attend the Konoha Academy for one week. Under supervision. You're integrated into a class of your age group—observe, interact, learn. At the end of the week, we evaluate your future here."
Santos raised a brow. "You expect me to play nice with kids and pretend I'm one of them?"
"No," Sarutobi admitted. "I expect you to survive the politics that will come from them seeing you as more than a rumor. You're no longer invisible, Santos."
"I never wanted to be known."
"But you were always meant to be seen."
Santos narrowed his eyes.
"And if I say no?"
The Hokage's eyes darkened just slightly.
"You remain here. Indefinitely. With no future."
Santos was quiet for a long time.
Then—he gave a single nod.
"…I want my sword."
"You'll get it," Sarutobi said. "But only under supervision."
Santos smirked. "Then let the circus begin."
🌒 Meanwhile: The Hyuga Council
Far from the Academy, deep within the inner sanctum of the Hyuga Clan compound, nine elders sat around a curved stone table.
At the head: Hiashi Hyuga, clan head, father of Hinata.
To his left and right, the oldest of the main and branch families, cloaked in white and pale gray robes, their eyes pale and unreadable.
A single candle flickered at the table's center, casting wavering shadows.
"He possesses the Byakugan," one elder growled. "It cannot be denied."
"And yet he is no member of our clan," hissed another.
"He is an anomaly," said a third. "Or worse—an experiment."
Hiashi was silent, fingers steepled in thought.
"We don't know his origin," he said finally.
"But we know his danger," the eldest elder replied. "And the rumors. A boy who controls darkness, commands chains, who slips between shadows like mist."
"He saved your daughter," Hiashi added.
"And he could kill her just as easily."
The room fell into silence again.
Then another voice spoke—cold and low.
"We should either bind him to the clan…"
"Or eliminate him."
Hiashi looked up sharply.
"I won't allow a child to be executed based on fear."
The elder gave a thin, tight-lipped smile.
"Then ensure, Hiashi-dono, that if the time comes… your daughter is ready to choose where her loyalty lies."
🍃 Morning at the Academy
The classroom buzzed like a hive of bees.
The final week before graduation was here, and every student felt it. Training drills, tests, and questions about team placements filled the air. Konohamaru was bragging. Ino and Sakura were glaring daggers. Naruto was half asleep.
Then—
BAM!
The door slammed open.
Iruka marched in like a general. He looked more exhausted than usual, already massaging his temples.
"Alright! Everyone in your seats!" he barked. "We've got a long day and I'm in no mood to hear you complain."
The class slowly quieted. Naruto muttered something about ramen. Kiba was leaning back in his chair. Sasuke looked vaguely annoyed just by existing.
Iruka stepped up to the front and clapped his hands once.
"We've got a new student."
Immediate groans.
"A new student?! A week before graduation? That's not fair!"
"Did he even take the classes!?"
"This is favoritism!"
Iruka's eyelid twitched.
He performed a single handsign, and—
"Big Head no Jutsu!"
Half the class was immediately bonked on the head by chakra-formed mallets.
Everyone fell quiet.
Iruka rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Thank you. Now that we've all matured a few years in under ten seconds—let's continue."
He pointed toward the doorway.
"This is Santos Orozco. He'll be with us for the rest of the week."
The door opened again.
And he walked in.
Long, dark curly hair that fell past his shoulders. Skin dark and smooth, eyes pale and unreadable. Bare-chested save for the tribal purple necklace around his neck, dark green cargo pants hanging comfortably around lean muscle. Black boots stepped silently on the tile floor.
His presence shut the room down.
Every eye locked on him.
Ino gasped. Sakura's mouth dropped open. Even Sasuke leaned forward slightly.
Naruto blinked. "Whoa…"
A chorus of whispers swept the room like wind.
"Is he a model?"
"He's kind of scary…"
"No, no, he's cool scary!"
"Oh my God, he's gorgeous…"
Iruka raised a brow and clapped once more.
"That's enough."
The girls (and a few of the boys) immediately quieted down, though the blushing was contagious.
"Now," Iruka said, pointing to an open desk. "You'll sit next to Shikamaru and Hinata."
Santos glanced toward the seats.
Hinata stared at him—eyes wide, a soft smile forming on her lips. She looked away quickly, cheeks red.
Shikamaru looked up from his desk, barely blinking.
"Tch. Troublesome."
Santos gave a slight smirk and walked toward the empty seat. His presence alone made the rows straighten. No one dared meet his eyes.
He sat down. Glanced once at Hinata.
She didn't say anything.
But her hand brushed just slightly against his beneath the desk.
Santos relaxed. Just a little.
📘 Back to Class
Iruka cleared his throat and began explaining the training for the day—pair spars, chakra control drills, and a team simulation. Most of the class nodded along, still half-staring at Santos.
But Shikamaru leaned slightly toward him.
"You're not just some transfer," he muttered.
Santos didn't look at him.
"No."
"You're the one from the rumors. The chains. The scroll missions."
Santos didn't confirm.
"Troublesome…" Shikamaru muttered again, leaning back.
Hinata smiled behind her textbook.
And Santos—for the first time in weeks—felt the faintest flicker of something warm and terrifying in his chest.
Belonging.