Chapter 1:

Finder77: As you can see, I've done a bit of revision for this story. I wanted to make it a reading experience worthy of the lovely reviews, faves, and alerts I've been getting. Here's the prologue. I don't own Naruto.

A young woman stepped carefully through a gap in the fence of Cannonball Park. The fence was a protection of sorts, designed to keep people out. Cannonball Park had become dangerous lately, especially at night, with several disappearances and occasionally reports of murder. The woman knew that walking through the area at night was risky, but she wanted to get home quickly. The park was the only shortcut she knew and it would save her about a mile of walking. She figured she'd be fine. She walked through the park often, since she usually worked late into the evening. Nothing had happened to her all those times. Why would something bad happen tonight?

Her pace was quick; she wanted to get home as soon as possible. Her breath came out in clouds of vapor. The night was cold, colder than it had been all season. She wished she had remembered to grab a sweater before leaving home. When she got back to her apartment she decided she would make some hot chocolate. Yes, definitely. That would be quite cozy compared to the winter cold's biting wind that chapped her lips and blew her dark hair into her eyes. Perhaps she would even settle down on her couch and read a book. The dark haired woman would've preferred to sit by a fire while reading but her apartment didn't offer that luxury.

The young woman could practically feel her fingers turning blue. Maybe it wasn't that cold and her mind was exaggerating a bit, but really, tonight of all nights she would've given a week's pay for a pair of mittens and a jacket. This morning it had seemed like it was going to be a beautiful day. The local newsman had said sunny, near fifties. It felt more like twenties now that the sun had gone down.

The dark-haired woman walked through a section of the park where many discarded artifacts lay about. It seemed like a series of ancient ruins. She stepped past a dilapidated swing set, a commemorating statue of townspeople who'd lost their lives in wars, a toppled-over trash barrel, and a few dilapidated benches. It was as she rushed past these benches that a hooded old man called to her from the darkness.

He sat on a wooden park bench, his figure hunched over as if in pain, his hands clutching a wooden cane. The wind whipped his cloak about even though he sat. "Princess, come here for a second!" he pleaded through the noise of the wind.

The young woman knew it was bad to talk to strangers. Who didn't know that? It was one of those main rules parents tell you before your fifth birthday, one of those much-needed guidelines by which to live your life. She knew it was wrong to stop in Cannonball Park for anything, especially at this time of night, but the old man's voice stressed an urgency that made her think he needed help, perhaps even medical attention. She knew the likelihood of anyone else walking through this area at this time of night was slim to none. If he was sick, she was his only hope. She couldn't just walk by uncaring. She had to stop.

The young woman approached him cautiously. In the dim light of the moon she noticed his cane was covered with unusual carvings. "Your cane is beautiful," she said, suddenly distracted from the old man's situation. "Where did you get it?"

"Oh, this old thing?" he muttered with a wheeze. He shook his head. "You can't get one of these here."

"Oh," she said, wondering why the old man didn't bother to tell her where he had gotten it. "What did you call me for?"

"Depends," he said, "Are you sure you want to know where this cane came from?"

The man was beginning to sound weird. His voice was almost garbled, as if heard through a barrier. And why was he drawing out the situation so long? What did he want? The young woman was starting to feel uncomfortable. Part of her wanted to run away from the creepy old man. She wanted to race home as fast as she could, but her feet weren't moving because she really did want to know where such a beautiful cane was made. "Yes, okay," she said. "I want to know where it's from."

The man stood up quickly, quicker than any old man should move. The woman jumped back with a small shriek in surprise. He was at least seven feet tall. She commanded herself to move as he took a step towards her, but her feet were frozen to the ground. He laughed. "You will know, soon enough!" he bellowed. His voice rose and echoed among the trees. Out of the corner of her eye, the woman saw some birds fly out of the surrounding trees from the sound. The old man took another step towards her. He pulled off his hood, revealing that he was nothing but a skeleton. The woman opened her mouth to scream but all that came out was a terrified gasp. In one swift movement, the thing she thought was an old man tapped the end of his cane into her forehead. She felt blood drip down her face and realized that even if she screamed, no one would hear her. No one went to Cannonball Park. The man laughed and the carvings on the cane started to glow bright red. The young woman finally managed to scream but it was drowned out in a brilliant flash of light that bleached out everything, even the stars. Then everything was dark.

Finder77: Review please!