Chapter 24: Shadows of War
The scent of smoke lingered longer this time.
Ren stood at the edge of the clearing, the soles of his thin sandals pressing into soft dirt. The usual sounds of the forest—chirping birds, rustling leaves—had quieted, replaced by an eerie stillness. The wind carried faint hints of ash and something acrid, something wrong. His breath caught. That smell wasn't from a campfire. It smelled like scorched earth and burnt paper. Like war.
He wasn't the only one who noticed. Taro and Aki stood nearby, unusually silent. Taro's hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his jaw clenched, while Aki scanned the treetops, eyes sharp and restless.
"I smelled it yesterday too," Aki said, breaking the quiet. "Fainter then. But now... it's stronger."
Taro nodded. "Genin came back injured yesterday. One of them couldn't walk right."
Ren didn't speak. He didn't have to. The signs were all around them.
They had been hidden deep in the forest for weeks now, living in the makeshift orphan camp under the reluctant care of a few shinobi from the Leaf. What little training they had was supervised by Juro-sensei, a quiet, gruff man the children all believed to be a chunin. Ren had his doubts—Juro's chakra control, his summons, and how effortlessly he moved pointed toward something more—but no one questioned it openly. Better to believe in a chunin than to grapple with the weight of a true jonin living among them.
Today, Juro's mood was grimmer than usual. His eyes flicked too quickly, always watching the trees, and he gave curt orders without his usual scolding.
"Training's canceled," he announced after a long silence. "Everyone—pack lightly. We may need to move."
A few kids groaned. Some paled. A couple, the younger ones, began to cry.
Juro didn't yell. He didn't need to. The authority in his voice was enough to silence everyone.
Aki stepped closer to Ren and muttered, "It's getting worse, isn't it?"
Ren nodded. "Too many signs. Injured shinobi. Burnt scent. Tension."
"I heard a jounin died last week," Taro added, his voice low.
"Which one?"
"Don't know. They didn't say. Just heard the name was erased from the wall."
Ren looked toward the sky. It was cloudless, blue, beautiful in the way only something indifferent could be. His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the world he came from. Blue skies had meant peace there. Sunshine and warmth. Here, they meant clear visibility for scouting enemies.
That evening, they ate early. Thin stew, hardly filling. Takuma tried to sneak an extra portion, and a tired-looking genin swatted his hand away. The children huddled around the fire as the forest darkened.
Ren caught sight of the returning scouting team. Three shinobi. Only three.
They had left with six.
Juro went to speak with them. One of them—the youngest—had blood on his shoulder. Not his, Ren guessed. The other two moved like they were carrying invisible weights.
Aki whispered, "They're getting closer."
Ren nodded.
Later that night, Ren lay awake, arms folded behind his head, staring at the canvas roof of their tent. The ground was hard beneath him, and the air inside smelled of sweat and smoke. Aki slept to his right, twitching in his dreams. Taro was curled up on his left, breathing softly.
Outside, the wind blew again, and the scent returned.
Stronger now.
Ash and war.
---
The next morning, Juro gathered them again. This time, there was no pretense of normalcy.
"You may be called to run. If it happens, you run. You don't fight, you don't argue, you follow the nearest Leaf shinobi and you move. Understand?"
A murmur of nervous agreement passed through the children.
Juro continued. "The enemy is close. Not days away. Hours, maybe. You are not soldiers. You are children. If things go badly, the camp will burn."
No one spoke. Not even the older boys who usually joked. The reality settled like a weight on their shoulders.
Juro looked at each of them in turn. "You've been taught the basics. How to move, how to listen, how to follow. Remember them. Survival depends on it."
Later, while gathering his few belongings—mostly hand-me-down clothes and a dull kunai—Ren paused to look around the camp. This place, for all its harshness, had been a fragile sanctuary. Now, it was crumbling.
He found himself wondering how many of them would still be here in a week. Or even tomorrow.
He passed the medical tent and saw Kota still resting inside, propped up with bandages around his leg. He was awake now, sipping water. Ren gave him a small nod.
Kota nodded back, eyes tired but grateful.
"I'm not dying," he said hoarsely.
"I know," Ren replied. "But we might have to run again soon."
Kota blinked. "Then I'll hop."
Ren cracked a rare smile. "You'd better."
---
That night, the children slept in shifts. Juro had assigned small groups to stay alert and watch the tree line. Aki, Ren, and Taro had the second shift.
They sat near the edge of the clearing, bundled in cloaks, a small lantern casting dancing shadows.
"Do you think the enemy knows we're here?" Aki asked.
Ren was quiet. Then, "Probably. But we're not worth attacking yet."
"Yet," Taro echoed.
"Why help us at all?" Aki muttered, voice bitter. "They could just abandon us. We're not Leaf. Just war orphans."
Taro looked up. "Because even in war, some people try to do the right thing."
Ren didn't respond, but those words stuck in his head.
He stayed awake long after their shift ended, watching the moon filter through the trees.
And he thought: How long until even that light is taken from us?
---
The following morning, something changed.
The scouts didn't return. A full team this time.
Juro spoke in whispers with two other shinobi. His face had gone stone-like again, mouth set in a hard line.
Training was cancelled entirely. Children were told to keep their packs nearby, sleep in shoes, and never stray more than a hundred feet from camp.
Ren practiced his breathing techniques beneath a tree, the seven-chakra method he'd once used to calm his mind. It didn't make him stronger. But it made him clearer. His thoughts sharpened. His fears calmed.
And in that clarity, he found something more terrifying: a sense that things were truly falling apart.
Juro approached them before nightfall.
"If anything happens to me, you follow Genin Tetsu. He knows the fallback routes. Do not hesitate."
"Wait," Aki said. "Happen to you? Sensei—"
"Don't argue," Juro said. "Be ready."
Then he was gone.
The three sat in silence again, just as the last light vanished. Not even the fireflies came out tonight.
Even they knew to stay hidden.
---
Ren didn't sleep.
His body ached, his mind spun, but he stayed alert. Every snap of a twig, every gust of wind made his heart race.
The war wasn't at their doorstep anymore.
It was knocking.
And he wasn't sure the door would hold.