Chapter 3: The World That Turned Away
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The Great Willow River glittered dully beneath the gray sky, winding its slow way through fields of blackened earth.
Renjiro followed it north, leading Miyo by the hand, step after step after step.
Their sandals — once new — were torn to scraps, barely clinging to their feet.
Every breath was a struggle.
The smoke never left the air, even miles away from the village.
It stung their eyes, coated their tongues, made Miyo cough until she cried.
Still, they walked.
They had no choice.
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By the second day, the rice was almost gone.
Renjiro tried to ration it — tiny handfuls, pretending he wasn't hungry.
But Miyo, too young to understand, devoured her share eagerly, smiling as if this was a grand adventure.
"Mother will be waiting for us," she said once, between bites. "She'll be so happy when we bring Uncle back."
Renjiro froze, the rice sticking in his throat.
He wanted to correct her.
He wanted to tell her the truth.
But when he looked into her wide, trusting eyes, he couldn't.
He swallowed the lie — and the rice — and nodded.
"Yeah," he said.
"She'll be waiting."
---
They passed through another village.
Or what remained of it.
The houses were nothing but burnt frames, the streets slick with mud and old blood.
Crows circled overhead, picking at the bodies.
Not soldiers — civilians.
Women, old men, even children.
Renjiro shielded Miyo's eyes when they passed the worst of it — a woman sprawled in the dirt, her clothes torn away, her body bloated and purpled with rot.
He recognized the headbands on the corpses slumped nearby — Sand ninja, marked with the red sun of Sunagakure.
One of them had a kunai still jammed into his neck, his face twisted in a final snarl.
Renjiro pulled Miyo faster.
They didn't look back.
---
By sunset, Miyo's steps were faltering.
Her cheeks burned with fever.
She stumbled, crying softly, and Renjiro had to carry her in his arms, even though his own legs trembled with exhaustion.
He found shelter under the ruins of an abandoned cart, half-sunk into the mud.
They huddled together in the dark.
Their stomachs growled — empty.
Renjiro opened the last of the rice, hands shaking.
It was a tiny amount. Barely a fistful.
Not enough for one, let alone two.
He gave it all to Miyo.
She smiled sleepily as she ate, mumbling thanks to "mother."
Renjiro forced a smile, wiping his face quickly when she wasn't looking.
---
That night.
Renjiro dreamed of fire.
Of screams.
Of Sand shinobi laughing as they set houses ablaze, dragging screaming girls into the fields.
Of blood-soaked soil.
He dreamed of his mother's voice — calling, pleading — then silenced.
He dreamed of his father's hands, broken and burned.
He woke with a scream trapped in his throat, heart pounding so hard he thought it might tear itself free.
Miyo slept peacefully beside him, breathing ragged, her small hand still clutching the doll.
Renjiro curled around her protectively, teeth gritted so hard they ached.
He would protect her.
No matter what.
Even if the world had gone mad.
Even if the gods themselves had turned away.
---
The next morning.
Miyo couldn't walk.
Her legs gave out after only a few steps.
Her skin was hot and damp.
Her eyes, usually so bright, were dull and glassy.
Renjiro carried her on his back, one agonizing step at a time, every muscle screaming.
The world blurred into a haze of pain and smoke.
Sometimes, they saw other travelers — survivors, thieves, broken people.
No one offered help.
No one spared even a glance.
Everyone was alone now.
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By noon, they came upon another village — if it could even be called that.
Only the stone foundations remained.
The smell hit first — death and char.
Renjiro staggered through the ruins, searching desperately for anything — food, water, medicine.
Instead, he found more corpses.
Children barely older than Miyo, faces twisted in terror.
Women crumpled in doorways, their clothes shredded, their dignity torn away by monsters in human skin.
The Sand ninja had passed through here too.
Or worse — deserters, shinobi without orders, feeding on the weak.
He dropped to his knees, heaving dryly, bile burning his throat.
This was the world they lived in now.
A world where kindness was weakness.
A world where only cruelty thrived.
---
Miyo stirred weakly against his back.
"Ren... where are we?"
He wiped his mouth and forced himself to stand.
"Closer," he lied. "Almost there."
Almost home.
Almost safe.
Another lie.
He hated himself for it.
But he would carry her, drag her, crawl if he had to.
Whatever it took.
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As the sun sank into a sea of smoke, Renjiro kept walking.
The road stretched on, endless and cruel.
Above them, the first fireflies of the season blinked into existence — tiny, stubborn lights in the choking dark.
Miyo raised a trembling hand toward them, smiling faintly.
"Look, Renjiro... Mother sent them."
Renjiro said nothing.
He couldn't.
He just kept walking.
One step.
Then another.
Into the ruins of the world.
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To be continued...
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