The icy wind struck Ren's face relentlessly, cutting into his skin as if reminding him, every second, that he was still alive. The faint glow of moonlight lingered in the sky, dim and weak, like a lamp on the verge of going out completely. Under other circumstances, it might have been beautiful—the world below asleep, the sky above silent, the entire night feeling like it belonged only to him.
But there was no room to appreciate anything.
He had been flying for nearly an hour.
The two black wings stretched behind him like solid shadows, unnaturally long, and the air battered against them with constant force. The sound wasn't exactly that of a bird. It was heavier, rougher—like thick leather being dragged violently through the wind.
Ren kept his body rigid enough to maintain stability, but not so tense that he wasted chakra. Even so, the cost came all the same.
Blood streamed from his right eye.
It wasn't a thin trickle—it was an insistent, warm reminder, running down his cheek before being torn away by the wind. Sometimes it dried. Sometimes it flowed again when he pushed himself a little harder. Keeping the ability active for so long demanded its price… yet beneath it all, he could feel the damage slowly repairing itself. As if his own body were trying to patch the crack while he stubbornly kept breaking it open a little more.
He couldn't stop.
Below him, pressed against his body and held in place by his arm and precarious balance, were Ino and Shikamaru.
Ino remained unconscious, her head hanging limp, her blonde hair swaying in the wind as if it didn't belong to a real person. She looked trapped in a sleep far too deep. Ren felt her weight—and at the same time, hated how light it was compared to what could have happened.
Shikamaru was worse.
Not because he was heavier, but because he seemed… to be fading.
His skin was far too pale, and not the "mission exhaustion" kind. It was the kind of pallor that came when blood was no longer where it should be. His eyes fluttered half-open at times, unfocused. His breathing was shallow and irregular, as if his body were doing the bare minimum just to avoid giving up.
Ren clenched his jaw.
*You don't have much time.*
Minutes later, he saw it.
Konoha appeared on the horizon as a dark smudge that sharpened far too quickly. First the shadows of the walls, then the outline of the gate, then the rows of houses, and finally the taller shape of the hospital standing out clearly—almost as if the village itself were shouting at him where to go.
Ren looked at the two of them once more, just to confirm with his own eyes what he already knew.
Ino didn't move.
Shikamaru looked paler than before.
Ren's chest tightened with an urgency that felt almost physical.
"I need to go faster."
The words came out low and strained, meant more for himself than for the wind. And yet, saying them aloud made it feel like a final decision.
He forced it.
Chakra pulled and burned inside him as his body protested, and the wings responded with a more aggressive surge. The world below rushed past faster, the air grew more violent, and the blood in his right eye began to flow again, hot and heavy.
Ren swallowed.
The pain was real—but it was small compared to everything else.
*Just a little more.*
---
"Uaaa…"
One of the two ninjas guarding the gate yawned without even trying to hide it. His posture was far too relaxed for someone whose job was, in theory, to detect threats before anyone else.
"Cut it out and stay alert!" the other snapped, irritation in his voice as if he'd been holding that lecture in for hours.
In response, the first only gave a lazy grin, as though it were an old joke. "Relax. This is Konoha. Do you really think some lunatic would try to cause trouble here?"
The second's expression soured instantly. "That's not the point, we—"
He was cut off by a sound.
It wasn't footsteps, nor snapping branches, nor the distant noise of the village slowly waking. It was the beating of wings—but deeper, heavier, as if the very air were being split by something far too large.
Both of them looked up almost simultaneously.
And saw something they would never forget.
A figure was descending from the sky toward the village at an absurd speed. Two massive black wings spread behind the body—nearly four meters long—and the contrast against the night sky made it seem as though a shadow had torn itself free from the world and decided to fall upon Konoha.
"W-w-w-what is that thing?" The first froze in shock, eyes wide, lips trembling in a ridiculous reflex of fear.
The second froze for a heartbeat as well—but discipline won out. He swallowed hard, tore his gaze away just long enough to act, and shouted with everything he had, as if trying to wake the entire gate with his voice.
"Don't waste time—send the invasion alert. NOW!!!"
The first blinked, his brain finally catching up, then moved in a rush, nearly tripping over his own feet as he scrambled to obey.
The second kept his eyes locked on the sky, hand near his weapon, body fully tense.
The figure kept coming.
And it was coming far too fast to ignore.
---
Ren felt it when he crossed the gate's threshold—not because anyone stopped him, but because the air changed. The chakra of the barrier, the presence of the village, the familiar weight of being "home."
It should have brought relief.
It only brought urgency.
As he drew closer, his gaze locked onto the hospital like an unavoidable target.
There was no choice. No "I'll think about the route." It was a straight line.
With a downward surge, he began his descent.
The wind grew even more vicious, tearing beneath his wings and dragging at his body as if trying to slam him into the ground before he arrived. Ren adjusted his angle, feeling Ino and Shikamaru's weight shift against him. He tightened his arm around them.
*Don't fall. Not now.*
Below, he saw movement.
Multiple figures darted across rooftops, appearing like fast-moving shadows—shinobi responding to the alert, likely trying to predict where that "threat" would land. Ren caught flashes of blades, silhouettes leaping, people running through the streets.
He didn't care.
There was no time to explain in midair, to wave, to calmly shout "it's me." The village could think whatever it wanted.
Shikamaru couldn't wait.
The figures, realizing his destination, moved to intercept, to surround, to control. Ren ignored them all, descending with greater force and precision—and moving faster than they could.
He landed with a violent impact.
The ground shook beneath him, dust rising like smoke, and for a moment the sound of the landing drowned everything else—a heavy, solid crash that made nearby people recoil instinctively.
Ren bent his knees to absorb the rest, his wings trembling under the strain.
Blood spilled from his right eye again, hotter, more insistent.
He didn't stop to wipe it away.
Without wasting time, he surged toward the hospital.
Mid-run, the black wings unraveled into strands of shadow, like smoke being pulled back into his body—then vanished completely.
He burst through the entrance.
The slam of the doors, heads snapping around, the collective shock—it all hit like a wave.
"I NEED EMERGENCY CARE!"
Ren's voice rang out loud, firm, almost aggressive. Not from anger—but from necessity.
For a moment, everyone froze. Patients, visitors, staff—everyone stared at the dust-covered boy, blood on his face, eyes marked by a lotus-shaped iris with five distinct petals, glowing strangely under the hospital lights. The contrast was too much to process instantly.
But a hospital was no place for hesitation.
Three nurses reacted first.
They moved with the efficiency of those who had seen real emergencies before and weren't distracted by spectacle. One made a quick gesture to the others, and within seconds two stretchers appeared, pushed swiftly down the corridor.
Ren helped without waiting for permission.
Carefully—far more carefully than seemed possible for someone so bloodied and rushed—he placed Ino onto one stretcher. He adjusted her body, supported her head so it wouldn't hit, released his grip slowly, as if afraid any sudden movement might break something.
Then he placed Shikamaru onto the other.
And the urgency became even more obvious, because the boy's body sank into the stretcher like someone who could no longer support himself at all. His head fell to the side, his chest rose with difficulty, and his pallor looked almost gray under the hospital lights.
"What happened?" one of the nurses asked, already pulling Ino's stretcher away as another assessed Shikamaru with a quick, practiced glance.
Ren took a single deep breath, as if organizing his answer to waste no words.
"She seems to have suffered some kind of internal injury," he said, looking at Ino first, as if the sight of her unmoving forced his voice to stay steady. Then he turned to Shikamaru. "And he took a blow to the abdomen, losing a lot of blood in the process."
The nurse nodded immediately, without asking pointless questions.
"Take the girl for analysis. And the boy needs surgery. NOW!"
The others obeyed at once. The stretchers moved in different directions, wheels rattling against the floor, hurried footsteps echoing.
Ren took a step to follow.
Not because he wanted to interfere—but because his body simply refused to stand still after carrying them that far. As if, the moment he stopped, everything would collapse at once.
But he was stopped.
The same nurse raised a hand in front of him, firm, blocking his path with an authority that allowed no argument.
"You stay," she said flatly. Not rude—commanding. "There are other things you need to deal with."
Ren frowned, the instinct to protest rising in his chest.
Then she tilted her head slightly.
"Look."
Ren turned.
And saw.
A group of shinobi stood at the hospital entrance, forming a natural line, as if the entire place had been secured in seconds. Among them were ANBU.
Masks.
Rigid posture.
Eyes that weren't curious—but evaluative. Sharp. Ready to decide whether he was a problem.
The air felt heavier.
Ren felt his own body complain—not from pain, but from exhaustion. From accumulated strain. And even so, he kept his chin high. Showing weakness here wouldn't help.
Not now.
He let out a breath.
It wasn't a sigh of relief.
It was a sigh of *of course this would happen*.
As if everything that had already unfolded that night—the blood, the flight, the desperation, time racing against them—weren't enough, now there was another problem waiting.
The ANBU didn't move. They only watched.
The other shinobi did the same.
As if they were waiting for a single wrong word, a single misunderstood gesture, to turn that hospital corridor into something else entirely.
Ren ran his tongue over his dry lips, tasting the metallic tang of blood the wind had spread.
He couldn't let this turn into chaos.
In the end, Ren didn't know how things would unfold.
But standing there, facing the group at the entrance, feeling the village react to what he appeared to be on the outside, and remembering what he carried inside, he could only wish for one thing—simple, almost childish, but necessary.
That things could end *well*.
(Early access chapters: see the bio.)