Uzumaki Naruto; Winter's Moon

Charter 2; Colder then ice


'I had no choice. The objective was clear.'

The room was cold. Cold and dark. But the young boy was not scared. He wasn't even nervous. He was cold too.

The moment he came in, a man with night-black hair and eyes welcomed him with a nod. Naruto didn't respond.

Black eyes of the shinobi behind the desk watched him closely. They watched his every move. They watched him with such intensity that the sun would hide under the horizon while gazed at. The blue eyes stared back with equal power.

"I have a mission for you Kenshin…" Mizukage-sama was the one to break the ice.

There was a nod of acknowledgment.

'I was to kill a family of Kaguya supporters. Father, mother and two children. I was to kill them and I didn't even know why.'

It was raining. The rain was not something surprising in Kiri – it rained frequently, every few hours. Lightning though, lightning was a bad omen in the village hidden in mist. A brown haired girl of about fourteen looked through the window of a small apartment. Her eyes were like an open book. One could read her every emotion just by a few looks. The blond boy could do it exceptionally well. They were friends.

"Matte… Kenshin… You shouldn't go, don't go." Her voice was quiet. Quiet and warm.

He barely acknowledged her with a nod. He was sitting in the dark corner of a room – on the opposite site of her. His eyes were closed. His mind was also.

"I have a bad feeling about it…" She tried to convince him to stay. She tried to prove him that more killing would do no good. She did all she could. But how could she help him? When she screamed, he didn't listen. When she touched, he didn't feel.

He stood up. His swords were once again behind his milk-white zori. He put on big dark cloak that covered him from nose to feet. Then his straw-hat. Then he looked at her with those cold blue eyes of his. Her own brown ones seemed to be like small trees compared to enormous, everlasting blue sky or a raging and great ocean. He looked straight into her eyes and for a moment she thought that there's a bit of sorrow in them. But then he turned around. Only a few words left his mouth. And after closing the doors, lightning crossed the dark firmament, lightening a room a little bit.

She was looking at the doors. Nothing changed. Except tears in her tree-like, brown eyes. And those few words that echoed in the room.

'If I'd listen to her then, things could happen differently. If I'd listen to her, all could end better. But I didn't.'

It was still raining. It was raining and the streets were empty that night. They usually were. Not many citizens of mist were stupid enough to leave their homes during the night. Not since the war had started.

Everyone was sleeping. Everyone except a shadow that moved soundlessly throughout the village jumping from roof to roof. His legs moved with such speed that even the most experienced shinobi, would have problems with tracking them. Suddenly the part of the roof he was running on ended. With one last move, with a bit of concentration, his right leg touched the edge, showing white socks and typical samurai sandals. With that one move he disappeared.

He appeared not a second later on a roof good twenty meters away. A deadly shadow continued his run.

'Whispers. Whispers and eyes. Blood red eyes.'

He stopped.

The wind stopped as well. And so did rain. Everything stopped. Almost everything.

"You can come out now." A shadow did not yell – he whispered. His voice was young and inexperienced, but there was something in that voice that could make one's mind go blank. Blank with fear.

They came out. There were two of them; both in black cloaks similar to him, both had white hair, both had green eyes; both had two red dots above their eyes, and both were Kaguyas. Both were dead the moment they blocked his path.

"You won't go further." One of them said. He didn't even realize how wrong he was. His voice was deep and sure. It was voice of a dead.

The shadow did not respond. His muscles were already tense and prepared. His feet were now enjoying the cold feeling of his chakra. His hands too were busy – going through the hand seals under the black covers of cloak. His enemies looked into his eyes – blue and intense, eyes of predator. Eyes shadowed by his black cloak. They watched his eyes and that was the first and last mistake for one of them. Because the moment the young boy disappeared it was already too late.

The blonde appeared in front of the taller one. His opponent tried to jump back. He couldn't. Hs legs were frozen to the roof. And by the time he comprehended that fact, his head wasn't intact to the rest of his body.

Naruto's second enemy died soon after. The overwhelming fear, that took over his mind and body when he looked into those blue eyes. He panicked. His partner was killed in a matter of seconds with such a frightening ease… He panicked. He tried to free himself from the ice that glued him to the roof like a fly to a spider web. He panicked. And that was his second mistake. He didn't have time to make third. And then everything came back to normal. The wind was blowing. It was raining.

The snow-white blade was red with blood. The black cloak was not. It was truly amazing how much the blond hair of youth contrasted with the eternal blackness of his cloak. His eyes matched, thought. They matched perfectly.

And then the shadow said a few words, a few words that would change the world's history.

'Fear. Fear and hair. Sun kissed hair.

He was there. He reached his destination.

The house in front oh him was an average looking building at most. The lights were still on – something Naruto didn't suspect. There were two floors. The house was made out of red brick.

Whisker-marked boy took his straw hat off. He wouldn't need it inside. They wouldn't say a word about him. Dead can't speak after all. He had two possibilities; To go through the window with lights on and kill father and mother – kids were probably sleeping right now – and eliminate the danger of them getting out, or to go through the window on the first floor. The second option was a bit risky, children could scream and make a lot of noise, thus alarming parents – one of them could go for help. First option seemed good enough.

He jumped onto the wall, right above the window he would go through; so silent he was that even birds outside didn't notice him. He became a shadow again. Already, young Uzumaki could feel the amazing coolness of his chakra, the intoxicating calmness and most of all the lack of any emotion that came with his power. His heart rate was steady, his eyes already used to the light that emanated from inside, his right hand was already unsheathing his more preferred blade – Fuyutsuki.

'Tori, Inu, Uma, Saru, Ryu.' Already, the air around his hand was getting colder and he could almost see the particles of water floating around. Quickly, he touched the window and in a matter of few seconds it turned into ice. Oh, how he loved to turn things into ice. Soon, his katana was cutting quickly and quietly through the iced window. The killing would start in a matter of moments.

'Death. Death and sword. Snow-white sword.

It was over so quickly. He wasn't even aware of his moves. His body like a thrown kunai was – without control. After he came in through the broken window. The things he did there… they just happened.

It was over so quickly. He remembered shouts and shrieks that still echoed in his mind. He remembered father, fruitlessly trying to protect his wife. His desperate attacks, his eyes – eyes of deepest passion and sorrow, because, from the start he knew – he knew that his family wouldn't survive this night. He remembered white katana, blood and death. The smell of death that lingered in the house, the faces of family, blank eyes, stained clothes, and a white ribbon that whirled in the wind. He remembered black birds, yellow lightning and the feeling of white tsuka and the hand guard, pressing tightly to his hand.

He remembered… Even if he tried not to. Girl, not older then him; girl that probably did nothing wrong, girl that was innocent, pure…

He tried to shake his head, hoping that a little gesture would help him forget… But the shadow knew that the things he did today would mark his heart and soul… It didn't matter, though. For him defending the innocent was something worth every sacrifice. It was his purpose in life.

And as he continued to run throughout the labyrinth of roofs, he really didn't know. He didn't know if he was crying or if the rain was simply making him temporarily blinded. He knew however that his legs were getting weaker. He stopped,and said a few words. A few words that were supposed to make everything clear. They didn't. Time after time, He repeated them hoping that everything would make sense. Nothing happened.

'It's all for better good.'

He puked.


Haruka-san, like everyday for the last week, was already waiting for him. She was usually sitting in the kitchen, with a bowl full of rice and a cup full of hot tea. He never had much of an appetite after his missions but you would have to be extremely stupid to reason with Haruka-san. The moment a word "But" would leave your mouth would be a moment she'd hit you with a paper fan that, if his theory was correct, she produced from thin air. She was a nice person, though and no one could oppose that. That was, of course, his conclusion. Yes; a tremendously dangerous, fan wielding, nice, old lady…

"Itadakimasu." He said quietly after sitting down. It was the first thing he did after killing: going to kitchen, sitting down, eating and talking sometimes. They rarely talked; he wasn't in the mood, and she was normally just looking at him. It was something akin to silent communication. She recognized the pain in his eyes – the pain of killing yourself in order to kill others and he was familiar with the longing for someone long dead.

Tonight wasn't much different then any other day. She was sitting on the chair nearby to the window; he was silently eating his late dinner. Neither made a sound.

He didn't know that much about the old lady. The fact that she was the owner of the building that was inhabited by a majority of assassins on the Mizukage's side left little to imagination. It was obvious that she supported them. That was about all he knew. That and her name, which he wasn't even sure, was real.

The young shinobi looked up from his rice to see her green eyes studying his face. She did that more often then not, and the fact that he was used to it worried him out a bit. Trust was something you weren't supposed to give away so generously, especially during times like these. Her face was expressionless, and she looked so old and tired. Naruto knew why she did though, it was easy to tell that even if forty-years old women was looking at him she was, at the same time, looking at someone else. But there was no point in thinking about that.

The young shinobi finished the last part of his rice with vegetables and with a deep sigh he tried to stand up. He succeeded on his third attempt exhaustion getting better of him. He was worn-out, mentally and physically; his legs were shaking, his muscles unable to do what he wanted them to, adrenaline leaving his body, deep blue covered by the darkness of his eyelashes. He saw blood and unnaturally white faces. Opening his eyes, he saw stairs. Stairs he knew very well; he lived upstairs. Then, halfway up he had to close his eyes again his futile attempts were but pathetic and a second later his eyes were closed.

And then he saw it. It had red eyes and maroon hair. It had pointed fangs and whisker-like marks, similar to his. It grinned from ear to ear and then mouthed something.

When he opened his eyes again he saw doors leading to his own room. He was sweating and trembling. Opening the doors he stumbled seeking his futon. He found it the next second and allowed a small smile appear on his face as he lay on his back. It was a cheerless smile. Because the moment he closed his eyes a pair of red ones so much unlike his glared from the darkness.

His breath slowed a bit as his body relaxed. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt so heavy, come to think of it, everything did.

And then he saw those red eyes. The eyes he now recognized. After all he saw them a little less then five years ago, on a day when a human blood and death changed his mind forever, when he was named Kenshin. And then he heard something. It was probably his imagination.

'It's been a while Naruto'

A deep laugh.


Chapter 12; The bloodline war Even now, it's not really known why the first civil war started. There are many speculations but the truth is hidden deep down, beneath a thick layer of lies, fear and remorse. De facto the whole matter started on a second day of July. The facts are clear; on about 5:30 am of water country's time, three dozen of Kaguya shinobi attacked Mizukage's tower. The forces of mist; taken by surprise, not really prepared for the attack from inside; lost miserably. On that day only seven shinobi returned alive from the tower and Kiri no Shinobigatana Shichinin Shū was their title ever since. The reason for the attack is, as I already mentioned, unknown but theories are countless. I'm not going to bore you with them however, as most are nothing but myths. The war, quieter then the best of shadows and more precise then any Kaguya alive, was raging on neither side gaining much ground. It was a war unlike any other before – where enemies were unidentified, best of allies were suspected of worst crimes. It was warfare of shadows, Battles of bones and ice. But just like every battle has its beginning, every war has its hero. And even the bloodline war, in spite of all differences, was very much like every other war...

Half a century of Kirigakure's History, by Keiko Arai


He opened his eyes.

'Where am I?'

He didn't know. It was bizarre, as he didn't know what time it was, what day it was and was it a middle of winter or the beginning of summer. He had no idea where he was currently residing, or what his name was. His eyes weren't, like usually, reflecting that sharp mind of his. Mindless his orbs were, gray even. Laying there, seemingly nowhere, he tried to remember. Rubbing his sore eyes with the back of his wrists he tried to fight the sleepiness. Oh, how he loved mornings…

'Sunday'

And just like thateverything came back. In one moment – instantaneously. How he wished to forget – to return on the blissful cloud called ignorance. But now wasn't time for depressed moods. Today was Sunday. He didn't kill on Sundays.

'Time for breakfast.' he though.

He slept in his clothes – with his katanas at sides – something he was used to. He rolled his futon, still feeling dizzy, and did a few stretches. Brushing his teeth he looked into the mirror. It was the beginning of fourth week since he entered the water country and one could clearly see the signs of fatigue on his young face – his eyes sporting violet-black rings around them. He rarely smiled these days. He didn't laugh.

Steps. Someone was walking. It took him only a moment to realize that someone was outside the door. He abandoned his toothbrush and with a quick flick of wrist got his white katana into the hand. He turned around on his right leg and was about to attack when someone knocked…

"Ano… Kenshin-san? The breakfast is ready." The quiet voice whispered.

'It's only Tomoe…' He removed the sword from the exact spot when the knocks came from. Tomoe; probably the only person he could call a friend, a fellow orphan older then him by many tears.

The first time he met her – on a day of blue rains – on the second day of his arrival things were different then they were now. He saw her with a wooden umbrella, looking small, cold, and dark. So much unlike him – full of hopes he was, full of dreams – but the chocolate orbs of hers mesmerized him, made him think. He didn't.

Now he wasn't much different then her.

When he walked down the stairs the dining was full of noises. Loud laughs, quite sniggers, whispers of gossip. A lot of yellows, blues, even blacks on some occasion. No one wore red. Only Naruto.

Everything became silent when his sandaled feet touched the floor. Everything turned into dark murmur and then, into heavy silence. It was as if his feet weighted tons – making small earthquake and extremely loud noises – every time they touched the wooden floor. He felt heavy too, his arms and legs almost shaking from the pressure. The floor seemed very welcoming suddenly. Every head turned into his direction. Fifteen pairs of eyes stared at him, so different their expressions, yet almost the same.

You're not welcome here. Go away. They always acted like that. They stared and glared, making him darker, smaller, the heaviness increasing every second. But he met their gazes – because even if he was shaking inside, he wasn't outside. Still, he departed quickly.

"The soup is getting cold." Was what Naruto heard first after entering the kitchen. Of course, Haruka-san was up before even the sun was.

"Ohayo Gozaimasu" He answered in a tired tone.

He started eating quickly, his hunger sharpened by the long sleep a good twelve hours of slumber was something that happened rarely – even on Sundays. The soup was full of vegetables, meat and other dumplings from the fridge, but appetite is the best of flavors and so the whole eating was done in a matter of minutes.

"Sooo… Doing anything in particular today, Kenshin?" Uh-ho, she was definitely in a good mood today. It wasn't in the old woman's style to pray into someone's business, not that she was uninterested or impassive, but anything more then a simple 'How are you?' was strange…

"Iie, maybe some training. I'll catch up on my reading too…" There was something coming up for him, he could tell. The way Haruka-san's lips twitched the exact moment he finished his sentence…

"Kiri's such a dangerous place these days…" She sighed.

Something about that statement and the way she said it disturbed him greatly. So greatly, in fact, that he was about to interrupt her, change the topic but…

"… Especially for young girls. All these immoral people, hiding around corners, in dark alleys, waiting for an innocent girl to show up…"

"What do you want?" He did interrupt her.

"Tomoe's going to do some shopping today, some groceries, y'know, the usual…" She said with a lot of mirth to her voice. Obviously she was enjoying her current position.

"Dakara… You want me to go with her then?" He knew the answer already, but it couldn't hurt to ask.

"Hai, hai. Plus…" – She stopped there and reaching down to her bosom she continued. – "…It'll do you some good to go around the village once in a while…" – She stopped there too and taking out a small, white envelope she started again. – "… Y'know? You should definitely see the blacksmith, the one on the Hisakata Square." And with that the letter landed on the table. She left not a second later.

'…'

He didn't know what to think. Was that some kind of mission? What was in the envelope? Maybe it's just a personal affair and he's nothing more then a messenger? Or is it something else? Too many questions that a simple logic could not answer.

What was he supposed to do? There was only one thing to do in situations like that. He had to do what he was told to do and he would have to find out what there was to find out.

And it was such a beautiful morning just a few moments ago…

'Chikushou!'


They walked around the village. They walked around the village and the day was sunny, warm. The sky was blue mixed with white and some gray. It didn't rain and there was no mist. The weather was nice.

"A lovely day we have, ne? Kenshin?" Tomoe asked with a lot more cheer in her voice then usual. It was probably because of the weather conditions – four weeks he's been here and it was the first day without a mist.

Silence and a slight nod of his whiskered head answered her question. His hands were occupied; left with a wooden basket full of tofu, right with a bag full of rice and vegetables. They were going east – their aim – buying meet.

'It has to be fresh…' He remembered. 'Fresh meet is absolutely necesery' was what Haruka-san said. They were going to buy fresh meet.

"…So what do you think? …Kenshin? Were you listening at all?" She asked – her voice rising a bit. She didn't like to be ignored, he concluded, but then again no one did. He almost spaced out again but gathering his wits quickly he lied smoothly.

"Of course I was." He told her. She was watching him closely, her chocolate eyes looking at his face with a concentration of the highest degree. She bit her lower lip and tried him.

"So what do you think?"

"I think that your new kimono is lovely and there are no words that could describe just how amazing you look." For a moment silence surrounded them and even though there was a lot of people the stillness was almost touchable. He held his breath – the moment he feared finally came. And then everything turned normal and she smiled that brilliant smile of hers that only few had a privilege to see. He was one of the few. He congratulated himself on the save he just made and on his perceptive mind that helped him out – it was a close call.

"You really think so? I was wondering…" He tuned her out knowing too well that she'll be talking all the way down to the market and all the way back. It was freighting really to see her chatting so much – he thought of her as a silent and depressed girl and here she was blowing his opinion away. Then again he shouldn't judge people on their first impression. It could get him killed.

They continued to walk and he found himself in a jovial mood. After a while he was finally engaged in a conversation about the history of Kiri. Tomoe was a very knowledgeable person when it came down to the topic of old times. She talked a lot about that too. And he listened interested; he actually listened and enjoyed himself. He smiled from time to time and he laughed for the first time in the four weeks. A true laugh, not a bitter one, a natural, content laugh.

'It's the weather' he told himself. 'It has to be the weather'.

He couldn't be more wrong.


'Even if I didn't know about it then, it all makes sense know – when I look at the situation as an observer not the participant. It took me five months to finally face my emotions. Five months, it took me, five months to figure out what was it that turned my stomach upside down and made me see the colours of world in a new light. So simple, and yet I didn't know what was it that made me happy. Now I know. It was love. It's too late know for she is dead. In my mind however, she will always live with a brilliant smile on her face and a brown kimono and a laughter that I knew not of before I met her. For it was thanks to you, Tomoe that I now know how to smile. You were my sheath – and I was your sword. I don't know a lot about love. Love is like a pear. Pear is sweet and it has a shape. Try to define the shape of pear.


Clink! Clink!

Sparks flew into the air. White-hot steel touched the cooling water with a splash. Steam rose. Drops of sweat stopped on ebony brows. He breathed in the scent of fire and iron and steel and sword. He could feel the heat of fire and the weight of a massive hammer in his right hand.

Clink! Clink!

More flickers of light. His muscles ached but he continued to mold the steel with proficiency gained only by years of practice. The strength between each blow was patiently increasing. His hands were flowing with pain but the art of sword making consumed him absolutely and completely. It was the gray metal he saw, nothing else and nothing more. The still not formed sword was the only thing that was on his mind right now.

He finally finished. His tools he put aside and his sword he draped on the wall. Oh, Sunday was a busy day for blacksmiths in Kiri, especially these days. A Sunday; day free from killing, acknowledged by both counterparts in war, no assassinations, no battles, no work for common folk… Only blacksmiths had to work.

'Talk about fair.' – he snorted. The Sundays were all nice and clean, people were happy and even shinobi had a day off. Sundays were untouchable – even the rebelling party knew better then to attack on Sunday. Only blacksmiths had to work.

Because on Monday the slaughter would begin anew and the equipment for the earlier mentioned killers, would not magically appear.

The man narrowed his brows and glared at the wall that the new made sword was strapped to. So unjust, was a life of a blacksmith; full of surprises and hurdles that only few were able to go through. He was about to declare to the whole world that they should be thankful for having such a good blacksmith in near vicinity when he saw a boy.

It was a young boy.

With blond hair.

And blue eyes.

He had two swords – both behind his white obi. He stood on the electricity pole, casting a shadow on the part of his workshop – it was an open space – his left hand rested on katanas he knew, were of good quality. The blond boy was wearing the colours of Kiri – he was dressed in blue and white – in a typical samurai fashion.

The sun was low, almost touching the horizon. The black figure of a youngster disappeared from the electric pole and appeared in front of him. The young guy was smaller then the average his age and his face betrayed nothing. But only one thing cached his eye. The white katana in an equally white sheath.

He saw that sword once, long time ago… He held it in his hand… Years ago… Absent-mindly he rubbed a place on his hand where his little finger used to be.

He inhaled deeply.

His encounter with the sword wasn't nice.

Only then did the full meaning of this all enter his mind.

He took a few hesitant steps back – while still looking at the boy – he sat on a chair and let his head rest on the palms of his hands. His breathing was ragged, loud noise of his short breaths filling the open room. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not during his life. Not ever. It was so surreal…

He closed his eyes and took a mouthful of air. He panicked and it did him no good. Maybe he assumed too much and maybe the sword was simply a very similar one and…

He knew that he was kidding himself, lying, to his very own mind. There was only one thing to do.

"Do you have something for me?" his mouth said as his mind was still absent. But the answer was not needed for he already knew.

Nothing happened for a few seconds, no sound or movement whatsoever. Then something remotely smooth touched his hands and that something was a letter. Now, with eyes open, he looked up to the youngster, his questioning gaze held the unemotional of the blond. He's eyes retreated first – looking back to the unopened envelope.

He opened it. He took in sharp breath soon after. For the letter said what he feared it would.

"The Guardian of all cold is coming. The Winter's moon will arise."

The blacksmith closed his eyes once again. Too old he was to tell the tale of Hiko Seijuro the first. Too old to speculate about destiny, too tired to think about the meaning of life.

"Sit down boy," – he started with a strict voice that left no argument – "for the tale is long and the night still young."


When he left the workshop on the Hisakata Square, his head hurt and his heart ached. Three books; good four hundreds pages each were tucked under his shoulder. "The visions and prophecies of Hiko Seijuro I" was the first one. A book almost 150 years old, telling a life of Hiko Seijuro I – the founder of Kiri and the creator of Hiten Mitsurugi-Ryu – written by the legendary swordsman himself. The second had no title at all and no author whatsoever. The book, as was explained to him, marveled on all the things that humans (apparently) had no control over, the "laws" of fate and such. The last book intrigued him – "The seals and how it all begun" – by Yuuko Ichihara. The book said a lot of interesting things from what he gathered, for he had yet to open it, as the women was a seal master and tried to explain the theory behind seals.

The moon was high and the night was at its peak. The young boy looked at the moon. So beautiful, so powerful. Naruto could almost sense the connection, this amazing pull and the light shaking of his sword. The winter had yet to come but his katana already responded to the protector of nights. Something was up in the air.

Absent-mindly, he jumped on the rooftop. It was frosty, the wind was weak and barely noticeable but yet, he still enjoyed the feeling of air in his hair. Kiri was truly a magnificent place during night; the lights were on – little yellow points in the darkness – like fireflies they were, and the Silver Tower – also known as the Mizukage Tower, the most beautiful building in all of Mist. A tower with no angles, smooth and round, made of a metal that reflected the moon's light making it seem like it was pure silver. Easily the highest building in Kirigakure – almost twenty stories high, towering in its majesty over other buildings that are nothing but a shadow compared to the Tower of Silver. But at night when the gloom claimed the horizon only the Tower shined with hope, and only through nighttime the silvery mist gathered around it in a spiral pattern, and no one really knew where the mist came from, or maybe they knew but just didn't want to tell the rest because the sight was truly out of this world.

And just like that he stood there not really thinking about war, or destiny, or life, or about all he just learned. He didn't think about the books he had under his arm or about the sword that was supposed to change the world. He didn't think about all that.

Because right now he was looking at the Silver Tower and he believed. He believed in good and bad, in white and black. He believed in humanity and in others. And he believed in himself.

Haruka-san was there when he opened the door to the three-story house he lived in. Naruto narrowed his eyes in anger – it was all planned from the start – he reasoned. He looked at her; her eyes were closed, she was calmly leaning on the wall, yet he knew that she was awake. He took his light sandals off rather hastily, and stormed off to the kitchen not in the mood to talk with the other person in the small room. He was followed however. He didn't care though; because the moment of peace and quiet he had just few instants ago – while looking at the Silver Tower – vanished in a matter of seconds. And then this overwhelming anger flowed throughout his veins, because they actually believed some stupid book written hundreds and fifty years ago.

His small jaw clenched as he held his chopsticks – his knuckles were white – he started to eat. So unbelievably stupid.

He did not make a sound and neither did she. He finished his meal and looked up to meet her eyes, for he was aware of her staring at him like she normally did. She was sad from what he could tell and she knew he was angry and he knew she knew but he still tried to hide it. He stood up.

"I don't even believe in destiny."

He truly didn't.


That night he was lying in the bed a long time, thinking about the Silver Tower and life and future. About him and what will happen to him. How he will fight for what is right, and how he will fall in love in a beautiful woman – in a future far away – and how she will fall for him too. He thought about all the things that could happen and about all that will. He thought about stars and about moon. He was thinking about lots of things.

Then he fell asleep and everything turned white. There was neither time nor space. Everything was blindingly white and yet there was nothing – only him – and he couldn't see anything and he couldn't feel anything and it was scary.

"Where am I?" The blonde asked shakily. It felt so real – like no dream he had so far. Not the ones he remembered of.

"Ohhh" Deep voice, so inhumanly deep, boomed, seemingly sighing. From everywhere, shaking every hair on his head, the sound reached his ears – deafening him. "It has been such a while since you visited me, that I'm not even surprised you don't remember me." It didn't sound male but it didn't sound female either – making a particularly spooky mixture of passive and gray-like neutral sound.

"Who are you?" The boy asked quietly. Where was he? What was happening to him? Maybe it was genjutsu? Kai! It didn't work. He tried to feel the flow of his chakra only to find nothing. Nothing. Chakra was essential: no chakra – no life. He was about to panic when he heard The Voice. It laughed a rich laugh clearly amused by his disorientation.

"I go by many names…" – The Voice started when the laugher calmed down – "For I am master of stories and legends. I do not know the boundaries of time and space, for my power is limitless and so is my imagination. For I am Third Oldest." The Voice boomed in an intimidating tone.

The time did not exist in a place such as this, that much was true – concluded Naruto, for the words were inextinguishable – sometimes longer then days and occasionally shorter then the shortest of seconds. The bright white light did not subside and his eyes hurt – at least he thought they did – for the pleasure of feeling was not granted in there. But then he could feel something coming, and there was this awful ringing in his ears, that pierced his brain with a needle of high frequency sound. And then this energy surrounded the white abyss, or at least he thought so – for he could feel the pressure that was building up in his chest.

Breathing became very hard duty all of a sudden.

"Take my hand…" His musings were cut short by the urgent whisper of The Voice. Was there a note of fatigue in The Voice?

"Take my hand, boy! Take my hand, before it's too late!" He saw a flicker of black and he tried to move his arm – only to find nothing.

"Sand! Look for the sand!" He searched with his eyes to find sand or something remotely similar and he did but for the little grains of sand which were frighteningly black. Black! They flew straight into his eyes from above – in a neat line – and he could feel them in his eyes. Oh, and what a feeling it was! He turned around in the white void and saw the gray waves consuming the space of pure. Left, right, behind, above and under. He was surrounded. There was no way out.

"Take my hand, you brainless fool!" He took the skeletal hand that appeared over his head. The cool feeling of bone-like fingers washed over his entire body. He did not see white or gray anymore. Only black.

"Remember gray is danger." – Was what the blonde heard before his eyes opened. He really welcomed the sight of his wooden ceiling.

Straightening up in his futon he sighed loudly, wiping out his forehead with the back of his hand. He was soaking wet – his body was shaking uncontrollably. Truly restless his muscles were. He looked over his drenched form with another sigh coming from his lips – this one from pity for himself.

"Another nightmare, huh?" he asked himself quietly, for his breathing was not completely under control.

His nightmare was forgotten.


He didn't eat much that day. Only a small bowl of rice when Haruka-san left the kitchen – too angry he was to face anyone.

It was Monday night. Nothing of particular interest happened; he exchanged a few words with Tomoe – the brown hair girl tried to lift his mood up a little bit – failing miserably. He read most of the day.

Tonight the killing would start. It was usually during night that slaughter happened, although Kaguyas already tried to attack throughout afternoons; mainly to raise panic among civilians. Of course every attack was quickly dealt with, which did not mean people were any less scared. It was quite terrifying after all, to wake up and see a street full of dead bodies and blood. Yes, sights such as this were almost common by now.

Tying blue bandages around his wrists and hands he looked out of the window. The moon was unusually big. 'Good' he thought. 'There'll be more light'.

Naruto wore blue and white, like every shinobi of Mist did. His eyes were already accustomed to the dark so there was no need for light. The blonde did not take his black cloak – he would not need it tonight, for tonight he would kill his equals. He jumped out off the window on the roof. There was no sound when he moved. Death was following him. It took him fifteen minutes to locate a squad of an enemy. Seven people, a leader and a three pairs.

They were walking on the street, the movement on the roofs would alter anyone – and shinobi of Kiri were not just anyone. Slowly, he followed them, becoming a shadow he was always observing, always watching. Like a predator his eyes were narrowed, they reflected the light of the moon. There was no movement his mind didn't register. The young swordsman saw everything; even the slight tensing of muscles of a leader.

His eyes narrowed. The element of surprise was of outmost importance.

He jumped down on the street, making no sound.

Fuyutsuki was already drawn. The white blade did not reflect light if he didn't want it to. The predator run behind them, they did not notice and he did not want them to. Finally, the crossover would be no further then fifteen meters ahead of them.

Thump! Thump!

His sandals made the sound too loud for his liking but nothing could be done.

He attacked.

Closing the distance between him and the one on the backs he attacked. The one closest to him, probably the weakest one turned his head around and stopped but it was too late. Both of Kenshin's hands were tightly holding the white handle of katana. They tightened a bit. Naruto's blade was already coming down in the slash curving from high above his left shoulder to beneath his right. Neck was his target and he managed to kill the first white head.

The First blood flowed.

His second target was now on his left only few feet away. His right hand was occupied, carried by the force of the first slash. His left hand was free and that's all he needed. The second Kaguya was faster thought and the hand of Naruto's opponent was dangerously close to his head.

Wind blew over blond hair as the young swordsman ducked, his left hand already feeling blue guard of his second katana. He gripped it tightly, loosing the sheath along the way. And then there was a howl of wind.

The second man was dead, left forgotten, with a sword in his neck. Five more left to go.

He sprinted.

They were after him. He was running away: the smartest thing he could do. His wooden sandals made a lot of sound, his breathing was hard. He didn't care, for they would follow him either way. He smelled blood. His legs were slowly giving away, his lungs were on fire.

The footsteps of his enemies boomed in the night. There were no shouts. His speed increased. A small scrap of paper left his hand.

He lost his second blade – he realized – and now he had only one. But they were getting closer, he could feel it in the air, he could hear their breathing, it echoed through the concrete walls. On the crossover he turned right.

He stopped.

'Three' He closed his eyes. He could hear more clearly, his breathing was fast and irregular and he tightened the grip on his katana even more. The plan was dangerous. Very much so.

'Two' His left hand reached towards the white kunai pouch. There was nothing there but a tiny piece of paper no bigger then his hand. He put it on his forehead and a blue glow surrounded it. He couldn't hear a thing.

'One' His left hand made a half seal. When his closed eyes registered a flash he ripped of the silencing seal – something he found useful because there was a boom as well.

He turned around the corner and killed.

They were blinded and deafened, helpless even. Five slashes later and only four people were dead. The Capitan of a seven-man squad dodged his blade. It showed a skill he was not up to par yet. So he jumped on the roof and ran.

He was followed.

An implausible pain. Nothing mattered. There was nothing. Only pain. His vision of roof was littered with white dots. Nothing mattered. An overwhelming pain. He tripped on the edge of roof, his tired legs like water. He fell down on the street below – on his left shoulder. The pain unbearable, now doubled in intensity. His eyes were full of tears and so were his dirty cheeks. He was sobbing quietly, whimpering, and there was nothing but pain. His eyes didn't see and his ears didn't hear. He couldn't smell blood – there was nothing. Only pain.

But then he heard.

"What's your name?" It was the Capitan. The palm of his hand was becoming white until the bone ripped through the skin. He had white hair. His eyes were white also. He was leaning against the wall casually.

It was then Naruto knew the truth feeling of fear. Everything went numb. And then he could hear the voice of the past.

"Tell me your name." Deep, kind voice. Black hair. White cloak. Blue eyes. It was his master.

"Naruto" He was shaking with fear.

"A child's name…"- Hiko Seijuro said. Then he continued - "…Too soft for a swordsman. As of today you are Kenshin."

"Ken-shin?"

"I have found a pupil. Consider yourself fortunate."

"Tell me your name." The Capitan of a Kaguya squad demanded. He was walking towards him now, slowly, mockingly.

But nothing existed for Naruto. Not even pain. His left arm stopped shaking spasmodically. His grip on the white handle of Fuyutsuki strengthened. The blade was shining white with moon's light. He stood up. His legs were shaking.

'I will survive' Naruto told himself. 'I cannot die.'

The white-haired shinobi smirked. All of his muscles tensed – Blonde could see – in preparations to attack.

"My name…" The young swordsman rasped out. Ten meters was all that stood between him and the white-eyed Kaguya. "…My name…" Naruto's muscles tensed also. There was no power behind them but there was power behind something else.

"…is Kenshin!" There was power behind his words.

The last blood flowed.