"Snap—"
The brittle crack of a dry branch echoed faintly through the silent air.
Aoki Yoru paused mid-step, his boot still pressing down on the broken twig. His gaze lifted slowly, sweeping across the ruined village before him. A faint crease formed between his brows.
What stood before him was not merely a deserted settlement—it was devastation.
Collapsed houses leaned at unnatural angles, their wooden frames rotting under the open sky. Cracked walls, half-burnt beams, and shattered rooftops lay scattered like broken bones across the land. Tall weeds had overtaken the streets, pushing through gaps in stone and soil alike, reclaiming what humanity had lost.
There was no sound.
No wind chimes.
No livestock.
No human voices.
Only a suffocating stillness, like the aftermath of something unspeakable.
Aoki Yoru exhaled slowly and extended his spiritual perception outward.
In an instant, the entire village mapped itself within his mind.
What he sensed made his expression darken.
Corpses.
Or rather—what remained of them.
Skeletons lay buried beneath debris or slumped in unnatural positions inside collapsed homes. Some were scattered in the open, bleached by time and exposure. Death had long since claimed them, and decay had finished its work.
"This isn't normal…" he muttered quietly.
His eyes lingered on the emptiness, unease creeping into his thoughts.
"What exactly happened here… in the northern Land of Hot Springs?"
A few days earlier, Aoki Yoru had been enjoying the famed hot springs of the region—a rare moment of relaxation in his otherwise cautious and survival-driven life.
From there, he had planned to travel toward the Land of Moon.
A place known, at least in stories, for its immense wealth and prosperity. Curiosity alone was enough to draw him there—he wanted to see if the legends held any truth.
But along the way, something had changed.
At first, he encountered a single abandoned village.
Then another.
And another.
Initially, he assumed these settlements had been evacuated due to war or political unrest. Such things were not uncommon in the shinobi world.
But then he noticed the details.
Fresh bloodstains.
Bodies that had not yet fully decomposed.
Signs of recent violence.
This was no ordinary evacuation.
This was slaughter.
"A massacre carried out so openly…" he murmured, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Aren't they afraid of retaliation?"
The Land of Hot Springs was not without its own ninja forces. Even if they were not among the great powers, they still possessed the means to respond to threats.
And beyond that—there were the nobles.
The daimyo.
To them, commoners were not merely citizens. They were assets. Labor. Wealth.
Would they really allow entire villages to be wiped out without intervening?
"…Or are they involved?"
The thought lingered, cold and unsettling.
But just as quickly, Aoki Yoru shook his head.
"This isn't my problem."
His voice was calm, almost indifferent.
He was a foreign shinobi. An outsider.
The affairs of this land were not his responsibility.
And more importantly—
Getting involved could mean unnecessary danger.
So he continued forward.
Three days passed.
By the time Aoki Yoru reached the northern border of the Land of Hot Springs, the situation had only grown worse.
Geographically, this region should have been thriving.
To the east lay the Land of Moon.
To the west, the Land of Sound.
Across the sea stood the Land of Iron.
This was a crossroads—a vital junction for trade and travel between multiple nations.
It should have been bustling with caravans, merchants, and travelers.
But instead—
It was dead.
Completely dead.
The roads were empty.
The markets were silent.
Even the faintest traces of human activity had vanished.
All that remained was the lingering scent of blood in the air.
"…Has the entire northern region fallen?" Aoki Yoru muttered.
Even he found it difficult to believe.
A whole region reduced to this state—yet the rest of the country remained untouched?
Unaware?
Or perhaps… unwilling to act?
No matter how he looked at it, something was wrong.
He entered another village.
The scene was the same.
Silence.
Decay.
Death.
But this time, something was different.
The blood on the ground was still bright red.
Fresh.
The metallic scent hung heavily in the air, sharp and unmistakable.
This had happened recently.
Very recently.
Aoki Yoru stepped over a lifeless body without a second glance and walked toward a house that appeared relatively intact.
Judging by its size and structure, it likely belonged to a wealthy family.
He pushed the door open.
Creak—
The sound echoed unnaturally loud in the empty space.
Inside, the house was in disarray.
Furniture overturned.
Drawers ripped open.
Storage boxes smashed.
Everything of value had been taken.
A thorough looting.
Ignoring the corpses scattered across the floor, Aoki Yoru headed straight for the kitchen.
He was hungry.
More importantly—
He was tired of eating the same thing.
For days now, his meals had consisted of nothing but grilled fish and meat. Without proper seasoning, even the freshest ingredients became dull and unappetizing.
If this continued, he was certain he would start feeling nauseous at the mere sight of food.
Opening cabinets and containers, he searched methodically.
Dust coated everything, but—
His luck held.
"Salt… miso… dried seaweed."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Finally, something different."
"Hm?"
Aoki Yoru froze.
A sound.
Faint, but unmistakable.
In a place like this—
That meant one thing.
Danger.
His expression sharpened instantly.
Without hesitation, he extended his spiritual perception once more, scanning the entire village.
Moments later, his eyes flickered.
"…Someone's alive."
A hint of surprise crossed his face.
"In a place like this… that's rare."
He followed the faint presence to the back of the house, moving toward a small hill behind it.
At the base stood a dilapidated shack.
It was in far worse condition than the main house—barely holding together, as if a strong wind could bring it down at any moment.
Inside, the situation was even worse.
Everything had been destroyed.
Cabinets overturned.
Boxes smashed.
Clay pots cracked.
Even the rice jar was empty.
Nothing remained.
Aoki Yoru stepped deeper inside and stopped in front of an open cabinet.
He crouched slightly and reached into the innermost partition.
With a gentle pull—
Thud.
The hidden panel fell away.
And there—
Curled into the narrow space—
Was a child.
A small girl.
Five, maybe six years old.
Her red hair was dull and brittle, lacking any vitality. Her skin was pale and sallow, her thin frame evidence of long-term malnutrition.
Her eyes—
Wide with fear—
Locked onto him.
She trembled slightly, her small body shrinking further into the darkness of the compartment.
Aoki Yoru paused.
Then, slowly, he softened his expression.
He crouched down, lowering himself to her level.
"Don't be afraid," he said gently, extending a hand. "I'm not a bad person."
The girl didn't move.
If anything, she shrank further away.
Aoki Yoru sighed inwardly.
Then, reaching into his pouch, he took out some jerky—and a piece of candy he had bought earlier in the Land of Hot Springs.
He held them out to her.
"Here. Eat."
"You must be hungry."
The girl stared at the food.
Her lips parted slightly.
Then—
Growl.
Her stomach betrayed her.
She swallowed.
Her gaze flickered between the food… and Aoki Yoru.
Hesitation.
Fear.
Desperation.
Finally—
She moved.
With trembling hands, she snatched the food and began devouring it.
Fast.
Too fast.
"Slow down," Aoki Yoru said, handing her a water bottle. "No one's going to take it from you."
She paused only long enough to gulp down water before continuing.
Watching her, Aoki Yoru felt a quiet certainty.
This child had been starving.
For days.
After a moment, he spoke again.
"Do you know what happened here?"
The girl froze.
Her movements slowed.
Silently, she set the water bottle down.
Then, in a small, trembling voice, she spoke.
"…The Jashin Cult."
Aoki Yoru's eyes narrowed slightly.
"They came two days ago."
"They rushed into the village… took everyone… and killed those who resisted."
Her voice wavered.
Tears welled in her eyes.
"…Grandpa Village Chief… was killed too."
She clenched her fists.
"They grabbed people as soon as they entered."
"I was scared… so I hid."
"Grandpa… Uncle Ichitora… Uncle Tetsuki… they tried to fight…"
"But they couldn't win…"
"They were all killed…"
Her voice broke.
"Aunt Chiyo… Granny Ori… everyone…"
"They were taken away…"
Aoki Yoru listened silently.
Then, something caught his attention.
"You were hiding," he said calmly. "So how do you know all this?"
The girl hesitated.
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then—
"…I sensed it."
Aoki Yoru's gaze sharpened.
"Kagura Shingan…"
He had suspected it from the beginning.
Her red hair.
Her abnormal vitality.
Even in her weakened state, her body still emitted a faint life force.
There was no doubt.
She was from the Uzumaki Clan.
Aoki Yoru stood.
Then, he extended his hand once more.
"Do you want to come with me?"
His voice was calm.
But his thoughts were clear.
If left alone—
This child would not survive.
Not in this place.
Not in this world.
And beyond that—
Her bloodline had value.
If brought back to Konoha, she would not be ignored.
Perhaps even…
Chosen as a Jinchūriki.
A cruel fate.
But—
Better than death.
The girl stared at his hand.
Time seemed to stretch.
Then, slowly—
She reached out.
Her small, dirty hand trembling as it rested in his.
"…Okay."
Aoki Yoru pulled her gently to her feet.
"What's your name?"
"My name is Aoki Yoru. I'm a ninja from Konoha."
"…Nao," she whispered.
"My name is Nao."
"No surname?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"My father… died before I was born."
"My mother… died last year."
Aoki Yoru looked at her thin frame.
Then, without a word, he gently placed a hand on her head, ruffling her dry red hair.
"Let's go," he said softly.
"From now on… you'll at least be able to eat your fill."
And so—
In a land consumed by death—
Two figures walked away from the ruins of a forgotten village.
Toward an uncertain future.
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