The sun had just begun to rise over the white-stoned walls of Uzushiogakure, casting long golden rays across the quiet village. Mist from the surrounding ocean drifted lazily between the houses, curling like sleepy spirits waking from a dream. Sixteen-year-old Ayumi Uzumaki stood at the edge of the harbor, barefoot, letting the cool sea breeze brush through her long red hair.
She liked the mornings best. The village still slept, save for the fishermen preparing their boats and the occasional child chasing a ball down the stone-paved streets. It was peaceful—something that felt rare these days. Tensions in the shinobi world were rising again. Whispers of war floated like ghosts through the air, but here, in her home, Ayumi still found a sense of calm.
She closed her eyes and breathed in the salty wind. Somewhere behind her, an old bell rang out—soft and distant. That meant breakfast would soon be served at the central square. She would help, of course. She always did. Ayumi wasn't a full-fledged shinobi yet, but her seal work had impressed even some of the older jonin. "Too serious for your age," her cousin had teased her once. But Ayumi didn't mind. The Uzumaki weren't just any clan. They carried power, responsibility—legacy.
Her fingers absently traced the edge of the small scroll pouch at her waist. Three emergency seals. Two storage scrolls. One explosive tag. Just in case.
A sudden gust of wind made her pause. It wasn't cold, but sharp—unnatural. She frowned and looked up at the sky. The seagulls that usually circled overhead had vanished.
Strange.
She turned back toward the village, her instincts sharpening like the edge of a kunai. Something was wrong.
The ground trembled beneath her feet.
It was faint at first—barely noticeable, like a distant storm rumbling beneath the ocean. Then it came again, stronger this time. The sound of something cracking echoed through the air, followed by a sharp boom that rattled the windows of the nearby houses.
Ayumi froze.
Screams rose up from the village center. Not playful, not surprised. Terrified.
She spun around just in time to see a column of smoke rising from the east side of the village—near the training grounds. Another explosion followed, then another, like thunder pounding from within the heart of the village itself.
Shinobi.
They were under attack.
"Ayumi!" a voice called out behind her. It was Kana, her younger cousin, running barefoot across the cobblestones, face pale, eyes wide with panic. "They're here—foreign shinobi! They—they just appeared out of nowhere—!"
Before Ayumi could answer, a massive wave of chakra tore through the air. It crackled with killing intent, making her breath catch in her throat. Her hands moved on instinct, pulling a small scroll from her pouch and breaking the seal. Smoke burst around her as she summoned a kunai and defensive tag in one smooth motion.
"Get to the shelter!" she barked at Kana, already scanning for the fastest route. But people were pouring into the streets now—men, women, children—some bleeding, some crying, all running. She could hear clash of metal, the shrill cries of jutsu being cast, the roars of fire igniting.
The village was burning.
A part of her wanted to run, too. She was only a student. She hadn't even passed her final training exams. But her legs refused to move away. Someone had to help. Someone had to stay and fight.
Ayumi gritted her teeth and leapt forward, heart pounding. Her home—her people—were being slaughtered.
And she would not let it happen without a fight.
Ayumi dashed through the alleyways, guiding two children toward a side entrance of one of the underground bunkers. A wall of fire had already collapsed the main route. Her chakra reserves were thinning fast—every seal, every barrier she placed drained her more. She couldn't do this much longer.
A shadow flickered behind her.
She spun, kunai raised—too slow.
A masked shinobi launched forward, a blade aimed straight for her neck.
Her heart stopped.
But the strike never came.
Instead, a surge of water burst upward from the cobblestones, slamming into the attacker like a living beast. The enemy was thrown back into a wall with a sickening crack, unconscious—or dead.
Ayumi stared, wide-eyed, as the water coiled and reformed itself into a floating spiral that hovered midair before collapsing into a puddle.
A figure stepped out of the smoke.
He wasn't wearing any recognizable village insignia. His forehead was bare, his clothes torn, soaked, and stitched together like a wanderer's. Yet his presence was undeniable—quiet, calculating, and calm amidst the chaos.
His eyes glowed.
Not in the way a Sharingan or Byakugan would. No, his irises shimmered like liquid sapphire—almost unnaturally blue, as if lit from within. They pulsed faintly with chakra, like tides in sync with the moon.
"You'll die if you stay here," he said, his voice low, rough, and clipped with an unfamiliar accent. "There's nothing left to protect."
Ayumi narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"
"Someone who's seen enough death."
Another blast hit nearby. The building behind them collapsed into rubble. He didn't flinch. She could feel the chakra radiating off him now—strange and unrefined, like a storm still learning how to shape itself.
He turned, glanced at the two children clinging to her.
"I'll make a path. Follow me if you want to live."
Ayumi hesitated—just for a second. Then she nodded.
Sometimes, the only thing left to trust was instinct.
The man raised his hand, and the puddles along the stone paths responded instantly. Water surged upward, twisting around his fingers like ribbons of liquid glass. In a smooth motion, he slammed his palm to the ground. A massive current exploded forward, clearing a path through debris and fire with impossible precision—never touching the children, never harming Ayumi.
Ayumi followed close behind, breathless. He didn't just control water—he commanded it, as if it were an extension of his own body.
As they ran, he formed hand signs she didn't recognize. Mist rolled out of the gutters, thick and heavy, swallowing the sounds of battle behind them. Their footsteps became echoes in a silent world of gray.
"Who are you?" she asked again, this time softer, not from suspicion but awe.
He didn't answer right away. His eyes flicked toward her, the blue glow dimmed slightly, but something haunted flickered in his expression.
"No one important," he finally muttered. "I was supposed to die today. Maybe I still will."
Ayumi frowned but said nothing. She didn't have time to argue with cryptic strangers.
They reached the far side of the village—what used to be the training cliffs. Below them, a narrow path led to a hidden cove where supply boats were stored. Most were gone, but one small fishing vessel still bobbed in the waves, tied loosely to the dock.
Ayumi's breath caught in her throat. "We're leaving?"
"You want to die here?" he asked flatly.
She looked back. The mist parted for a moment, revealing pillars of smoke and flashes of fire jutsu lighting up the ruins of her home. Screams echoed in the distance—so many voices, so many lives.
"I—" Her hands trembled. "I can't just leave them behind."
The man didn't speak. He simply stepped to the edge of the cliff, raised both arms, and the sea obeyed.
A towering wave rose behind the boat, arching like a protective shield. As he moved, the wave bent itself into a bridge—solid, glistening, impossibly smooth—connecting the cliff to the boat below.
"You can mourn the dead," he said, voice low. "Or protect the living. Choose."
Ayumi closed her eyes.
Then she grabbed the children's hands—and jumped.
The wave bridge swayed beneath their feet, but Ayumi held on tightly to the children's hands, guiding them across the glittering path of water. The ocean churned far below, roaring like a beast, but not a single drop splashed them. It was as if the sea itself refused to touch them—held back by the man walking silently ahead.
They reached the boat.
Ayumi helped the children climb in first. They were shivering, eyes wide, clinging to each other in silence. She didn't know their names. She didn't even know if their parents were still alive. But right now, they were hers to protect.
She turned, looking one last time toward the cliffs.
Uzushiogakure was almost gone.
The flames had spread across most of the village. Its grand towers—the ones built by her ancestors—were nothing but silhouettes of smoke now. The sealing halls, the training grounds, the stone paths she had walked since childhood… all crumbling into ash.
She felt something twist inside her chest. Her knees buckled slightly as she stepped onto the boat, gripping the wooden side with both hands.
Everything was gone.
Her clan. Her home. Her future.
"Sit down," the man said gently. His tone had softened, just slightly. He untied the boat with a simple motion, and the water shifted beneath them, pulling them away from the dock like a mother cradling her child.
Ayumi didn't speak. She sat beside the children, wrapped her arms around them, and stared into the horizon.
The man stood at the stern, one hand dipped into the sea, guiding their direction without paddles, without sails. Just water, and chakra, and something deeper—something older.
"Why did you help me?" she asked finally.
He didn't turn. "Because I couldn't watch it happen again."
Ayumi frowned. "Again?"
But he said no more.
The sun had begun to rise again behind them, casting soft light over the endless ocean. Ayumi closed her eyes. She had lost everything—but something new had begun.
She didn't know where they were going.
But she knew what she would protect from now on.
Even if it killed her.