Chapter 23: The Smell of Smoke
It started with a strange scent in the air.
Ren noticed it first when he stepped outside his tent early one morning. The forest around their hidden camp, usually filled with the scent of dew and moss, carried something different now—faint, acrid, and out of place. Like burnt wood carried on the wind.
He didn't say anything at first. Maybe it was just a random fire somewhere far off. But as the day went on, others noticed too.
Whispers traveled through the camp like ripples on water. The genin who had returned from scouting missions wore tight expressions and refused to answer questions. One of them, a boy named Daichi, had a torn sleeve and a grim look in his eyes.
"Did you see something?" Ren had asked quietly.
Daichi only shook his head. "Keep your head down, kid."
That was all he said before disappearing into one of the tents.
By the time the sun dipped below the trees, Juro-sensei had gathered all the orphans together.
His face was calm, but Ren could see the tightness in his jaw and the way his fingers flexed behind his back. "From now on," Juro said, "no one leaves the clearing without my permission. We'll be halting training for the next few days. You'll stay near the tents and stay alert."
Whispers broke out immediately. Even Taro and Aki looked shaken.
Ren swallowed. Something was coming. He didn't need future knowledge to sense it—he could feel it in his bones.
Later that night, as they sat around a small fire with bowls of thin stew, Aki muttered, "I saw smoke on the horizon when I went to wash up. North side."
Taro frowned. "Do you think... the war's moved closer?"
"It never left," Ren said before he could stop himself.
The other two looked at him, but didn't argue.
That night, sleep didn't come easy. Ren lay awake in his thin bedroll, listening to the quiet sounds of the forest—except it wasn't quiet. Not like usual. There were fewer birds, fewer insects. Even nature seemed to be holding its breath.
The next morning, Juro made a decision.
"We're moving," he told them. "Deeper into the forest. This camp is no longer safe."
The group packed in silence. Ren kept glancing over his shoulder, expecting to see something through the trees—enemy shinobi, maybe. He didn't. But the feeling of being watched never left him.
They walked for hours under thick canopies and tangled roots until Juro found a new place—a ridge that overlooked a narrow valley, surrounded by steep slopes and hidden by undergrowth.
"This will do for now," Juro said. "Settle in. Stay quiet."
Training was still suspended, but Ren didn't stop moving. He practiced alone, testing his chakra control quietly behind the ridge, away from the others. The fear creeping into his chest only made him more determined. If danger was coming, he had to be ready.
That night, the smell of smoke returned—stronger this time.
Ren sat up, eyes wide. Others did too. Across the makeshift camp, people stirred. Juro appeared moments later, kneeling by the fire with a grim expression.
"They're burning something nearby," he said. "Could be enemy forces clearing the woods. Could be a fight."
"What should we do?" someone asked.
"We wait. And if it comes closer—we run."
Silence followed his words.
Ren felt the knot in his stomach tighten. War had always been a distant concept, something abstract—even in this world. But now, it pressed against their fragile safety like a knife through cloth.
The next day, Juro began reinforcing their routines. He had the older orphans take watches in pairs. Everyone practiced moving quietly, hiding their presence. It wasn't full training, but it was preparation.
Ren watched closely, absorbing everything.
He also noticed how Juro stayed up most nights, quietly watching the tree line with eyes that never blinked for long. And when a single birdcall broke the quiet—just one, unnatural and sharp—Juro stood instantly, hand on his kunai.
Nothing came that time.
But it reminded them all how close they were to the edge.