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Naruto: The ashes from flames of war

Soulless_lord
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Chapter 1 - Chapter 1: Summer’s Last Light

Chapter 1: Summer's Last Light

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The fields swayed under a golden sun, rippling in soft waves as the wind rolled through them like a living thing. The scent of fresh earth and growing rice filled the air. Somewhere beyond the hills, a crow called — sharp, but distant.

The world, for the moment, was at peace.

Renjiro wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his tattered shirt and leaned back against the old oak cart his father had repaired just that morning. His hands were raw from harvesting, but he didn't mind. The sun was warm, the sky clear, and in the distance, he could see his little sister, Miyo, dancing barefoot through the tall grass, chasing after glimmering specks of light.

"Fireflies again," his father chuckled from behind him, voice thick with affection. "That girl has more energy than a young deer."

Renjiro grinned. "She says if she catches one, she'll wish for a real festival this year. One without shinobis passing through."

His father's smile faltered — just slightly. Barely enough to notice if you weren't looking. But Renjiro noticed.

He always noticed, lately.

"I hope she's right," his father said, turning back to the wheat with a soft sigh.

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Later that evening, when the fields turned from gold to deep blue, the family gathered for dinner outside their small, sturdy farmhouse.

The food was simple — rice with pickled vegetables, a tiny grilled fish shared between them — but Miyo made it feel like a feast. She babbled happily about the fireflies, about building lanterns, about how their uncle Takeshi would come visit from Konoha soon, bringing sweets and funny stories about ninja life.

Their mother listened with a soft, sad smile, stroking Miyo's hair, glancing once — just once — toward the road leading west.

Renjiro said nothing. He felt it too: the way the nights grew quieter. The way fewer merchants came to trade. The way travelers wore heavier armor, carried more swords.

War was coming.

Everyone knew.

No one spoke of it.

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That night, after Miyo had fallen asleep curled next to him on the thin futon, Renjiro sat by the open window, staring up at the stars.

He could still see fireflies drifting lazily through the trees — small points of light, fragile and aimless.

He remembered what his uncle Takeshi once said, years ago when he last visited:

"When the world turns dark, even the smallest light matters more than anything."

Renjiro didn't understand it then.

He thought he might understand it soon.

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Two Days Later.

The sun never rose.

Instead, black smoke choked the horizon before dawn.

Distant booms shook the earth. Horses screamed.

And then came the screaming — not animals, not thunder — but people.

Renjiro jolted awake, Miyo clinging to his arm, her wide, terrified eyes glowing in the gloom.

"Stay here," their mother whispered, shoving a small cloth bundle into his hands — dried rice, a waterskin, a few coins. "Stay quiet. No matter what you hear."

"But—"

"Promise me, Renji." Her voice cracked. "Take care of your sister. Promise."

"I—I promise."

She kissed their foreheads, one after the other, hands trembling. Then she was gone, pulling the trapdoor over them, sealing them in the dark cellar beneath the house.

---

Hours passed.

The world above shook and burned.

Heavy footsteps thundered overhead.

Once, they heard a roar — a jutsu Renjiro couldn't even name — and the house shuddered violently. Dust rained down from the ceiling.

Miyo whimpered, and Renjiro wrapped his arms around her, pressing her tiny body against his.

They waited.

And waited.

And waited.

When the world above finally fell silent, Renjiro forced the door open with trembling hands.

Smoke filled the sky, blotting out the sun.

The village — his world — was gone.

Charred ruins stretched in every direction. Ash drifted like snow.

He staggered into the ruins, clutching Miyo's hand, calling for his mother, his father.

No answer.

Only the crackle of dying fires.

Only the buzz of flies over bodies he couldn't look at.

In the distance, dark figures moved through the smoke — foreign shinobi, cloaked in pale desert robes, headbands bearing the mark of a sun.

Sunagakure.

The Sand had come.

And they had taken everything.

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To be continued...