Chapter 3

The rhythm of Shiosai was dictated by the tide and the weather. Mornings began before dawn, with the gruff calls of fishermen preparing their boats, the creak of oars, and the slap of waves against the stony shore. 

Days were spent hauling nets, mending gear, gutting fish, or tending the meagre garden patches clinging to the rocky soil. Evenings brought the smell of woodsmoke, the low murmur of conversation drifting from doorways, and often, the mournful howl of the wind sweeping in from the vast, grey expanse of the sea.

Ryuu absorbed it all from the relative safety of their small porch, perched on a low wooden stool Kasumi had fashioned for him, the ever-present dark blue umbrella angled perfectly to keep the diffuse, watery sunlight off his sensitive skin. His body had recovered considerably, but it still felt feeble at best.

He could walk without stumbling now, even manage a clumsy approximation of a run for short distances within the confines of their home. He diligently practiced the simple katas Kasumi demonstrated – slow, deliberate movements designed to build balance and body awareness. 

They were oddly perfect for his weak body, as if specifically designed for children his age.

He spent hours simply watching. 

Observing the way Old Man Takeda's gnarled fingers moved with surprising speed as he wove repairs into a torn net, noticing the subtle shifts in weight and balance as fishermen navigated the slippery rocks. 

He tracked the flight of seabirds, analyzing their movements, their effortless mastery of the wind currents. His mind, starved for the complex stimulation it was used to, latched onto these details, dissecting them, storing them away. It was all data. In a world he barely understood, data felt like the only currency he possessed.

His innate understanding of the language remained a constant source of bewilderment. He tested it cautiously, listening intently to the fragments of conversation that drifted on the salt-laced wind.

"...another Kiri patrol boat sighted near the Shoal Islands yesterday. Didn't come closer, though."

"...supplies from the mainland are late again. If that merchant doesn't show soon..."

"...heard young Taro from Oshinai village hasn't been seen for weeks. Just... vanished."

Kiri. The name sent a jolt through him, confirming his initial dreadful suspicion. Kirigakure. The Hidden Mist Village. 

He was undoubtedly in the Land of Water. 

The mention of patrols, the delayed supplies, the hushed whispers about disappearances – it painted a picture of isolation, control, and underlying fear. This wasn't just a poor fishing village, it was a place existing under the oppressive shadow of a powerful, and likely dangerous, hidden village.

But when was this? Was the Fourth Mizukage already the bloodthirsty tyrant Yagura, controlled by Obito? Had the Kekkei Genkai purges already begun in earnest, or were they just starting? 

The conversations were frustratingly vague, devoid of specific names or dates that could anchor him in the timeline. He felt adrift, armed with fragments of future knowledge but blind to his immediate present.

Emi, the sail-maker's daughter, remained his most persistent point of contact with the village children. Undeterred by his reserve or Kasumi's polite discouragement, she'd often appear near their house, her bright eyes scanning for him.

"Playing stones?" she asked one overcast afternoon, holding up a handful of smooth, grey pebbles. She'd drawn a complex pattern of interconnecting circles in the damp earth near their porch steps. "I'll teach you."

Ryuu hesitated. Kasumi was inside, preparing their midday meal. He glanced back towards the screen door, then at Emi's expectant face. A part of him, the adult analytical part, saw the value in interaction, in gathering information, in appearing somewhat normal. Another part, the primal instinct residing in this small, vulnerable body, screamed caution. Strangers were danger. Difference was danger.

He gave a small, stiff nod, clutching the handle of his umbrella tighter as he knelt awkwardly opposite her. Emi demonstrated the game – a complex variation of jacks or knucklebones, involving tossing one stone while scooping others according to the pattern on the ground. Her movements were quick, practiced.

His own attempts were clumsy. His small fingers fumbled the stones, his throws lacked accuracy. Yet, his mind quickly grasped the pattern, the logic of the scoops and sequences. He compensated for his lack of dexterity with sharp observation, anticipating Emi's moves.

Emi laughed, not unkindly, at his dropped stones. "You're slow! But you watch good. Like a little owl." She paused, tilting her head again in that unnervingly direct way. "Your eyes are funny."

He stiffened. His eyes – large, and a startling shade of red – were another mark of his otherness, along with his skin and hair. It wouldn't be odd for someone to mistake his eyes for a Dōjutsu.

"They're just eyes," he mumbled, focusing intently on retrieving a dropped pebble, deliberately avoiding her gaze.

"No," Emi insisted, leaning closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "Old Lady Misaki says red eyes mean danger. Like… like demons."

A chill, unrelated to the sea breeze, traced its way down Ryuu's spine. Superstition ran deep in isolated communities. Being marked as demonic, even by childish gossip fueled by an old woman's tales, was dangerous. It fed the fear, the suspicion.

Plus, he had a suspicion the rumors about red eyes being dangerous had nothing to do with demons, but rather the Uchiha Clan. It wouldn't be strange for rumors and myths to spread around, especially since the Sharingan was one of the major Dōjutsu.

"That's just stories," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Maybe," Emi conceded, seemingly losing interest as she focused back on the game. "My turn!"

After a while of playing, he surprisingly won, leaving Emi with a grumpy expression. Thankfully, his mother had come out at that time, prompting Emi to leave with a dejected expression.

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Kasumi's subtle training continued unabated. She seemed to operate under the assumption that danger could appear at any moment. The games became more demanding. Hide-and-seek involved finding hiding spots that masked not just sight, but sound and even scent, holding perfectly still for long periods. 

She taught him breathing exercises to maximize stillness and lower his heart rate. She showed him how to read the wind, track disturbances in the mist, identify edible plants from poisonous ones in their small garden.

Of course, it was impossible for a child to learn these things so quickly, but due to his adult mind, he was able to grasp the majority.

One evening, she sat him down, her expression serious. "Ryuu," she began, her voice low. "Today I will teach you something… but you have to promise me to not expose it to anyone, alright?" 

Sensing the tense atmosphere, he nodded, his gaze focused.

Kasumi slowly raised her hands, and started weaving hand seals. They weren't many, just two, but the result was a beautiful water flower appearing before them.

"This is a jutsu created using Chakra, the fundamental energy created when two more primal energies, known collectively as one's [stamina] are molded together." 

She explained patiently, a smile blossoming on her face, as though excited to show her son.

"The two primal energies are [Physical Energy], which comes from the body, and the [Spiritual Energy], that comes from the mind."

Though the explanation she gave was an oversimplification of how chakra worked, she needed to take her sons education step by step. It would be hard for a 3 year old child to take in concepts like cells and consciousness.

"Chakra is generated in the heart, flowing through the Chakra pathways to every part of the body. Normally, one is able to sense their chakra after focusing a bit, but some people need external stimulation to do so."

She pointed at Ryuu's heart with her finger, her gentle expression becoming solemn once more.

"Close your eyes and focus on your body. Feel each breath."

He stared at her hand for a second, then closed his eyes and concentrated inwards, searching for the sensation. He remembered the erratic feeling during his fever. Now, it felt like a faint, warm current flowing beneath his skin, centered somewhere in his gut. It was weak, flickering, but definitely there.

"Good," Kasumi said, noticing his focus. "Now, try to gather it. Pull it towards your hand."

He tried, scrunching up his small face with effort. It felt like trying to grasp smoke. The warmth pooled slightly in his stomach but refused to move, dissipating whenever he tried to direct it.

"It takes practice," Kasumi said patiently. "Keep trying. Just a little each day. Once you're able to feel your chakra flow, we will proceed with the next step."

Saying so, she got up, but not before kissing his forehead with a gentle gaze.

Ryuu clenched his hands at the strange feeling, speechless at how surreal it felt.

This, he knew, was the foundation, the most basic of basics. Chakra control. The bedrock upon which the fantastical abilities of this world were built. He attacked the exercise with the same desperate intensity he applied to everything else, spending hours sitting rigidly, chasing that elusive inner warmth, frustration mounting with each failure.

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The harsh realities of Shiosai never let him forget why this effort was necessary. 

A fierce argument erupted down by the docks one afternoon between two fishermen over a tangled net that resulted in one man drawing a rusty fishing knife. Others quickly intervened, pulling them apart before blood was shed, but the raw, desperate anger lingered in the air. Resources were scarce, patience thinner. Violence simmered just below the surface.

Another time, Old Man Takeda returned from a multi-day trip further out at sea, his small boat battered, his face grim. He spoke in low tones to the other elders. Ryuu, positioned nearby under the pretense of watching the waves, strained his ears.

"...Mist boat... no markings, but fast... demanded half the catch... had strange masks..."

A Kiri patrol, likely. Extorting resources from outlying villages. It confirmed the oppressive presence he'd suspected. This wasn't just neglect, it was active exploitation.

The confirmation of Kasumi's – and therefore his own – heritage came unexpectedly, mundanely. 

Takeda, perhaps out of pity or a rare moment of generosity after his encounter with the Mist boat, had shared a larger portion of his remaining catch with Kasumi. 

It was more fish than she could easily preserve by salting or drying before it spoiled.

Ryuu sat at the low table, practicing the frustrating Chakra exercise, while Kasumi worked quickly at a basin near the hearth. She scaled and cleaned the fish with practiced efficiency.

Then, needing to keep them fresh while she prepared the rest, she paused. Ryuu saw her glance around the small room, her gaze lingering for a moment on the simple icebox outside the door, likely insufficient for this quantity.

She seemed to make a decision. Turning her back partially towards him, she placed her hands flat over the pile of cleaned fish in the basin. 

For a fraction of a second, Ryuu felt it – a subtle shift in the air, a faint dip in temperature, and he saw it. A brief, almost invisible shimmer of pale blue energy enveloping her hands. Instantly, a delicate layer of white frost bloomed across the surface of the fish, locking in the cold.

It happened in less than two seconds. Kasumi snatched her hands back as if burned, her head snapping up, her dark eyes locking onto his across the room. Her face was paler than usual, her expression momentarily unguarded, revealing a flicker of pure panic before smoothing back into careful neutrality.

Ryuu remained perfectly still, his own eyes wide, the warmth he'd been trying to coax from his gut vanishing in a sudden icy dread.

He hadn't imagined it. The blue energy – chakra. The instantaneous frost.

Ice Release.

The Kekkei Genkai unique to the Yuki clan.

Haku's clan. The clan persecuted, feared, and hunted to near extinction in the Land of Water's bloody purges.

Suddenly, everything clicked into sharp, terrifying focus. 

Kasumi's movements disguised as simple chores. 

Her constant vigilance and paranoia. 

Her relentless survival training. 

Her presence in this isolated, backwater village far from any center of power. 

The reason she insisted on covering not just him, but often herself, perhaps to hide the subtle tells of her chakra or any ingrained clan mannerisms.

She wasn't just hiding from something. She was hiding her blood. Hiding from Kirigakure, from the purges, from the fate that had likely claimed the rest of her family.

And he, Ryuu, was her son. Her Yuki clan son. An albino Yuki clan child, marked by difference in a land that slaughtered those with unique bloodlines.

The confirmation changed everything. 

The vague sense of unease solidified into tangible, immediate danger. Shiosai wasn't just poor and isolated, it was a potential deathtrap. If anyone discovered Kasumi's bloodline, if a Kiri patrol decided to investigate too closely, they wouldn't stand a chance.

Fear made people cautious, but it also made them reactive. He needed to be proactive.

He needed to get them out of the Land of Water. 

He needed to get them somewhere central, somewhere chaotic enough to hide in plain sight, somewhere he could access the resources, the knowledge, the power he needed to survive what he knew was coming. Somewhere like Konoha.

The challenge seemed insurmountable. 

Convincing a woman running for her life, hiding a bloodline punishable by death, to willingly walk into the heart of another major hidden village – one potentially allied with or at least aware of Kiri's policies – felt impossible.

But as he watched Kasumi carefully latch the door that evening, her eyes scanning the darkness outside, he knew he had to try. 

His survival, their survival, depended on it. He had the knowledge, the drive, and now, the confirmation of the danger they were truly in. The first step was planting the seed, subtly turning Kasumi's fear of discovery here into a motivation for seeking refuge elsewhere. It would require careful manipulation, patience, and playing on the very instincts that had kept her alive this long.