Chapter 2: Shadows at the Edge of the Fire
Three days passed.
Ren spent them in silence, watching the Leaf outpost breathe and bleed around him. The rain had stopped, but the mud lingered—thick and dark, like old blood. The orphan tent remained his base, a space filled with huddled figures and shared silence, but Ren's mind was never still.
He was learning.
Not about chakra yet—not directly. That kind of knowledge was still out of reach. But he watched the way shinobi moved through the camp. How they carried themselves. How even the injured ones stood straighter than the chuunin commanding the civilians.
They were different. Not just stronger—sharper.
Like blades honed against fear.
Taro came and went, mostly silent. He didn't sit with Ren again, but he didn't avoid him either. Sometimes their eyes met across the tent. Sometimes Taro nodded once, and Ren nodded back.
That was enough.
Ren filled the hours with quiet tasks—cleaning, fetching water, carrying food. He offered without asking. That alone earned him a few curt nods from the medical corps, and more importantly, space to move around without drawing suspicion.
It was during one of those errands—carrying a bucket of bandages from supply to the triage tent—that he saw it.
A gate opened. Shinobi entered.
Three of them.
Two walked. One didn't.
The team moved fast, quiet, dragging their injured comrade between them like it was routine. Their flak jackets were torn, scorched. One kunoichi's left arm was bent at a sickening angle. The jounin in front—the one with blood streaked across his jaw—had an expression like carved stone.
They passed Ren without glancing at him, but he froze anyway. The air around them felt thicker. Like even the mud dared not cling to their sandals.
The wounded man's leg was gone. Wrapped in a tourniquet, but gone. His breathing was shallow and wet.
Ren's hand tightened on the bucket.
War wasn't exciting here. It wasn't flashy genjutsu or cinematic showdowns. It was silent agony and missing limbs. It was teammates gritting their teeth while their friend bled out beside them.
And this—this—was the world he had to survive in.
---
Later that night, Ren sat beside the fire pit outside the orphan tent, watching the flames flicker.
Most of the kids were inside, asleep or pretending to be. A few adults passed by now and then—shinobi, medics, guards. No one paid him any mind.
Which suited him just fine.
He stirred the fire with a stick, deep in thought.
I need power. Not just strength—but the kind of knowledge that lets people walk into hell and come back alive.
He couldn't rely on memories of the anime. Those were half-faded impressions. He remembered the big beats: the Uchiha massacre, Naruto's training, the Fourth's legacy. But not the exact details of chakra flow, or how to mold hand seals.
And even if he could… This world didn't follow scripts.
People here weren't plot armor-protected. They bled. They died.
He needed real understanding. Which meant learning from real sources.
His first step? Understanding chakra.
He had no teacher. But he could observe. Ask questions—small ones. Enough to pass as curious, not suspicious.
And maybe… maybe he could get assigned to the medic tents. That was the closest he could get to chakra use without raising eyebrows.
As he was thinking this, a voice broke the quiet.
"You always hog the fire?"
Ren turned.
It was Taro.
He stood a few feet away, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His bruises had faded some, but his eyes were still sharp.
Ren shrugged. "You want it?"
Taro stepped forward and sat opposite him without a word. For a while, neither spoke. Just the fire crackling between them.
Then Taro said, "You've been busy."
Ren blinked. "Doing what?"
"Running errands. Carrying water. Watching the shinobi like you're taking notes."
Ren's heart skipped. "I'm just... trying to be useful."
Taro gave him a sidelong glance. "You weren't like that before. You used to complain every time someone asked you to lift a crate."
Ren forced a half-smile. "Maybe getting blown up knocked some sense into me."
Taro didn't laugh. But he didn't press, either.
"You thinking of applying to the Academy?" he asked after a while.
Ren's breath caught.
"Can orphans do that?" he asked carefully.
"Sometimes," Taro said. "If they show potential. If they survive long enough."
Ren looked down at the fire. "Would you?"
"I wanted to," Taro muttered. "Rei and Kaoru too. We had this dumb plan—said we'd all graduate together, then get assigned to the same genin team."
His voice cracked a little. He covered it with a cough.
Ren's chest tightened.
Taro flicked a twig into the fire. "Guess that dream's dead."
Ren hesitated. Then said, "You could still apply."
Taro gave a bitter laugh. "Not much point now. No one wants damaged goods."
Ren didn't know what to say to that.
But part of him filed it away: Taro has no path forward. If I learn to rise, maybe I can pull him with me.
He didn't say it out loud. Just let the fire talk for them.
After a while, Taro stood. "Don't stay out too long. You'll catch cold."
He started walking, then paused.
"...Rei used to stare at the fire like that. Said it helped her think."
Ren looked up.
Taro didn't meet his eyes. "You remind me of her sometimes. That's all."
Then he was gone.
---
The next morning, Ren volunteered for supply duty again.
He delivered bandages, filled water jugs, swept ash from the kitchens. By afternoon, he'd worked his way close to the edge of the medical tents.
That's when he saw her.
A young medic-nin—maybe eighteen, nineteen—was hunched over a scroll, muttering to herself. Beside her floated a ball of water. Literally floating—hovering between her hands, held aloft by chakra.
Ren stopped in his tracks.
He stared—not too long, not too obvious—but long enough to memorize the way her fingers moved. The gentle circular motion. The way her chakra pulsed through her palm into the water.
She noticed him watching.
"You lost, kid?"
Ren blinked. "No, ma'am. Just… impressed."
She raised an eyebrow. "Impressed?"
"That's chakra, right? I've never seen it up close before."
Her expression softened just a little.
"Curious, huh?"
Ren nodded quickly.
She considered him. "What's your name?"
"Ren."
"You helping supply?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She smiled faintly. "Keep it up. Maybe someone'll recommend you for medic training. Chakra control's important, but so is focus. You look like you've got some."
Ren blinked.
Then bowed. "Thank you."
She waved him off and turned back to her scroll.
Ren walked away with his heart thudding like a drum.
He'd seen it. Chakra in action. Not flashy, not loud—but real.
And someone thought he had potential.
It wasn't much.
But it was a start.
---
Hi Guys try to rate this story ifbu like it.