It was not unusual to find the girl hidden away in the Akimichi Clan library, tucked behind stacks of books and scrolls. For some, the little one was haunting in her zest for the written word. She took to it like a duck to water. A rather odd duck, as some of the Clan Elders would say. She was sometimes too articulate, too sharp. At times, she seemed older than her years. Nevertheless, they patted her head and smiled as she tucked books and scrolls under her little arms and waddled her way home. They saw a ghost over her shoulder, another woman that thrived on ink and paper. Elder Chojiro had to stop himself from calling out to the young girl by her mother's name.

Chisato.

It was the Clan Head's wish that Akimichi Miho not know her true parentage until she was a genin, of-age in her own right as a kunoichi. He cited the complexity of the story— too much for a child to understand. How did one explain what they could not explain? Even Elder Chojiro did not know large swaths of information about the incident.

The Clan Elders had a bet established though.

Some wagered quite a hefty sum (a year supply of dango) that she would realize her own parentage before Chōza could tell her. After all, she was a smart little thing. She would see the inconsistencies. Two Elders set their bets on before she left the Academy. Four for after.

Elder Chojiro? He knew better than to place bets on such a thing.

After all, anyone could see that the girl would never reveal her knowledge if she knew it would have negative impacts on those for which she cared. It would have negative impact, of that much he was sure. The little girl, as perceptive as she was, would realize that too. Such a revelation would jeopardize the easy peace of the Clan from her perspective.

The Clan Elders were prepared for all eventualities. She would always be Akimichi.

He watched her a while, when she and her brother were playing in the courtyard. They ran this way and that, laughing and yelling and filling the solemn Akimichi manor with the happiness of children once more. She and her brother wrestled a bit on the porch at the other side of the courtyard. Pipe halfway to his lips, the Clan Elder observed as she stopped, her foot catching the side of the porch, her body over-correcting on the edge.

She pushed her brother free of her arms— to safety – before she fell.

And she did, indeed, fall.

That action told him all he needed to know about the youngest generation of his clan.

Akimichi Miho lumbered to her feet. Her movements were uncoordinated, stiff, and awkward. The Elder watched as she looked around, tears shining on her purple cheek swirls. But she was facing him, not her brother. From his watching place, Elder Chojiro observed how her pained expression shifted to one of resolution. She pressed away the tears with her sleeves. Once she seemed to have herself upright, her hands batted at her yukata top.

When she raised her head, her eyes met his.

She seemed to think for a moment before she smiled and turned.

On the porch, her brother sat and watched with wide, worried eyes.

"It's okay, Chōji. I'm not hurt."

Pushing himself up from his hiding place, the old man shuffled into the adjacent meeting room. Pulling in a final huff from his pipe, he savored the burn in his chest and the thrill in his lungs. He could hear the game resuming outside, all thoughts of a topple falling away. The laughter was a welcome sound.

"Elders, I have come as requested."

Akimichi Chōza entered the meeting space and bowed like the polite lad he was. He sank to his knees before the Elders, only raising his head again when the eldest among them bid him to.

"Look up, boy. Look up. Haven't we been through all of this enough times? You are Clan Head. You need not bow to us with such reverence." Chojiro smirked at his wife. He still enjoyed watching her even after all their years together. She was a true shrew and he loved her so. "How went the meeting then?" The edge in her voice was unmistakable.

It was an edge of fear. One they all knew well.

The village was resting on the edge of a kunai.

Chojiro had known the boy, Chōza, since he was born. His nephew had grown into a strong man. That strength was not merely physical. No, Akimichi Chōza was a quiet force. A kind, quiet force. He weathered each storm like a boulder, firm and solid. But even boulders erode with time. So, when a righteous anger overtook his nephew's face, Elder Chojiro knew that the situation was dire.

"What have you to tell us, youngin'?"

"The Uchiha Clan…I fear that the situation is growing more hostile.'" Chōza sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Though I can understand their frustration, the village council's bias has become too great. I fear for their clan. The Three Clans have voiced our disapproval of the increased taxation of Uchiha District exports however, we were overruled."

"Again."

"Again." Chōza confirmed.

"This affects the whole village. If the export tax is raised, then we will all suffer the consequences." Elder Ayumu's stern tenor resonated with barely repressed rage. "And their thinking is what? That we will hate the Uchiha for this inconvenience?"

A few of the Elders scoffed, but Chojiro saw the dark expression on Chōza's face. Apparently, so did Ayumu.

"Indeed? That is their plan?"

At this realization, a flurry of panic went up in the room. If the village council sought to alienate the Uchiha further, then who was to say that the Akimichi, Nara, or Yamanaka would not be next? It set a deadly precedent if left unchecked. Chojiro had been alive long enough to know how propaganda worked. He saw it spun up in the Second and Third Wars.

Now, it was being used to undermine the Uchiha.

What was worse, they were helping it along. Like fire to kindling, as was their way.

"That is only my assumption." Chōza sighed. "We fear what will happen when the taxes are put into effect a few months from now."

The laughter of the children outside broke the heavy silence of the room. It drew the eyes of every weathered soul in the room to the shadows of the children, running along the porch outside of the meeting room. Chōji chased his sister, each of their heavy footfalls rattling the floors. Despite the tension, Chojiro felt himself smile, catching sight of the endeared grin of his nephew.

"The young youngins remind us that whatever actions we take, they shall reap." His wife's words were like a kunai, piercing through to the heart of it all. "Shall we leave the Uchiha to their fate? Shall we help them in this? What more can we do? What will affect our children?" Her questions hung over the room like a scythe as the children continued to laugh, giggle, and call out to each other outside. "Does this…change our confidence in Konoha?"

No one spoke.

Whatever the decision, Akimichi Chojiro only hoped that the two children would not face such questions against their own village in their time.

Though, he knew, that was a fool's hope.

She knew there was more to it. There had to be. Snapping the book closed, she pushed herself up to her knees and then stood, one foot after the other. Grimacing a bit at the wrinkles in her yukata top, she hefted the book under her arm and stepped into the kitchen. Chōji, her brother, sat at the table. He was devouring what looked to be a triple-level sandwich. Miho felt her mouth water a bit at the sight of it, but she needed to stay focused. She had a task to complete after all. With little effort, she dropped the book onto the table and watched the satisfaction as everything on the table jumped.

"Miho! What did I say about dropping books on the table?"

The girl had just enough conscience in her to look chastised. "Don't do it."

"I said what?"

"You said not to do it." Scuffing her shoe against the tile, Miho shuffled a bit before jerking her head up with a grin. Her mother— honestly, bless her heart— didn't even recoil. In fact, she didn't seem the least bit affected by the fly-by contrition. "There's another volume of this, right?"

This, though, did catch her mother's attention. The woman turned, a hand coming to her hip as she eyed her daughter's bright eyes and smile. "You're done already? You just got that one two days ago!"

Miho glanced to the gigantic volume and nodded, pursing her lips. Maybe she'd read it too fast? Did she read it too fast? How fast was too fast? She could remember what it said though, so maybe she didn't read too fast.

"Miho—"

"I want to know why."

Chōji looked over from his sandwich. "Why what?"

"Why the Second Shinobi War started."

Akimichi Miho stared up at her mother, waiting for an answer. The book never provided a reason. There were plenty of numbers and battle descriptions. There were stories about the great heroes: the Sannin, the White Fang, all of the great people. There were even counts of dead, wounded, and missing. But there was no reason. Why did Konoha go to war? Why did they fight with Suna against Iwa?

Miho didn't know a lot of things, but she knew that wars had causes. Every little child knew that fights didn't just happen.

After all, Miho herself didn't deck Morimoto Yumi without just cause.

No one did anything without reasons, no matter how terrible those reasons might be.

"The writers left out a reason for the war. They just said it happened. So, why did Konoha start the war?"

Part of Miho knew she was pushing it, but she stared at her mother, waiting for an answer.

However, her eyes shifted out of focus.

A few words and phrases skittered around in her mind in a language she didn't know. Or maybe she did know it. Maybe she heard it somewhere. They were words she knew, but she didn't know. She just understood them, but she was certain she'd never read them before. Propaganda and revisionist history were darting around in her mind, linking all of the disparate pieces together.

It happened every so often and it always felt like this— as if the pieces in the jigsaw puzzle of her brain were fusing together and drawing lines.

Never break-

When she was littler, her father used to tell her stories about how the first generations drew lines between stars to make pictures. Those pictures became constellations. And the Constellations, grateful to People for helping them become what they were, helped the People to find their way and housed their stories.

So, when Miho was struck with these thoughts and feelings and sensations and inklings and memories and pictures that linked things and thoughts together in her mind, she called it "constellating."

She didn't understand why her thoughts made sense, only that they did.

She didn't understand why they felt like they were hers and someone else's, but they did.

When her eyes focused again, she could see the thoughtful expression on her mother's face.

"Konoha didn't start the war. There was an unprovoked attack at a guard station. Iwagakure killed the team stationed there. That team had members from four main clans."

Miho nodded her head, even as she doubted the unprovoked nature of the attack. In all the history books she'd read, Iwagakure was more underhanded. They never attacked outright. Instead, they destabilized or attacked by-proxy unless a war had already started.

"You can get the second volume tomorrow after school. For now, sit down and eat."

Shifting one leg up into the chair, Miho pulled herself up and settled down on the chair beside her brother. He smiled around half of his sandwich, reaching out to affectionately pat her head. One, two, three pats as usual. A plate of noodles was placed in front of her with a low whistle from her mother. The noodles were coated in a thick sauce. With a quiet exclamation, the girl dug into the meal.

"Chōji, are you and Shikamaru getting together today?"

"Mm. This afternoon." He popped a few chips into his mouth.

Miho could feel the happy energy radiating from him. Nara Shikamaru was seven- their age- and, over the course of the past few months, had become her brother's best friend. Where Chōji went, Shikamaru followed and vice versa. He was a good guy that always had Chōji's best interests at heart, even if he was a bit on the lethargic side. It was convenient, given how their father and Shikamaru's were on a team together.

Slurping up a big wad of noodles, the little girl withered a bit under her mother's scolding stare. Right, don't slurp. Adjusting her elbows on the table, Miho made another go at it, careful not to make noise as she ate. Her mother was a stickler for manners and etiquette.

"We're going cloud watching! Hey, Miho! Do you wanna go with us?"

Smiling, Miho shook her head. Her cheeks were stuffed with noodles. "Training. I'm meeting Lee at Training Ground 10." Her attention flickered up to the clock and she gasped, hacking when some noodles shot to the back of her throat. As she coughed, she threw herself out of the chair and poured the rest of the bowl into her mouth, holding it on her tongue while she finished getting the broth from her throat.

"You're not late. What's the rush?"

Chōji turned to watch her grab her backpack from her basket by the door.

She stopped, swallowing down the rest of her meal. "Lee said I needed to do a hundred pushups before he gets there or I'm gonna have to do a hundred pullups! I hate pullups." Seeming to think again before hurrying out the door, the little girl turned on her heel and ran to her mother, throwing her arms around her thigh. Her mother patted her head with a soft laugh. "We're breaking our records today!"

"You will be on time this evening, Miho. It's—"

"The First Three Clan Meet-Up!" Chōji had been excited about it for weeks.

The Nara and the Yamanaka Head Families were meeting them for dinner at a local barbecue restaurant. Miho knew why.

"You need to be home in time to clean up."

"Yes, Mama!" She swung around the table to peck a kiss to the swirl on her brother's cheek. He hummed happily, grabbing a chip from his plate to pop into his mouth. "Tell Shikamaru that I'll have that book back to him tonight. I promise!"

"That's what you said last week!"

"Promise!"

"He's not gonna buy that!"

Acting as if she didn't hear him, Miho threw herself out of the front door. As quickly as she could manage, she ran down the street and then another two side streets to the training ground. Making her way down the forest path, she grabbed a chocolate bar from the side pocket of her pack. The chocolate was a high calorie intake bar, with 500 calories per bar. This was her third of the day. It was only just after noon.

Her metabolism didn't work like her brother's. That's what Clan Elder Ayumu said, who was the senior clan doctor. At the time, she was five and didn't understand why she was different from Chōji. She was taller and stockier. Chōji had to eat less than she did to maintain his weight. Miho ate more high calorie meals and snacks because her body burned through the intake quicker.

At least, that was what Elder Ayumu said.

"My dear," she had whispered. "You are a force. But you are not the same force as your brother."

Which also meant that she would not inherit the clan techniques.

She couldn't maintain the calories needed for them. They burned off too quickly. Some sort of strange Akimichi anomaly. Basically, Miho realized, she was weird. She was still heavy-set, "big-boned," and thick, and a head taller than others in her class. A head taller than kids in the class ahead of her. She still inherited the clan taijutsu, but…Well, that just meant she had to learn other things.

And learning was Miho's favorite thing to do.

Chōji needed the clan techniques to become the leader of the Akimichi one day. To support him in that, Miho resolved to do whatever she needed to.

Like doing one hundred pushups in the mid-July heat.

The grass under her palms felt an odd mixture of cool and hot and her fingertips itched as she pressed herself down and then back up again. Her arms burned. Her stomach burned, even as it brushed the forest floor with each dip to the earth. Every so often, her fingers would spasm to grip the grass for traction or strength pulled from the roots.

Around the seventy-one count, her limbs shook and quivered before she fell into the grass at seventy-five and didn't rise again. Her head turned to the side and her breath made the blades of grass dance in front of her eyes. There was an ache in her muscles, but it seemed to seep into her bones.

And the longer she lay there, the less she wanted to get back up.

Somewhere in the distance, there was a rumbling thunder. It was miles and miles away, but it echoed off of the mountainside and down into the village. The air was becoming humid, a slick film coating the exposed skin of her face and forearms. The energy was in the air. She could feel it. Her eyes closed Miho remembered that same energy and thunder.

Thunder and rain and a screech and flashing lights and something painful and hard. It hurt, but only for a moment.

But she also remembered flat land as far as the eye could see with tall grass swaying in the breeze. On the horizon, a thunderhead grew and drew closer. With it, a curtain of rain fell over the plain. She'd never seen a plain before. She'd never seen such magnificent storms.

She'd never watched clouds spin and wreck and etch their way across landscapes.

She'd never chased those spinning clouds in a strange metal contraption. The same one that broke and shattered and twisted. She had been chasing then. Chasing one of those cloud towers.

Tornadoes, her mind supplied like instinct.

Little Akimichi Miho remembered bits and pieces of another life.

And it usually didn't scare her. It just was.

But as she lay there, waiting for Lee to arrive and for the rain to fall, she made more constellations.

Her mind supplied things that made little sense, but she knew they were right. Her mind remembered things that weren't her but were hers. Like choruses of songs that would come to her mind like wisps, bouncing around until they found their way out of her mouth. In a language she did not recognize, but that she knew.

Or faces of people she knew mattered and meant something but that she couldn't name. One though, she was sure, was her mother. Somehow, she knew she would never forget her—no matter how many lives she cycled through. A soft, round face and blonde hair and no-nonsense written in her features. Sad, angled eyes.

There were other things though.

Every so often, a twinge of recollection or recognition. Like she knew this place, like she knew Konoha, from another perspective. The images were flat, like comic books. Or they were moving, like cartoons. Miho could never seem to wrap her mind around it.

But she saw things.

People.

And she knew them before she knew them.

"Are you okay?"

Her eyes opened to a pair of sandals. She huffed, turning over onto her back. Lee stood over her, large brows pulled together in concern. He shifted down to one knee to get a closer look. "I'm good. I'm good."

Obviously relieved, he settled down onto his rear, folding his legs. "It is going to storm soon." He reached back to pull his braid over his right shoulder, a nervous mannerism.

"A little storm can't stop us." Miho smiled up at him, settling a hand on his knee. "We've got work to do!"

His large eyes widened before he grinned, raising a fist. "You are right! We have work to do! Let us work hard, Miho!" Rock Lee was already on his feet, holding out a hand to help her upright. "I will do five hundred kicks. You will do two hundred laps. Are you ready? If we do not do this, then I will do six hundred jump ropes and you will do three hundred pullups."

"Let's get it."

Let's get it, kids!

Miho felt a flare of familiarity in the phrase, like she'd said it a million times before in a dream. That Other Life again, that Other Place. Then. Not giving herself the time to think it over— or to acknowledge Lee's momentary confusion with the odd phrase— Miho took off running. She smiled at the distant yell of determination as his counting began.

Hours later, when the sweat was soaking her yukata top and her leggings and she was leaning against the dented tree stump, Miho handed a calorie bar over to her friend.

"We're improving. You completed your task."

"I need to do better."

Pressing her lips together, Miho nodded. "Yeah, me too. We'll get there." A calm moment passed with just the rustle of the leaves and the still-distant cracks of thunder. The storm was closer now, but not yet arrived. "Don't listen to them, Lee."

He didn't say anything, but she saw his hands grip together until his knuckles went white.

Lee was in the class ahead of her and he suffered daily from the taunts of the other students in his year. It was a constant barrage of meanness. The kind that only children could deliver. Miho knew first-hand how cruel other kids could be, how unnecessarily mean and uncaring. It'd only become occasional for Miho after the Morimoto Yumi debacle. No one wanted to face down a giant with a mean right hook. But Lee faced it every day. Like Chōji.

"You're gonna be stronger than all of them, Lee. Just keep working on it." Pushing herself up, Miho brushed down the damp front of her yukata before holding out a hand. Lee stared up at her with barely concealed adoration, taking her hand to allow her to haul him up. "Wait for it, Lee."

Wait for it. Wait for it. Wait for it. Wait for it.

Clapping his shoulder with a grin, she grabbed her backpack

"You are the same, Miho. Do not give up on your dreams either. Together, we will prove them all wrong. I just know it."

Miho agreed and bid him a good night, heading toward her home a few blocks away.

Dreams were something Miho grappled with, wrestling down the instincts to chase them with abandon. But her dreams and the dreams that were expected of her weren't the same. She wanted to stay a civilian, work in a trade, and die old. She wanted to do anything but fight. Anything but destroy. Her Clan needed her to be a second to Chōji, a strong kunoichi in her own right, able to support him when he took up the role.

"There's my pumpkin blossom!" She felt a set of huge arms wrap around her middle, tossing her up into the air before settling her on his shoulders. She could recognize her father's deep bass voice anywhere. She set her hands on his red hair, angling forward to smile at the side of his face. "Were you off training today?"

"Hi, Papa! I did two hundred laps around the training field today!"

"Good! You're improving. I expect Lee will be upping that count next time?" Miho hummed in agreement and Chōza laughed. His laugh was a warm one that always seemed to make her feel as if she'd won some sort of prize. "Another storm is coming in this evening. Are you excited for it?"

Miho didn't answer, leaning forward to examine the new scar on his left cheek. She didn't feel like talking about storms today. "Papa, did you get hurt on your mission?"

Chōza adjusted his hold on her legs, an obvious tell of his discomfort. Miho brushed a finger over the scar, brows drawn together in concern. "A stray kunai. It was hardly a close call." Still skeptical, the little girl crossed her arms. He huffed in amusement, jostling her just a bit. "If it makes you feel any better, Miho, the other guy looks worse."

"Of course he does."

Her father boomed a great laugh as they entered the clan compound gates. She waved happily to the guard on rotation. Her cousin, Chihiro, waved back with a smile. The woman used to babysit her when she was littler. When they passed under the great elm tree on the path toward home, Miho decided to just voice her thoughts. After all, they'd been bouncing around in her head for days.

"Do I really need to go to the dinner tonight, Papa? I won't be part of the formation."

Miho couldn't tell if it was her tone or her words that made her father falter. She felt his arms come up settle his hands on her sides. He hefted her up as if she were nothing and set her upon the ground, lowering himself to one knee in front of her. His large hands settled like training weights on her shoulders. Oh, she realized. This is serious. She must have mis-spoke.

"Sorry, father, I—"

"You do not need to apologize, Miho." His dark eyes focused on hers, making it difficult to look anywhere else. "I know you may feel left out tonight. The bond between the Nara, Yamanaka, and Akimichi Clan Heirs must be strong. Tonight is just a step toward forging that bond. You must remember that you are important. You are no less important than Chōji or Shikamaru or Ino. You are the honored daughter of the Akimichi Clan." His grip grew stronger. Miho could feel the question in the action and she nodded. "If anything, those three may envy you. You will have more freedom with your team and future than they will."

She couldn't help but laugh a bit. "Poor Ino."

"Speaking of Ino," her father rose to his feet again. He held out his hand for her to hold as they made their way toward the house. "Try to get along with her. She's…"

"Intense?"

"We'll use that. Yes. She's intense."

Miho waved that thought away like she was batting away a fruit fly. "Ino's never bothered me too much. Most of the time, I think she means well. She just doesn't realize she words things in bad ways."

"That's very giving of you."

"Ino doesn't have a mean heart. Not like some other kids."

He stood, holding out his hand for her to hold. She grasped on and trailed beside him. "Yes, like Morimoto Yumi?"

She pressed her forehead into his arm, trying to hide the heat in her face and the smile that pulled at her lips. For his part, her father pretended not to notice. "She had it coming." His arm bounced slightly, in a way that told her he was chuckling. She jerked her head up. "You're laughing! But you grounded me for that! Why're you laughing?" His amusement built into another great laugh and Miho couldn't help but to smile up at him. "Papa—"

"You just reminded me of a friend who also punched someone out at the Academy. He was around the same age, too."

His chuckles died down. Miho watched as his expression became wistful, lost to memories. She recognized it as the one he wore when he talked about comrades that had died.

"There was a kid— and I can't remember his name—that was bullying someone. Pushed her down. Out of nowhere, Keisuke appeared and punched the kid so hard he lost a tooth. Planted himself like a wall in front of the girl that was being bullied."

Whenever her father had that kind of tone and expression, Miho didn't ask questions.

It wasn't that she didn't want to know more. She always wanted to know more.

But she also knew that questions would hurt.

"I still got grounded."

Her father blinked out of his reverie and looked down at her, smiling. That smile was full of both amusement and sadness. "You can't punch your future comrades. No matter how mad they make you."

Miho wondered if the loophole in that statement was purposeful or if he didn't realize that specifying "punching" opened up a lot of opportunities other than "punching." Rather than pointing this out, she just nodded and followed her father inside.

By the time they were in the restaurant, it was storming outside. The clouds raced overhead, painted red and orange by the lights of the village. The streets were quickly becoming muddied lanes of ochre, trails of water following cart paths. Every so often, thunder would shake the entire village. Once or twice, that thunder rattled the chopsticks. Miho's attention trailed to windows, watching as water beat against the glass. Occasionally, a gust of wind dragged a wave and then another wave when the sound grew louder and receded again.

"— in the Academy, Miho?"

Miho snapped her head around and stared blankly at Nara Yoshino. Her lips quirked up in amusement at the obviously unfocused little girl. Repentant, the girl bowed her head a bit. "Sorry, Mrs. Nara. I was watching…" She gestured toward the river of water running down the glass.

"How are you doing in the Academy? You father said you're quite the hand-to-hand combat type."

Perking up at the question, Miho glanced to where the rest of the adults were talking and where Shikamaru and Chōji were quietly eating, trading occasional glances while Ino chattered about the general Academy gossip. When she looked to Mrs. Nara again, she noticed the patient pity in her eyes. "I love the Academy. I wish they'd teach us hand-to-hand weapons besides kunai, but I like my teachers and…most of the other kids."

"'Most of the other kids,' huh?" The woman grinned, leaning down conspiratorially. "We heard you laid out an older kid." Miho's eyes widened, glancing to Shikamaru in shock. Mrs. Nara laughed. "Oh, no. My Shikamaru's too lazy to tell that story. Your Papa was crowing your praises for it." As if sharing a secret, the woman leaned even closer and cupped her hand. Miho knew such an action was for show because every ninja at the table would be able to hear her. "Don't let them fool you. They're happy you stood up to that little harpy."

Cutting her attention toward her parents, Miho smiled and leaned forward as well, cupping her hand in the same manner. Mrs. Nara grinned, obviously enjoying the play. "Papa said I can't punch future comrades anymore. But that doesn't mean I can't kick them."

Mrs. Nara threw her head back and laughed, raising a hand to ruffle Miho's wild mane of curls. "Big girl like you can handle them."

Despite how often those words, "big girl," were used to demean her, Miho sat a bit straighter and preened. She was the biggest person in their class, even bigger than some kids older than her. Sometimes, that was an advantage. Even if it did get used as a weapon against her from time-to-time. Miho knew- being a big girl sometimes made her powerful.

"Yes, ma'am."

The Nara matriarch turned to the other kids, levelling a distinctly disapproving eye at her son, before she settled in to listen to Yamanaka Inoichi's story about some mission in Kusa. Miho saw Shikamaru mutter something to Chōji while her brother grabbed some picked cucumbers from a nearby plate.

"Yumi's nose will never be straight again."

Ino's voice held a distinctly disapproving tone and Miho turned to face her fully. The girl's pupil-less blue eyes stared at her over the plates of meat and veggies. She could feel Chōji's attention whipping back and forth, from one side of the table to the other. Outside, a peal of thunder rattled the street and the window behind her vibrated with the sound.

Her eyes unfocused for a moment.

In her mind, as if in a daydream, she could see Ino older and more mature. It was one of those two-dimensional images. Like a pictograph. Ino. Shikamaru. Chōji. On a battlefield. During a war.

A war.

Miho let out a shaky breath as her eyes focused again. Ino stared back at her, brows drawn together. Fear rippled through her skin, settling in her stomach and collecting energy there until the young Akimichi felt like she might throw up with the force of it. She couldn't focus on Ino any longer, the same images flashing in her mind.

Actual flashes. Like explosions. The screen goes white and there's nothing left.

Hands quivering, she grasped the edge of her skirt and kept clenching until her fingers hurt.

Flash.

"You're alright. I've wanted to knock Yumi down a few pegs before and—"

BOOM.

The loudest thunder of the evening rocked the entire building and every person in the space flinched. Some of the more hardened shinobi even reacted, settling their hands on their hips. Ino yelped while Chōji grasped onto Shikamaru. Someone laughed while another several cursed. Miho felt as if that thunderclap had split the world in two, or three.

Tearing metal and racing winds and I can't move.

I can still hear you sayin'

A war, an explosion— flat, but there. And real.

The real world, where the thunder bounced into the distance as another lightning strike chased it away.

It felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her and she recoiled, throwing her hands over her head. A cacophony of sounds and images flooded and she raced to catch her breathing up because it felt like she wasn't getting enough air.

There she couldn't get enough air.

Never break the chain.

Because there was something pushed through her lungs. And it hurt.

"Miho?"

Ino, Chōji, and Shikamaru on a battlefield. Ino was crying. Shikamaru was crying. A distant clap of thunder.

Trying to pull in enough air, Miho frantically looked toward her father who sat to her right. She could feel Chōji's hand somewhere on her arm, but— When she saw her father's face, his lips were moving, but she couldn't hear him. She couldn't hear him.

Because the sound was just too loud.

"I can't— Papa! I can't!"

Distantly, she could see people moving behind her father, but her eyes remained on him, trained on him. He would know what to do. He would be able to make it stop. There was a dull ache in her side, but she didn't know why.

Maybe it was because she couldn't breathe.

Never break the chain.

Maybe it was because that's where the metal struck.

Never break the chain.

But the explosion. In the distance, on the horizon.

The war.

Everything went white.

Miho felt herself stumble a bit and sank down to her knees, but she didn't remember standing. It was everything, all of it. An onslaught. The crash and the war and—So much. Her breathing calmed and settled as she tried to regain control.

Wasn't she at a restaurant? Where— Her eyes trailed around the white world.

In all that sea of white, there was only one pop of color. Yellow, blue, and an orange sundress. Yamanaka Ino stared back at her, arms crossed and eyes frightened. Her shoulder heaved with the effort to breathe. Terror seemed to alight around her. Miho shook.

"What was all that?"

Just like that, Ino disappeared and everything went dark.