Book One: Embers of War
Chapter 1: The Boy Who Remembered
First‑Person — Arata
The first thing I felt was the heat.
Then the pain.
It stabbed through my ribs with every breath I took, sharp and cruel, like my own body wanted me to stay still.
I tried to lift the broken beam off my leg, but I didn't have the strength.
Everything smelled like smoke, blood, and burning wood.
I couldn't hear anything except ringing—shrill, like a scream that wouldn't end.
And then… I remembered.
Not just the explosion.
Not this war.
Everything.
My name used to be something else.
I lived in a world without chakra, where people watched stories like this play out on screens or in manga.
I remembered watching Naruto become Hokage.
Watching Jiraiya die.
Watching the Fourth seal the Nine‑Tails into a crying infant while the village wept around him.
Now I was here.
Not watching.
Living it.
And I was only six.
I don't remember how long I was under that beam.
Someone must've found me and dragged me out.
I blacked out again and woke up in a hospital ward with white sheets and tighter bandages.
They told me my house was gone.
Fire release jutsu, probably.
My parents too.
Their names meant nothing to the medic when I asked.
Just another two casualties.
There were too many to count.
I didn't cry.
How could I?
I already knew how this world worked.
The orphanage they stuck me in was cramped, loud, and full of hollow‑eyed kids.
The kind who either screamed in their sleep or stared out windows until someone made them eat.
I was one of the quiet ones.
But not because I was scared.
Because I was thinking.
Calculating.
I knew exactly where I was in the timeline now.
This was the Second Great Shinobi War.
Meaning Jiraiya, Tsunade, and Orochimaru were still young.
They weren't legends yet.
Hiruzen was Hokage.
Minato was probably a teenager.
Danzo was already scheming.
This wasn't a story anymore.
This was a chessboard.
And I needed to learn the rules—fast.
At night, I practiced alone.
I couldn't access chakra properly yet, but I tried the breathing techniques I remembered from watching and reading.
I pictured how it was supposed to feel, focusing on my core, imagining threads of energy moving through my hands.
Sometimes, I felt a flicker.
A whisper.
Just enough to remind me: I wasn't crazy.
I was different.
And I had to stay ahead of everyone else.
I wasn't Naruto.
I wasn't going to talk my way into friendships and power.
I didn't want to be a hero.
I wanted control.
One morning, a teacher from the Academy came to evaluate us.
He watched the kids fight and asked us questions.
I stayed silent, letting them underestimate me.
When he asked me if I knew any jutsu, I shook my head.
Later, I heard him mutter, "That one's too quiet. Probably won't last long."
Good.
Let them think I'm weak.
Let them think I'm broken.
They'd never see me coming.
I didn't know it yet, but in just a few months, I'd meet him.
The boy with pale eyes and a voice like silk.
Orochimaru.
And when I did… my path would truly begin