Chapter 2: The Smoke That Chokes the Sky
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The ashes clung to Renjiro's skin, coating him in a thin gray mask as he stumbled through the wreckage.
The heat from the fires warped the air around him, turning the world into a twisted, shimmering nightmare.
He coughed, pulling Miyo closer. Her small hand gripped his with surprising strength, her face pressed against his side to block out the horrors around them.
Where the old grain store once stood, there was only a charred skeleton of wood and blackened metal. Bodies littered the roads — farmers, merchants, neighbors he had known all his life — faces frozen in expressions he didn't dare to look at.
"Mother?" he croaked, voice barely more than a breath.
No answer.
The last place he saw her — near the river well — was a black crater now.
Not even rubble left. Just scorched earth.
Gone.
He staggered back, knees buckling, and almost fell.
Miyo tugged at his sleeve, her voice a tiny whisper.
"Ren...ji...ro...?"
"I'm here," he said, forcing himself upright. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
A lie.
He had no idea where they could go.
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They found a shelter for the night inside the remains of a collapsed barn at the edge of the village.
The roof was gone, but the walls still stood, giving them some cover from the bitter night wind.
Renjiro sat with his back to the wall, Miyo curled up against him, the bundle of supplies clutched tightly to his chest.
They hadn't eaten all day.
The rice mother gave them — their last gift — remained untouched in his bag.
Renjiro was afraid to open it.
Afraid that once he did, there would be nothing left.
Just one more thing taken from them.
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He barely slept.
Every creak of wood, every gust of wind, every distant footstep sent a jolt of terror through his veins.
Would the Sand shinobi come back?
Would they finish what they started?
He pressed his forehead against his knees and tried not to cry.
Crying was dangerous.
Crying would wake Miyo.
Crying would make it real.
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The next morning.
The sun rose weakly, a pale sickle behind a veil of smoke.
Renjiro knew they couldn't stay.
If other survivors came — bandits, deserters, scavengers — they would have no mercy for two children.
He had to move.
Find somewhere safe.
Find...
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Uncle Takeshi.
Their last hope.
"Miyo," he whispered, shaking her gently. "We have to go. We have to find Uncle."
She stirred, her face sticky with soot, but nodded.
Renjiro didn't know how far Konoha was.
He had never left the village before.
But he remembered stories — that if you followed the Great Willow River north for three days, you would reach the outer provinces, and from there, the Hidden Leaf itself.
Three days.
Three days with a sick little sister, no transport, no protection.
He steeled himself.
They would make it.
They had to.
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Before leaving, Renjiro did one last thing.
He found a broken shard of wood — part of the barn's old sign — and a rusty nail.
He scratched two names into it:
> "Mother."
"Father."
And below it, as small as he could manage,
> "We'll come back. I promise."
He planted it in the ashes near the ruined town square, the closest thing to a grave he could manage.
Miyo watched him silently, hugging a battered old doll she had found amid the rubble.
The wind caught the ashes, spiraling them up into the sky.
For a moment, it looked like fireflies — hundreds of them — rising into the clouds.
Renjiro bowed his head.
He didn't cry.
Not yet.
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They set out on the road.
Two tiny figures against a wounded world, with nothing but a worn bag of rice and a fading memory of a place called "home."
The Great Willow River waited somewhere beyond the burned hills.
And beyond that — if they survived —
Konoha.
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To be continued...
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