The dying fire's gentle crackle cast soothing shadows on the hut's walls, the only sound accompanying the woman's slow, steady breathing. Kūga sat beside her, observing the exhaustion still etched on her features, even in sleep.
The weight of whatever trauma she had endured was evident, her face tense, reflecting a long-forgotten sense of safety.
He wondered how long it had been since she'd truly relaxed, free from fear and anxiety.
With a soft exhale, Kūga stood, adjusting the blanket to ensure she was warm enough. He cast one
last glance at her peaceful form before stepping toward the door.
Slipping out of the hut, he left her to the serenity of slumber.
.
Outside, the night was cool and clear, the moon hanging high in the sky and casting a silver glow across the land. The village beyond the hill was quiet, its residents slumbering peacefully.
But the forest around the hut hummed with life, its nocturnal creatures stirring in the darkness. Kūga breathed deeply, letting the crisp air fill his lungs, and began his walk toward the river. He needed space, a moment to think.
The woman's sudden appearance and their connection stirred something in him. Something that needed sorting out, reflecting upon. His feet led him to a familiar path, one that wound through the trees and eventually opened up to the river's edge.
It was a secluded spot, tucked away from the busier parts of the forest but still close enough to the hut that he could see it in the distance. The soft glow of the fire he had left inside the hut flickered faintly from across the way, a small beacon of warmth against the cool night.
Once there, Kūga set about making a small camp for himself, using the skills honed through years of training and survival. He gathered a few branches and dry twigs, kindling them into a modest bonfire that crackled to life beside him.
From his pack, he unfurled a set of pelts and laid them out on the ground as a makeshift cover, a simple yet comfortable space to sit and ponder the events of the evening.
The quiet sound of the river flowing beside him was calming, a gentle symphony of nature that filled the stillness. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to it—letting it soothe his mind.
Kūga rose from his seat and wandered closer to the water, drawn to the river's edge. The moon's reflection rippled gently on the surface, carried downstream by the current.
He bent down, selecting a smooth stone from the ground. Weighing it in his hand, he tossed it across the water. The stone skipped three times, leaving concentric ripples before sinking beneath the surface.
A small smile tugged at his lips. 'It's kind of fun,' he thought, crouching down to find another stone. 'No wonder Madara and Hashirama would do this as kids when they were troubled.'
Memories of Madara and Hashirama, his closest friends, surfaced. He recalled their secret escapes to the river, where they'd find solace in skipping stones.
The rhythmic act had been their refuge, a distraction from life's burdens. It cleared their minds, providing focus amidst chaos.
Kūga, once consumed by training, cooking, and ambitions, had never joined them. Yet, now he grasped the allure of that simple joy.
He tossed another stone, watching it skip and sink. Each throw felt like a release, each ripple a small echo of the past.
As Kūga continued skipping stones, his thoughts drifted back to the woman in the hut, exhausted and vulnerable. He pondered her life's journey—what trials she'd faced, what losses she'd endured.
The pain in her eyes, though veiled by exhaustion, was unmistakable. It echoed the anguish of loss and loneliness, a sorrow Kūga knew intimately.
His grip on the stone tightened as he contemplated her emptiness. He recognized that hollow ache, having felt it himself upon awakening in this world, alone and bewildered.
But Kami and the Aether had been his solace, the power coursing through him, guiding and purposeful.
That strength had saved him when all else failed.
'But what about her?' Kūga frowned, tossing the stone absentmindedly. 'Who does she have?'
She had no Kami to guide her. She was just... human.
Alone.
Helpless.
Kūga's frown deepened. 'Or is she?' A thought struck him... one that he hadn't considered before.
Perhaps she wasn't as alone as she seemed. After all, he had been the one to find her, to help her. And that wasn't mere coincidence.
He couldn't help but wonder if perhaps, in some way, Kami was helping her through him. Guiding his steps to cross her path, pushing him to intervene in her life.
The thought unsettled him.
He had never been one to involve himself in others' lives.
He wasn't a savior, nor did he want to be.
But here he was, caring for this woman. Cooking for her. Tending to her needs. He was drawn to her in a way that defied his usual instincts. And it wasn't just because of her connection to Aether—though that was part of it.
No, it was something deeper, something... human.
Kūga stopped skipping stones and stared out at the river. The water flowed on, endless and unchanging, much like the passage of time. He felt a strange pull toward the woman, a need to help her, to be there for her in the way no one else could.
Kūga's mind raced as he stood there, gazing at the river. He felt conflicted. Part of him wanted to walk away, to let her figure things out on her own.
He wasn't a caretaker, and he certainly didn't want to become one. But another part of him—perhaps the part that remembered his own days of helplessness—couldn't ignore the pull to help her.
Perhaps it was the Aether within him, guiding his steps. Or perhaps it was simply his conscience, tugging at his heart, reminding him that not everyone had the luxury of divine intervention. Not everyone had the strength to stand on their own.
After a long pause, Kūga sighed softly. 'Maybe I'm exaggerating...' he thought to himself. 'But there's nothing to lose in trying.'
He tossed one final stone into the river, watching it sink into the depths. With that, he made up his mind. He would help her, in whatever way he could. He wasn't sure where this path would lead, but for now, it was the right one.
Kūga returned to his small campfire, watching as the flames flickered low. He let the fire die out, watching the embers glow dimly in the night air. There was a strange peace within him now—a sense of purpose that hadn't been there before. He packed up the pelts and extinguished the last of the flames before turning back toward the hut.
As he walked, the moonlight bathed the world in a gentle silver glow, illuminating the path ahead. His thoughts were quieter now, more focused. Whatever the woman's fate, whatever his own, Kūga knew one thing: he wouldn't abandon her. Not yet.
The night continued in silence, but Kūga felt a calm resolve settle in his chest. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but for now, he was content with his decision. And that was enough.
.
The night settled deep around Kūga, the soft sound of the river's flow filling the cool air. The embers of his small fire glowed faintly, casting a dim light over the pelt where he now lay.
His body was still, but his mind drifted, thoughts tangled between the events of the day and the woman resting in the hut not far away. Kūga exhaled slowly, closing his eyes, hoping for some semblance of rest.
But as sleep took him, he found himself somewhere unexpected.
He was standing in a vast space, one that felt both familiar and foreign. The ground beneath him was solid, but there were no recognizable landmarks. It was as if he existed in a void, a world between worlds. In front of him, not too far away, stood four figures, their laughter and conversation filling the emptiness with life.
Kūga squinted, trying to make out their faces, but their identities remained hidden from him.
Two of them were dressed in what he recognized as modern clothing—simple, casual outfits that looked entirely out of place in the time he knew.
The other two, however, wore garments of a different era. Their clothes were of medieval design, with flowing robes and intricate armor, like something out of a history book.
It was a strange juxtaposition, one that confused him, but at the same time, there was something... comforting about it. (I searched so long for this damned word.)
The group stopped talking as soon as they noticed him. The atmosphere shifted, their attention now fully on him. One of them, a man with a bright smile, stepped forward, greeting him with an unexpected warmth.
"Hey, so happy to see you..." the man said, his voice oddly familiar, though Kūga couldn't place where he had heard it before.
Kūga's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to respond, but before he could form the words, the figures began to blur.
The dream began to unravel, pulling him back toward consciousness. He reached out, trying to hold on to the vision, to see their faces more clearly, but the void slipped away.
.
Kūga's eyes snapped open, his body still lying on the pelt by the now-dying fire.
The dream lingered in his mind, vivid but elusive, its meaning slipping away as quickly as it had come. He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck, glancing around to reorient himself.
The fire was still alive, but barely, the flames dwindling as the last of the wood burned down to embers.
The night had deepened, and the moon was in the perfect spot to light everything around him. Its glow reflected off the river's surface, casting silver ripples that shimmered in the dark.
Kūga watched the water for a moment, feeling an odd sense of peace settle over him.
That peace, however, was interrupted by an unexpected sensation.
Hunger.
His stomach growled, a sound he hadn't heard in years. Kūga blinked, surprised by the sudden urge. 'I haven't felt proper hunger since mastering Aether,' he thought, his brows furrowing in confusion.
He stood up, stretching his arms before deciding to handle the situation. "Aether: Storage," he muttered, his voice low but firm. As soon as the words left his lips, a mental inventory of the items stored in his ethereal space appeared in his mind. He saw uncooked skewers among the list, and with a thought, he summoned them into reality.
The skewers floated before him, suspended in the air by his Aether. Kūga looked at the small bonfire, and with a wave of his hand, he canceled out the remaining flames, leaving behind the glowing red charcoals.
With a bit of focus, he conjured a metal grill, setting it over the embers.
As he placed the skewers on the grill to cook, he couldn't help but shake his head slightly. "My naming sense for offensive and defensive techniques is solid," he muttered to himself, "but for these utility spells? It's just sad." He smirked at the thought, remembering a certain blonde shinobi from the series who had a habit of giving his techniques overly simple names.
"I wouldn't want to end up like Minato," he added with a chuckle.
As the skewers began to sizzle, Kūga sensed a presence approaching. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Without looking up from his task, he spoke calmly, "It's good that you're awake. You even have the strength to walk now."
From the corner of his eye, he saw the woman leaning against a nearby tree, her hand resting on the rough bark for support. She looked weak, but there was a stubbornness in her posture, a refusal to show vulnerability.
"I'm not that weak," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of defiance.
Kūga hummed in acknowledgment, focusing on the skewers as he turned them over. The aroma of cooking meat filled the air, and the gentle crackling of the fire beneath the grill was the only sound between them for a few moments.
She took a few cautious steps forward, her gaze fixed on him as she approached the small camp he had set up.
"You know," she said after a pause, her tone slightly softer, "I liked your broth."
Kūga glanced at her briefly before nodding. "Thanks," he replied, his voice as short and simple as ever. He wasn't one for lengthy conversations, especially when his mind was occupied with the task at hand.
The woman, perhaps sensing his brevity, sighed softly and lowered herself onto the pelt he had been sitting on earlier. She looked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice cutting through the quiet.
"Kūga," he answered without hesitation, still focused on the food.
There was a pause, and when he finally glanced in her direction, he saw that she was still staring at him, waiting for something more. When she didn't speak, Kūga raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked, confused by her silence.
"Kūga who?" she pressed, her voice carrying the weight of her curiosity. It was as if his single name wasn't enough. She needed more.
Realizing his mistake, Kūga cleared his throat and gave a small, almost apologetic shrug. "Ah, my bad," he said, his tone softening slightly. "Kūga Seiryu. From the Land of Fire."
The woman seemed satisfied with his answer, though her expression didn't change much. She nodded slightly, her dark blue eyes still fixed on him. "Reifū Genpū," she replied, introducing herself at last.
Kūga took a moment to study her.
Despite the exhaustion in her face, the dark circles under her eyes, there was something undeniably striking about her. Her blue eyes, though tired, held a certain sharpness, and her dark hair framed her face in a way that made her seem both delicate and strong at the same time.
"Well," Kūga said after a brief pause, turning his attention back to the skewers, "it's nice to meet you, Reifū Genpū. I look forward to training you."
Reifū blinked, processing his statement, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.
Kūga looked at her, tilting his head slightly as if the idea were obvious. "Oh y'know..." he said simply, as if it were the most natural conclusion. "To control your Aether."
Reifū stared at him, her confusion deepening. "Aether...?" she echoed, the word unfamiliar on her tongue.
Kūga didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned back to the skewers, flipping them one last time. The quiet night stretched between them, leaving Reifū to wonder what exactly lay ahead for both of them.