The Land of Rivers' night sky was a deep, velvety black, punctuated by starry glow and the crescent moon's soft light. Kūga flew silently through the cool evening air, senses sharp, descending toward a secluded riverbank spot.
The rushing water greeted him as he landed gracefully, no human presence within sensing range. He preferred solitude.
Quickly setting up camp, he found a riverbank clearing, surrounded by woods. Collecting branches, he ignited a fire with a flick of Aether energy.
The simple act soothed him, grounding his humanity amidst powerful veins. Camping, not village comforts, felt like home.
With flickering shadows, Kūga hunted, tracking a hare in the dark woods. Returning to camp, he prepared the meat, smoking it over the fire.
As he ate, his mission beckoned: finding fellow Aether wielders. Doubts lingered, yet a nagging feeling persisted.
Were others like him out there? Or was he chasing a myth? Kūga stared into the uncertain flames.
His thoughts drifted to the village. When would it officially be called Konohagakure no Sato... or would the name change with him existing? 'Nah, it wouldn't be changed, its name comes from the forest that hides the village.'
He imagined Hashirama and Madara would be busy with all the formalities, making deals with the Fire Daimyo, establishing systems. "Well, it's their problem now," Kūga muttered to himself with a small grin.
Finishing his meal, he conjured drinkable water by manipulating Aether, watching as the shimmering liquid swirled into his cup. He looked at it with a raised eyebrow, skeptical.
Was he just drinking his own energy? He took a sip and shrugged. It tasted like normal water, as far as he could tell. A slight smile tugged at his lips. "Not bad."
After cleaning up the remnants of his meal, he used Aether once again to summon a futon. The familiar blue glow surrounded him as the bed materialized, and he sat down, staring at the fire.
It had started to die down, the embers glowing faintly in the dark. With a wave of his hand, he manipulated the flames, making them burn a little brighter, just enough to stave off the night's chill.
His thoughts drifted to the idea that had been tugging at him since his flight: a sword. He had been thinking about this for some time, and now, alone in the quiet of the night, the thought returned with clarity.
A weapon capable of channeling his Aether would be an invaluable tool—one he could shape to his liking. But what kind of sword?
A katana? The elegance and precision of a katana appealed to him. Its balance, the way it cut cleanly through the air.
Yes, a katana would be perfect for channeling Aether. The thought lingered in his mind as he imagined the sleek, curved blade, the way it would hum with power as Aether coursed through it.
But perhaps something different? A double-edged longsword could offer versatility, allowing for both offensive and defensive techniques. Or maybe something more unique, a blade infused with Aether itself, a weapon born of his own energy. But no, the katana was the perfect blend of tradition and personal style.
Kūga leaned back, staring up at the stars. "A katana…" he whispered to himself. Yes, that was the one. But it wasn't time to craft it yet. There was still much to think about. Still, the idea of a blade made Kūga excited to find a blacksmith, a legendary one. 'Maybe I'll find someone like that during my travels... who knows.'
He stretched out on the futon, watching as the fire's warm glow began to fade again. The river's soft murmur mixed with the crackling of the embers, creating a peaceful lullaby. Kūga closed his eyes, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips.
Tomorrow, his search would continue. The Land of Rivers might hold answers—or it might not. Either way, Kūga was ready for whatever came next.
Kūga drifted off into a deep sleep, the soothing sounds of the river and the soft crackle of the dying fire lulling him into the void of unconsciousness. His body relaxed, but his mind carried him into a world far from the peaceful camp he had built.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rain hammered against the windowpane, a relentless drumbeat that echoed in Kūga's mind. He was standing at a gravesite, the tombstone weathered and cracked, the inscription barely legible. His father's name, etched into the stone, seemed to taunt him. Memories flooded his mind, a torrent of images and emotions.
His father's kind smile, the day he lost him, the empty stares of classmates and teachers. The world had crumbled around him, and no one seemed to care.
His mother's face appeared, a haunting specter. Once a source of comfort, she had become a shadow of her former self, consumed by grief and neglect. Harsh words, violence, the constant reminder that he was a burden.
He felt the weight of her words, like a physical force pressing down on him. Tears welled up in his eyes, a silent plea for help.
The dream shifted. He was in his childhood home, the room dark and oppressive. His mother sat slumped in a chair, a bottle of sake clutched in her trembling hands.
"Useless... you're just like him..." she spat, her voice a venomous hiss.
He felt the words pierce his heart, a sharp pain that echoed the emptiness he had felt for so long.
He tried to speak, to defend himself, but his voice caught in his throat. He could only watch as she continued to berate him, her words a cruel symphony of hatred and despair.
The rain outside intensified, a relentless assault that seemed to mirror the storm raging within him. He broke down, tears streaming down his face.
"Please..." he whispered, his voice barely audible over the downpour. "Someone... anyone... help me..."
The room around him seemed to twist and distort, the shadows growing longer and darker. His mother's figure blurred, her voice echoing in the distance until it was nothing more than an incomprehensible hum.
The rain outside pounded against the walls, and the world began to dissolve around him.
Suddenly, the dream shifted again.
Kūga found himself standing in a vast, empty field. The sky above was a swirling mass of dark clouds, but the air was eerily still. In the distance, he saw something—someone. A figure stood far off, cloaked in shadow, but familiar in a way that made his heart race.
He took a step forward, but the ground beneath him gave way. He fell, tumbling through a void of darkness. Memories flashed before his eyes—his past life, fragments of faces, voices, places. They were fleeting, like wisps of smoke, but one thing was clear: these memories were tied to him, to his very being.
Aether.
He could feel it, deep within him, intertwined with every emotion, every memory. The pain of his past life, the loss, the anger—it was all connected to the power that now surged through him. Aether wasn't just a tool, it was a part of him. His powers had manifested not just because of his reincarnation, but because of everything he had endured, everything he had survived.
The figure in the distance began to move closer, but before Kūga could make out its face, the world around him shattered.
Kūga awoke with a start, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The fire had burned low, little more than embers now, casting faint shadows on the trees surrounding his camp. He sat up, wiping the sweat from his brow, his heart still pounding in his chest.
The dream lingered in his mind, vivid and raw, like an old wound that had been reopened. His father's grave, his mother's cruel words, the glimpses of his past life—it all felt so real.
He rubbed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh as he tried to push the memories away. "It was just a dream," he whispered to himself, though deep down, he knew it wasn't just that. It was a reminder. A reminder of who he was, and where his power truly came from.
Looking up at the sky, now lit with the faintest glow of approaching dawn, Kūga steeled himself. His journey was far from over, and his past—no matter how painful—was a part of him that he couldn't escape.
Kūga sat on his futon, his arms resting on his legs, his gaze distant as the vivid memories of his dream lingered in his mind. The weight of it hung heavy in the morning air. He sighed deeply, pushing the thoughts away as he stood up and stretched, casting a look around the peaceful campsite. The day was shaping up to be beautiful, the sky painted in soft pastels of pink and orange.
He looked at his nonexistent watch with a small smile and muttered, "It's probably five nearing six.
"Shaking off the remnants of the dream, Kūga conjured a dagger in his hand with a subtle flicker of Aether. He eyed the landscape before spotting a pheasant several meters away, unaware of his presence. With practiced ease, he hurled the dagger through the air, watching it slice perfectly through the wind and hit the pheasant with precision. His smile grew, satisfied.
"Still got it," he said under his breath, as he approached the fallen bird. He picked it up, gripping it by the legs, letting its body hang as it would naturally when killed. There was something oddly simple about hunting in this way that grounded him.
Returning to his camp, Kūga set about lighting the fire. He knelt near the small pile of branches he'd gathered the night before, summoning a faint spark of Aether to ignite them without a second thought.
The fire grew quickly, its warmth a welcome comfort as he began preparing the pheasant. He plucked its feathers with methodical ease, discarding them into the wind. Once the bird was cleaned, he skewered it on a spit made from a nearby branch, propping it over the fire to roast.
As the pheasant cooked, he turned it slowly, the skin browning and crisping with the heat, the fat dripping down into the flames and sending a savory aroma into the air.
Kūga's stomach grumbled in response, but his thoughts wandered back to the dream—his father, his mother, the bitter words that had haunted him even after all this time.
But as soon as the memories surfaced, he shook his head and brushed them aside.
"Enough of that," he muttered, refocusing on the present.
Instead, he let his mind wander to his upcoming exploration.
He hadn't really explored the Land of Rivers yet, a region nestled between larger nations but often overlooked. It was peaceful, from what he'd heard, but there was something about the place that intrigued him.
Maybe, just maybe, there was someone out here with Aether like him. The thought was slim but worth the journey.
As he turned the spit over the fire, he thought back to his travels with Hashirama and Madara. Their journeys had mostly taken them eastward—through the Land of Noodles, Nagi Island, and all the way to the Land of Wood.
He chuckled to himself, remembering how much Hashirama had loved that place, mostly because of the name. "The Land of Wood," he'd say, grinning like a child.
Kūga shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips as the memories brought a lightness to his mood. The pheasant was nearly done now, the scent of roasted meat rich in the air. He took it off the fire, carving it carefully with another small blade conjured from Aether.
The meat was tender, the taste satisfying as he ate in thoughtful silence.
Once he finished, he cleaned up the remains, burying what he didn't need and putting out the fire. He then stripped off his shirt, heading towards the river.
The cold, clear water shimmered in the morning light, inviting him in for a wash. He stepped into the shallow edge, the coolness biting at first but quickly refreshing. Kūga washed himself, letting the river wash away the remnants of sleep and the lingering thoughts from his dream.
The day was just beginning, and his journey through the Land of Rivers awaited him.