Chapter 1: Morning in the Shadowed Village

Part 1: The Bell That Never Rings

Riku woke before the sun, the sky still a deep indigo, the village wrapped in a veil of quiet. His futon was stiff from the mountain air, and his body ached from yesterday's training. No time to dwell on soreness. The first rule of a shinobi: endurance is survival.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes as the faint sound of rushing water echoed from the forest beyond the wooden walls of his small room. A candle flickered beside him, its glow barely touching the old scrolls stacked on the nearby shelf. Shadows danced along the tatami mats as he tied back his unruly black hair and pulled on his training garb—a simple dark tunic and trousers, bound with cloth strips at the wrists and ankles.

A knock at the door. Three taps, a pause, then two more—Aya.

Riku slid open the door to find her leaning against the frame, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. Her dark eyes held their usual mischievous glint, but her voice was all business.

"You're late," she said.

Riku frowned. "The sun isn't even up."

"Exactly. The senior trainees finished their warm-ups already. Master Genji's expecting us."

Without another word, she turned and started down the narrow path toward the training grounds. Riku sighed and followed. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of pine and damp earth. The village stirred only slightly—elders tending to fires, a merchant setting up his stall of dried herbs and tools. In the distance, Hajime stood by the well, sharpening a kunai with slow, deliberate strokes. He glanced up as they passed, offering a lazy wave before returning to his blade.

They reached the clearing where the other trainees had gathered. The training grounds were nothing more than an open space bordered by towering cedar trees, but to Riku, they were sacred. Here, hours bled away in relentless drills, sweat mixed with dust, and the weak were weeded out.

Master Genji stood at the center, hands clasped behind his back. His presence alone was enough to silence the whispers among the students. A man of few words, he spoke only when necessary—and when he did, his voice carried the weight of years.

"Form pairs," he commanded.

Aya was already at Riku's side before he could even glance around. They took their stances.

"Today, we focus on counters," Genji continued. "Anticipate, react, strike. No wasted movements. Begin."

Aya lunged first, a flicker of motion in the dim morning light. Riku barely sidestepped, his instincts guiding him more than thought. Her fingers brushed his sleeve—a near hit. He spun low, aiming to sweep her legs, but she leaped, twisting in the air before landing with ease.

She grinned. "Slower than usual."

Riku exhaled through his nose, resetting his stance. "You just got lucky."

But luck had nothing to do with it. Aya was fast, and Riku knew it. Still, he wouldn't let her win so easily.

They clashed again, shadows shifting under the rising sun, the rhythm of their strikes echoing like the heartbeat of the village.

And somewhere, beyond the treetops, a crow cried—a warning, or merely a spectator to the dance of blades.

Part 2: Beneath the Mask of Routine

The sparring session ended when Master Genji raised a single hand. No words—just that simple motion, and every trainee froze where they stood. Aya and Riku stepped apart, catching their breath, sweat cooling against their skin as the morning light finally spilled over the treetops.

"Enough for now," Genji said, his voice even. "You have your tasks. Do not waste the day."

With that, the trainees dispersed. Some lingered to speak in hushed voices, others trudged toward the stream to wash away the dust of training. Riku rolled his shoulders, feeling the familiar stiffness settle in. The real work was just beginning.

Aya nudged him with an elbow. "I heard Hajime is testing a new batch of throwing knives. Want to see if he'll let us try them?"

Riku shook his head. "Can't. I have to help Elder Kaede today."

Aya made a face. "You're stuck with Kaede again? I'd rather be on night patrol than listen to her talk about history."

Riku didn't argue. Elder Kaede was wise, but her lessons were long-winded, and she had a way of turning simple tasks—like grinding herbs—into lectures about the past. Still, duty was duty.

They parted ways near the market square, a small but bustling hub where villagers bartered over fish, cloth, and tools. The scent of fresh rice and miso drifted from a roadside stall where an elderly woman stirred a pot, steam curling into the morning air. A group of young boys, too young for training, ran past with wooden sticks, pretending to be warriors locked in battle.

At the far end of the market, past the blacksmith's forge, stood a modest wooden house. The home of Elder Kaede.

Riku knocked once before sliding the door open. The room inside was dim, filled with the earthy scent of parchment and dried plants. Scrolls lined the shelves, some so old their edges had curled. Kaede sat near the window, her frail form draped in a dark blue kimono, hands busy grinding something in a mortar.

"You're late," she murmured without looking up.

Riku bowed slightly before kneeling across from her. "Master Genji kept us longer today."

She hummed in acknowledgment, then gestured to a small pile of dried roots beside her. "Mash these finely. No lumps."

Riku took the mortar and pestle without question. As he worked, Kaede spoke—not to him, but to the air, as if recalling a memory.

"Did you know," she began, "that long before this village was hidden in the mountains, we lived among the common people? Disguised as farmers, monks, even merchants. It was not the blade that made the shinobi, but the ability to vanish into the world."

Riku kept his focus on the roots, pressing them into powder. He had heard similar stories before. The way of the ninja was not just about fighting—it was about blending in, becoming a shadow in plain sight.

Kaede continued, her voice carrying the weight of years. "A true shinobi must be able to kill, but also to listen. To see what others overlook. Tell me, Riku, what did you observe on your way here?"

He hesitated. It had been a normal morning. Or had it?

"The market was busy," he said slowly. "The old woman at the food stall made more rice than usual. The blacksmith was reforging a short blade—looked like it had been damaged. And…" He frowned, recalling Hajime's earlier actions. "Hajime was sharpening kunai, but he seemed more focused than usual."

Kaede chuckled softly. "Not bad. You saw the details, but not the meaning. The rice seller prepares for visitors. The blacksmith's blade was a weapon returned from combat, not training. And Hajime—" she paused, her old eyes gleaming, "—is expecting something."

A weight settled in Riku's chest. Something was happening. But what?

Kaede smiled faintly, as if reading his thoughts. "A shinobi's daily life is never just routine, Riku. Always pay attention."

Outside, the village bell rang once—a rare sound. A summons.

Kaede's expression darkened. "It seems we are about to find out what today will bring."

Part 3: A Summons at Dawn

The bell's chime faded into silence, but its echo remained in the pit of Riku's stomach. That bell never rang unless something important—something unusual—was happening.

Kaede's sharp eyes followed his reaction. "Go," she said simply.

Riku didn't hesitate. He set down the mortar and pestle, rose swiftly, and slid open the wooden door. Outside, the village had already begun to shift. Market vendors paused their dealings. Apprentices abandoned their chores. Conversations turned to hushed murmurs.

The village square, usually a place of quiet transactions and fleeting gossip, now bristled with tension. Figures emerged from shadowed doorways and rooftops, shinobi of various ranks, some with arms crossed, others already armed. A presence loomed over the space—not in sight, but in the air itself. A collective awareness.

Master Genji stood in the center, his posture as still and composed as ever, though his eyes held an intensity that made Riku straighten instinctively. Beside him was Hajime, his arms folded, his kunai still tucked into his belt. But the easy grin he often wore was absent.

Aya appeared at Riku's side, silent but alert. "This isn't normal," she muttered.

Riku nodded. He spotted Elder Kaede making her way toward the gathering, moving with a slow but deliberate pace. He had the sudden feeling that whatever was happening, she had already expected it.

Master Genji raised a hand, and the village stilled.

"A messenger has arrived," he announced. His voice was even, but something about it sent a ripple of unease through the crowd. "From the capital."

Whispers followed. The capital. The heart of the shogunate's power, a place where politics and war brewed in secret. Shinobi villages like theirs were supposed to remain unseen, untouched by the affairs of lords and generals. If a messenger had come here, it was either by necessity—or by force.

Genji gestured, and from the shaded corridor between two wooden buildings, a man stepped forward. He was draped in travel-worn robes, his face partially concealed by a deep hood. But it was not his appearance that struck Riku—it was his posture. The man walked with a stiffness that spoke of injury, his right hand clutched beneath his sleeve.

Two senior shinobi flanked him, their presence a silent warning. If this messenger was a threat, he would not leave the village alive.

The stranger stopped before Genji and, without preamble, reached into his robe. Several in the crowd tensed. Riku's fingers itched toward his belt.

The man withdrew a scroll, its edges marked with the seal of the shogunate.

He spoke, his voice low but steady.

"I bring orders from the Shogun himself."

A deeper silence fell, heavier than before.

Master Genji took the scroll without reaction. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting the seal. Then, without a word, he broke it open and began to read.

The moment stretched. The wind stirred the trees, the leaves whispering as if in anticipation.

Then Genji exhaled, slow and measured.

"The shogunate has issued a decree," he said at last. "We are being called to serve."

Riku felt Aya stiffen beside him. Serve. The word could mean many things, and few of them were good.

Hajime finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual. "What's the mission?"

Genji's gaze swept over the gathered shinobi, his expression unreadable. Then, at last, he answered.

"A war is coming."

And with that, the village's fragile sense of peace shattered.

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