A/N: PLEASE READ THIS NOTE, WOULD YOU KINDLY?

EDIT: Trolls all over the place, and hardly any reviews it seems. I've had to delete at least THIRTY anonymous reviews telling me to die so far. That's a spirit breaker...T_T

You know, I'm REALLY considering moving to another site; because these glitches are driving me mad! Because. I. Posted. This. A! Month! Ago! So why the hell did it vanish into the ether?! It has to be a glitch. Maybe because my computer crashed?. Granted, I thought it odd at the time, but with so much to do, it simply slipped my mind; I had papers to write, things to grade, and entrusted things to my team while I did my work.

I came back to find that through some glitch or something, this was never published. BUT I REMEMBER PUBLISHING IT! What is this, the twilight zone or something?!

Now I think I've done a damn good job of holding myself back from spamming new stories like I used to in the olden days. In the last month alone I've discarded more than FIFTY different ideas into the plot bin. Halo, Blazeblue, Fruits Basket, Fairy Tail, Harley Quinn, Transformers and One Piece, to name a few. They never made it onto this site and I restrained myself from writing them in favor of focusing on what I already have out there.

"Lies Are Entertainment" and this story were to be the only two to slip through. So lets try this again.

As ever, thanks to my good friend for the opening bit regarding the sealing and what-not.

You're the absolute best, mate! You know who you are! Now, onward~!

"Strength is all there is, boy. Strength is everything."

"Nope. Who says the weak can't become strong? Who says kindness ain't a strength?"

~?

Take Flight

At long last, the sealing had been completed.

Minato gazed down at his son, his child, fighting to keep the smile on his face as blood seeped out of the corners of his mouth. His wife Kushina was in front of him, as they both had been pierced in the stomach protecting their son from one of the Kyuubi's claws. His wife had been shedding tears for their progeny, his name stitched ever-so-lovingly into the blankets covering him.

They could not however, stifle his cries.

Try as he might, Minato couldn't help but feel guilty at what he had done to his baby boy. He knew some people may dislike him, but he believed they would see him as the little hero he was. He had to. He must. To think otherwise was to die with regret and that was something he dare not do.

In a way, this killed two birds with one stone by turning his son into a Jinchuuriki; he protected his village with one hand and with the other gave his son a power to fight against the masked man that had wrought this horrible fate.

Then, something strange occurred.

His son was surrounded by a strange light and disappeared. Just like that. There was no warning, no explanation for this sudden phenomenon. His son, and the blankets swaddling him on the altar, were suddenly gone in a burst of golden energy, leaving naught but empty air behind.

Shock filled both parents' faces as they cried out for him, yet their bodies fell lifeless and listless before they could act; for their souls had gone to the shinigami.

Their last breath was their son's name:

"Naruto."


(.0.0.0.)


The Kyuubi yowled at its new confines and slammed against its cage in anger. It too realized that something was wrong, and with every fiber of its being it fought to escape the strange fate befalling it. Jaws snapped at the bars of its cage, claws clanking harshly upon its prison.

It suddenly felt its power being drained, just as its Yin half had been.

"NO!" it roared as its chakra was ripped from it, its body becoming little more than a shriveled version of itself. Upon the bitter lock of its cage, a piece of paper with the kanji for seal on it vanished, only to be replaced by a spiral lock replaced that closed around it winding tightly shut.

The large mass of chakra flew through the tiny boy's body and lit it a shining golden white.


(.0.0.0.)


Silas Branwen was not a good man.

Nor could he be called an evil man at that.

He simply...was. Light and dark held no meaning for him.

As leader of the Branwen Tribe, he was expected to show strength in nearly all things; strength of mind, strength of body, and of course, strength at arms. He'd fought his way to the top and killed the last chieftain many moons ago, and he had no doubt that someday he too would face the same fate. One day in the far flung future he would die choking on his own blood as the next chieftain stepped over his corpse and claimed his title. It was the fate of everyone who dared to rule the Tribe. Eventually, someone stronger would come along, and when they did...well.

Silas didn't begrudge his future killer. On the contrary, he'd long since resolved to welcome them with open arms. This was the way of the world. The strong thrived. The weak perished. Some called it cruel. Perhaps it was and perhaps it wasn't. He didn't know. This was the way his father had taught him, and his father before him, and their father before them.

In the tribe, strength meant everything. Only the strongest led and only the strongest prevailed.

Strength got you first pick of the loot after a good raid. Strength brought you wine and partners aplenty. Strength gave you the richest of foods in spring and the warmest blankets come winter. Strength built your legend brick by bloody brick until your reputation was so fearsome that everyone whispered your name. It was strength -and his own cunning!- that allowed him to survive as long as he had. There were always be challengers of course, and there always would be, ever those seeking to usurp his position. Some of them might even be his own spawn, someday. Not a bad way to go, that.

But that was the future.

The present called to Silas now, as surely as the strange sight before him.

A weathered hand ran through dark-hair-gone-nearly-silver as he squinted through the smoke.

Blood red eyes flashed in the waning moonlight, narrow and intent as they squinted down at the small bundle before him.

"Where did you come from?"

A quiet gurgle greeted him, sad and mewling.

Silas sighed. Talking to an infant. If only his men could see him now.

No one had expected a babe to fall out of the sky in the dead of night and crash into their camp; least of all the explosion that followed his arrival. Three of his men had died in the blast. Three grown warriors, their bones now burned so badly that he barely recognized their bodies in the ashes. It beggared belief. A child falls from the sky and lays waste to all before him. That was how some of the old stories started. Long yarns that nattering hens liked to tell their children around a roaring fire in blackest night. Fairy tales.

And yet here he was. Only a few days old, and already a killer. Even if he didn't know it yet.

This mewling newborn lay on the ground before Silas, wrapped in swaddling cloth. All around him the earth was pitted and scorched, yet there wasn't so much as a hair out of place on his head. No. It wasn't natural. Some might call it witchcraft or magic, or even a dust explosion.

Stooping down, the chieftain frowned at the child. The child frowned back, squinting at him with tiny blue eyes. He didn't cry. Didn't make a sound.

"You're not dead, are you?" Silas muttered, prodding his cheek. "C'mon, now."

Mistakes were made.

With that simple poke the infant's thin veneer of calm shattered like so much glass. He started wailing.

Silas jerked back with a hiss. "Stop that!"

Incredibly, the boy complied. Well! He didn't think that would work.

This was foolishness, he told himself. He shouldn't even be considering it in the first place. His woman had given birth only a moon ago. Twins. He hadn't gotten around to naming them yet, and they didn't need another mouth to feed. By all rights he should ignore this boy. Barring that, give him away. Whatever he was, wherever he had come from, whoever his parents had been, he had nothing of value to offer the Tribe. If they took him in, he promised only to be a drain on their resources until he came of age. Assuming he lived that long at all. He was weak. Miracles aside, there was nothing to be gained by keeping him.

And yet.

Something in his cold, black heart stirred.

It wouldn't let him leave the boy alone. Perhaps that was a good thing.

Silas was strong now, but he'd been weak, once upon a time. Every scrap of strength he now held had come at great cost to him. In his youth he'd been a frail child like this one. Weak. Useless. Back then he could barely lift a sword. Silas the Small, his tormentors had called him. Silas the Frail. Silas the Craven.

Then he'd hit his growth spurt and left them spitting teeth.

With it came a new host of titles. No longer was he Silas the Small. Now he was Silas the Savage. Silas the Clever. Silas the Red. He'd come from nothing and become something. Someone. These days, every huntsman in Mistral knew his name. Only the foolish or the Grimm dared face him in battle anymore, and these days those were few and far between. No one remembered the weakling he'd once been. Of course they didn't. He'd killed everyone who dared speak ill of him. He became strong through no merit but his own.

Who was to say this boy couldn't do the same? Who was he to deny him a chance to prove himself someday? If this lad had a Semblance like that -oh, how little he knew!- then surely he'd go far.

Idly, he noticed something stitched into the cloth wrapping him. Syllables. Words.

"Naruto, eh?" he rumbled, reading them. "Strange name. Saves me the trouble of giving you one. I suppose."

Silas didn't question it. He simply acted. Rough arms curled around the babe, plucked it off the ground and cradled it against his chest, he inspected the tiny creature with a keen eye. Small and pink. Not much to look at, he supposed. That could change, in time. Silas Branwen wasn't a good man. That much was true. But he wasn't a monster, either. There were lines he wouldn't cross, depths he'd never delve. This was one of them. He told himself he wasn't doing this for him. Perhaps his children would be challenged by this whelp someday. Perhaps it would give them reason to excel.

Without warning, the babe bit him. Well, he tried. It didn't hurt, but Silas recoiled in surprise nonetheless, startled by it.

"Would you look at that!" he laughed. "Seems you've got some spirit after all. Suppose we'll keep you."

He had no way of knowing that this boy was from another world.

Would it have mattered if he did? Who could say?

And the future took flight.

A/N: Little!Raven and Little!Qrow incoming! You are not prepared!

First off! This is the original Naruto, if those last few lines didn't give it away.

Second! Yes, Silas is the father of Raven and Qrow. We never really see their parents, so I had to improvise.

Hopefully this story will in intrigue people, in that it delves into some very different ideas. Naruto raised among the Branwen Tribe for one...before being sent off to Beacon with them and all the chaos that followers. I have plans in mind, -the draft and outline are already written- and you might be surprised where this story takes us.

Nevermind the whole Raven situation. It makes sense that their relationship would be somewhat...antagonistic at first, until someone knocks Raven down a peg. Or two. Or three.

But even cast out to another word, Naruto is still Naruto, and we all know how he is, don't we?

So In the Immortal Words of Atlas...Review Would You Kindly?

And enjoy the preview!

SPOILER! SPOILER! SPOILER!

PLOT DETAILS AHOY!

YE BE WARNED!

(PREVIEW)

"Well done. You WILL be strong. I'll see to that." Silas smiled, and this time there was pride in his smile. It reminded Naruto of a shark. "Now...dodge."

"Gack!"


"C'mon, Raven. Leave him be."

"No. If he won't fight, what good is he to us? He's weak."

Raven laughed at him. She thought the boy weak. Powerless. Only the truly defenseless refused to fight.

"Coward." she spat. "You don't even have a family. Not really."

"TAKE THAT BACK!"

It was the wrong thing to say and she failed to realize her mistake until those kind blue eyes blazed red. That was her only warning before the boy surged upward and slammed his forehead into her chin. In hindsight, it was a good headbutt; one that smashed through her Aura, turned her world white with stars and nearly knocked her out on the spot For all her bluster and bravado, Raven Branwen was only seven years old little girl. That headbutt knocked her right to the ground. She bounced once eyes wide before she skidded to a halt. Angry tears welled up in her wide red eyes.

The boy -Naruto, she recalled- glowered down at her. "Weak, huh? This weakling just knocked you on your ass."

Qrow fell to the ground a moment later, but for a different reason; he was all but howling with laughter. "Ha! He got you there!"

Raven sniffled, angry tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm telling!"


"The tribe needs to be better than this. We shouldn't hurt people. Its not right, you know?"


"The three of you will go to Beacon. Learn the Hunter's tricks and return to us."

R&R~!