Chapter 1 Start
He breathes deep.
Briny air saturated by the scent of the sea seeps through his pores and the thin hairs in his nostrils.
It is a tainted wind. Something lingers on the fickle zephyrs.
He has seen many things in his great many years. He has watched youths grow and become men. He watched as they became fathers, fishermen, architects, farmers, jailers, educators, many important and many unimportant. Remarkable and unremarkable. There is a pervading passion in all those who reside here, irrespective of their trade, but in a rare few, it is like a churning storm.
Particularly in their warriors.
The crooning and cawing of various birds of the sea reach his ears. More distantly, the echo of tumultuous waves fighting against strong, maroon stone, the foundations of their piers and docks and village. The ever-present sound is indicative of the volume of life, as is the abundance of the wellspring of power that resides in every soul.
Some souls have great energy that can be felt even when one tries to ignore it.
He hobbles past stalls and homes. The young of his kind bow deeply in respect, address him courteously and move out of his way. Though he wishes some would speak with him without his own prompting, he allows them their peace without having the ramblings of an old man eat time from their day. The young do not understand how much or how little time they have. Patience is a virtue that cannot be taught, only learned through ones own discipline.
Children giggle and run through the streets, carelessly dashing through puddles and muddying their feet. The ire of perfervid mothers would come down upon them, but the innocence and joy of youth will whittle them down. A parent cannot stay mad at their own child forever, least of all for enjoying the bounty of life. The children learn as they play. What is too rough, how to interact, who their best friend is. Games and idle talks that help them grow into people over little demons.
He continues his languid walk as he reaches a wall that denotes the separation of the village from the remainder of the land. The sagging skin on the back of his hand no-longer bothers him, tracing his fingers along the swirling decoration of the maroon battlements.
The swirls come to life at his touch, even glowing and fading in response to his presence. He was there when these walls were founded. They have yet to age or crumble, the unyielding stone strengthened by the people it protects has been unassailable for a century.
He thinks he's getting old. The sunlight feels harsher on his skin that in previous years. But, he knows shade awaits him where he's going.
Buildings and infrastructure become sparse closer to the North Gate. He spies two men, tall and proud and ever-vigilant, naked metal glaives in-hand and reaching upward as though they were standards of war, a fair suggestion to anyone to regard them carefully before acting out of foolishness.
It is obvious that they have felt his approach. He is not difficult to sense by any stretch of the imagination.
"Ashina-sama."
They both greet him with heartfelt regard and respect, though Ashina feels that he owes them his respect for their patience and vigilance.
"My brothers-in-arms." Ashina places his gnarled hand over his heart, a tradition of their people, to signify that the person they are speaking to is held closely to the soul of the greeter.
They do the same and bow, although not too deep, but allowing him to touch each of their shoulders in affection before leaving them to their duties. He wonders with some weariness, if it is through respect of him and his character or his power that they show their respect to. There are dissenters who disagree with the way he maintains his sacred village. Those who believe that their family should push ever-forward, to conquer what lies beyond these walls.
But it is in that simple conundrum that their strength is drawn out. One family against the world. They have no choice but to be strong, else they be crushed under the ambitions of greed. For always, if there are foes outside, then they do not turn their gaze to creating foes on the inside.
All souls have greed and desire. If not for an enemy, that passion would only be turned against each other.
So, he maintains the status-quo. The village stays small. The people have a reason to grow strong in mind and body, not in envy of each other but for survival.
But alas, he ages. Even he, who stands tall at one-hundred-and-thirty-three-years, older than the walls of his home, cannot hold his head high forever. The crushing aches and pains that plague him every waking moment are catching up fast, and still, he has no successor to take up the mantle and protect the people as he does, or once did.
There are few that he would trust to replace him when he is gone. And one of those few refuses to do so.
And in his meagre last attempt to convince this potential leader, he continues his slow-walk through the bright-white beach sands on their northern front.
It starts with a sound. The natural, gentle course of the waves against the sands is an ever-comforting tone. A song that sings to their people. The calm before the storm.
But then comes the clumsy crashing, the light splooshing and slaps of hasty motion, and a childish yelp of frustration.
"Again." A distinct and husky feminine voice orders with levity.
"I'm not good at this like you are!" The child bemoans loudly.
"That's an interesting excuse." The woman gives the subtlest 'you just suck' to the child, and the tone still light. "I very much doubt someone with a sword will see it your way. 'What's that? You're not good at Chakra Control? Oh, very well, I shall desist immediately'."
Ashina smiles at the childs' giggle.
He grips the timber handrail and steadies himself down its creaky steps toward the beach. Overgrown shrubbery graze his shoulders on his path. Each step is cautious, he doesn't have the fortitude any longer to spend his remaining lifeforce falling down some stairs.
"I don' get it, Kaa-chan." The boy plops down in the sand, his drenched shorts and legs picking up every grain of sand they could. The child brushes some of it off his calves and leans back into his hands. "I'm trying, but I can't do it!"
His bright blue eyes look up his mother through soggy strands of spiky and vibrant red hair.
"I know that you are trying," The dainty and elegant woman sits beside her son, hooking her arms around his shoulders and pulling him close, despite how wet he is. Her own hair is impossibly straight and equally bright, standing out against a gloomy grey officers flak-jacket.
The clarity of the conversation becomes clearer as he approaches.
"And I want you to know that I appreciate how hard you try, despite how frustrated you feel."
Her child looks down at his sand-crusted feet.
"But it feels like I'm wasting your time. I still can't control it."
"You think little of yourself because you are failing. I was the same when I was your age. We have the very same problem, as a matter of fact. You fight yourself more than you fight what challenges you."
The woman stands, her hair carried by the soft sea breeze. She hefts the boy onto his feet.
"Do you want to know how I gave you your name?" She asks, a seemingly random and unrelated question.
"...Yeah." He answers uncertainly.
Ashina manages to make it all the way down the steps, leaning against the wooden railing with his feet sunken into the sand. He observes fondly, as the woman affectionately interacts with her child.
She looks out upon the calm sea.
"When I was a little girl, I tried everything that I could to master being a Shinobi. Like you, I was very studious, I could beat-up the boys, I was very good at Fuinjutsu. But the one thing I couldn't do was use my Chakra for Ninjutsu. I tried pulling it out, I tried wrangling it into submission, I could do nothing but be swept away by my own power. That is a curse we share, the power within us is too strong to simply tame."
Her hands rise, and she makes smooth and gentle motions back-and-forth.
The sea reacts. A gentle ebb and flow stirs.
"My father was disappointed that I could not be the satisfactory Shinobi he wanted me to be. But... I realized something very special about myself. That my curse was not something separate from me. My curse is me. When I let go of the shackles of expectation, I could look inward and ask myself, 'who am I?'"
Clear water darkens and the gentle flow becomes and dangerous rip.
"I and the power within me are one and the same. I wasted so many years trying to control it when it was begging me to accept it. It didn't need to be controlled, it wanted freedom. It was a vicious and angry current, roaring through my body. The only way to use it is to accept it for what it is. A Maelstrom of tremendous power."
A brief, violent geyser erupts in the water, tunneling back down into a whirlpool of unimaginable speed.
"You are not swept away by the Maelstrom. You cannot control the Maelstrom. You... ARE the Maelstrom!"
Ashina can barely hear her anymore over the barrelling rapids. He merely watches in awe of her mastery.
Even as the sea calms down once more, he still feels the power left in her wake.
"You must learn to accept yourself. Do things your own way, not what is expected or simply reasonable of you. Surprise yourself, and become the Maelstrom within. Become... my little Naruto, who I love with all my heart."
She leans down and pecks his forehead.
"I believe in you, and you could never disappoint me."
Naruto hugs her tightly.
"You're pretty cool, Kaa-chan." He mumbles into her jacket.
"I think she's 'pretty cool' too, young Naruto."
Ashina speaks-up, catching the attention of the mother-and-son.
"Motherhood suits you, Manami." Ashina smiles through his fading goatee.
"I'm not becoming Clan-leader. Forget about it." She replies without a shred of hesitation.
"Have I been so overbearing, dear girl?"
The great orange sun begins to set over Uzushio.
Manami had sent her boy home to rest before escorting him back to his dreaded office.
"Something terrible has happened, Manami." Ashina slouches back into his padded wooden chair. His fingers idly trace the ornate swirls on its arms. "Our sister village is suffering. Kushina's hold over the Kyuubi is no more. She is dead."
"I see," Manami responds evenly. "So Konoha will be exhausting Uzushio's aid once more?"
"Speaking ill of our suffering sister is an unnecessary cruelty, Manami." Ashina scolds.
"I do not speak with ill-intent, I observe the sum of this supposed relationship between Uzushio and Konoha. They leach from us, with a weak indemnity of 'might' and 'maybe' should Uzushio herself befall its own suffering. Two Jinchuuriki, archives of Fuinjutsu knowledge and a permission to use our crest as though it were mere decoration. I would like clarity, for I do not see how, exactly, Uzushio has historically benefitted in any way, shape or form, from this supposed sisterhood."
"As a matter of fact-" Manami continues with little inflection. "-From my own perspective of-course, it appears that the only true benefit of this relationship is one of deterrence. Konohagakure has produced many fine and powerful Shinobi. To ignore this would be most unwise, for it provides the second-greatest security to Uzushiogakure. Should even this humble abode befall the terror of war, that Konohagakure's strength would be as a wind at our backs."
Ashina nods. "Then you must understand their precarious position. The shoe is on the other foot."
"I do," Manami smiles. "I simply implore you to see the threats ready at our own gates. Konoha is weak, for however brief a moment in history it may be. We are but a small village. Armament would be a wise decision, should the walls come crashing down in the wake of Konoha's sleep."
"And it is for that, dear girl, the reason I require your help. Time is of the essence."
Tapping on the door halts Manami's imminent interrogation.
"Enter." Ashina beckons with posturing leadership.
The door makes nary a creak as a single man slinks in.
His amber-eyes smolder in the setting sunlight, sharp and dignified. Tidy-ish spikes of red hair sit over his headband, and a perpetual half-scowl rakes from his eyes down to his sharp jaw.
It is not difficult to see where the little Maelstrom gets his looks.
"Shuji."
"Husband."
There is a stifling and stiff air between husband and wife.
"What have you found?" Ashina cuts through it.
"It is as you predicted." Shuji's voice is deep but slow, and there is an intensity to his gaze. "Iwagakure and Kumogakure prepare. For whom, I know not. Iwa troops wade through the green planes of Kusagakure. Kumogakure marches through Yu no Kuni, and they do not touch but a hair on its citizens. They move with purpose."
"Perhaps then, you will understand the risk in providing aid to Konoha without further knowledge on motive?" Manami counsels gently.
"The motive is clear." Shuji drawls. "Detractors and the disillusioned have alluded that the Nations are not allied, but strike from greed. They desire to upset the geopolitical balance by obtaining that which Konoha holds most dear. Its power."
"And how reliable is this intelligence? Hearsay and rumour are not guides to an effective defense." Manami criticizes coolly.
"Power vacuums are always left in the wake of wars, and a desire for excess topples the foundations of virtuous intent. Some fight for patriotism, others for power. Some foolishly believe they fight for what is right, and others..."
Shuji exhumes a scroll from his pouch and releases its contents upon the already cluttered desk.
"...Strike from shadows to claim what they believe is theirs, by conquest or by divine right."
Papers and scrolls rife with plans of battle and subterfuge against Konohagakure litter the desk.
'Hyuuga Assimilation, Uzumaki Assimilation, Bijuu Armament Acquirement, Forbidden Ninjutsu Acquirement.' The scrolls paint a greedy picture.
"Those who hold themselves in great esteem wish to take the moral high-ground, by publicizing the evil and capitalizing on the reaction of the court of public opinion to seize leadership and status within their respective villages. These are not hearsay, these are the plans in motion as we speak."
"Kumogakure and Iwagakure are comrades-in-arms." Manami scrutinizes intensely. "This is beyond 'too good to be true'."
"And yet, innaction will not yield results either." Ashina sighs with woefulness. "We proceed with caution, but we must act."
"What's your game?" Manami demands.
"There is no game." Shuji mumbles back with a sneer. "Questioning the facts won't always pull up some sinister plot. Paranoia doesn't suit you."
"I want to know what your problem with me is!" Manami hurls back in frustration.
"Something is going over the head of the ever-wise Akaimajo? Is the sky falling down?"
"What happened to you?" Manami tears-up. "I don't understand what I have done to make you hate me?!"
"IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ME!" Shuji stands up and hurls the table into the ceiling.
Manami immediately stands ready to fight.
"I was supposed to be the leader of this clan, to help us grow instead of fizzling out like a candle in the great ocean, and that decrepit old man chose you! YOU! An honour that you continue to believe is beneath you!"
"I didn't choose this! And I do not believe it beneath me, 'tis the opposite! I do not believe in my power to lead!"
"You shirk the honour, you shirk your duty and revile the esteem as if it is nothing more than a footnote to your great life!"
"I WANTED YOU TO ACHIEVE IT, NOT ME!"
Shuji red face settles for a moment through his anger.
"I was so happy when we got married!" Manami cries. "I believed in you! I thought that you could do anything you set your mind to, and now look at you! Nothing more than a bitter boy, less mature than your own son, and I might add, the son you have refused to show your face to for months! He misses his father! I miss my husband! And what do we get instead of that bright young man who sought challenge and honour? A bitter, unrecognizable and resentful man who isn't willing to work hard for what he wanted, and expects it handed to him? You know full-well that if you truly wanted to be leader, then you would have to be wiser! Not stronger! But instead, you turned down a path that leaves you undesirable to even your own wife!"
Shuji throws a vase across the room and storms out.
Manami collapses on the kitchen floor and sobs.
Shuji stomps up the stairs, fuming and unwilling to calm himself.
He stops halfway, taking heaving deep breaths.
As soon as his red-vision fades, he notices a flickering light under the door of the adjacent room.
Curiosity replaces part of his rage.
Shuji observes a floating, glowing-white symbol in the air in the hallway. An adept Barrier-Ninjutsu, one that targets and deflects sound.
He idly grits his teeth, not even having spared a single thought as to what his son may have been listening to, but Manami is always one step ahead.
Shuji twists the doorknob and peers through.
And there he is. His little spawn, silhouette painted against the dark room from candlelight.
A little swirling orb of water, barely the size of his own thumb, twists violently but with a strange grace between Naruto's palms.
"You are up late." Shuji comments.
Naruto loses his concentration and the water swirling in his hands very quickly sputters and drenches his face and hair.
"Tou... chan?"
The uncertain question tugs at something in Shuji's gut. He tries to push it down.
He walks up to his frozen son. It's hard to believe that he's already eight.
"Practicing?" Shuji asks rather dumbly.
"Yeah..." Naruto replies quietly again.
"You're working very hard, Naruto."
'Damn it, why is it so hard to talk to my own son?!'
"I wanna be cool like Kaa-chan." Naruto provides a mumble.
Shuji can't bring himself to even give Naruto a 'I think she's cool too'.
"I think it's time to go to bed." Shuji says instead, instantly seeing an expression of being disheartened, so he clumsily tacks on; "Even big boys need to rest, or they don't get strong."
"I don' wanna." Naruto moans, stifling a yawn.
"Neither do I." Shuji replies honestly.
Staggering himself with having apparently not forgotten completely how to be a parent, he wipes down Naruto's face with his own shirt and lifts him up so Naruto is standing on his bed.
"But big boys don't complain. They do what they have to when they need to. You're no good to yourself grumpy and tired and weak. It's time to get some rest so you can fight again tomorrow."
"'kay." Naruto looks ready to fall asleep standing up, so Shuji gently guides him under the thick blanket.
Naruto is asleep before Shuji can even tell him one more thing.
"Goodnight, my son. I love you."
Shuji takes one more look at his son before his countenance becomes harsh once more.
Three Weeks Later
"Tou-chan is gone again?" Naruto asks his mother, reaching up and putting his hand in hers.
"Yes." Manami is closed regarding his father but holds his hand tight. "He has a very important mission to stop some bad people from attacking Konoha."
An orange light streaks across the dark sky.
"What in the world..?"
It curves and descends upon them. A dozen more trail behind it.
"Bakuton Ninjutsu?" Manami is horrified and whirls her arms up, red chains erupting from her back and creating a dome-barrier.
A blinding flash startles Naruto before he hears screams echo across the village. Explosions pelt the barrier to no effect, but when the lights disappear, he sees the building around him crumble.
People he doesn't recognize leap down from the stone rooftops, with headbands he doesn't recognize either.
"This is the end for you, Uzumaki scum!"
Manami looks down at her son.
"Run. And hide. Now!"
Chapter 1 End