"You took all your shit ?" The old, rancid voice puked in my direction, the old smell of onion or rotten egg almost making me wince, only habit stopping me to do so.
"Yes I did, yes I am sure." I responded with annoyance, while I make sure that my few personal things, that means two shirt and the same number of panties, are all in my little package. Then marking a stop to lay a last eye to the old decrepit building that served as home to me for all my life, not sure if I was currently more joyful, annoyed or anxious.
"Marvelous..." The woman says dryly, the old witch seemingly too angry, I don't know the reason for today (not that I ever knew if there is even a reason or if it is only a normal state for her), too even be happy of my departure. "Now I think you know the way... so get the fuck out"
She finishes her "goodbyes" before closing the door in a rapid and powerful move, hammering the paper wall against the wood with such angriness I almost thought it would make one of them fall.
She really should take some pills and try to calm down...
For so many years I knew her, and for so many years wrath seemed to be her only actual personality. With her advanced age, her heart should not last for much more time if she continues to blow at the first annoyance.
Anyway, byebye annoying cow, and Goodmorning to freedom.
I taste with a mix of anxiousness and pleasure my newfound liberty, as I lay eyes on the world outside of my cocon of shit and noises.
taking long and big breathing
Oh, for the first time in so many years, I get the chance to see the world outside of this stupid nursery room, outside of these stupid child's playgrounds, and outside of this tomb of an orphanage.
Now is the time to...
"And remember ! Never come back !"
The old woman scream while reopening his door, before instantly closing it again, the wooden walls trembling both from the voice and the constant inelegant closing of the door.
ok...
So... what was I saying ? Oh yeah, I was internally yapping about that.
It has been four and a half years since the day I was born.
Or maybe just four years ?
Five ?
Anyway, the point is, it seems I am "old enough" to be considered a full a grown up, because I am already told that I must now take care of myself. Like literally, living alone, etc. And by how that information was given to me, I don't think that there isn't really any type of room for even the slightest argument.
So yesterday was my last day under the watchful eyes of the ladies of the orphanage.
The last day where I would sleep in this same bed that is now way too small to be comfortable. The last time where was placed food in front of me, and that I didn't need to buy and cook it myself. Or the last day that someone could scold me for wandering the halls at night. The last day I was considered someone to be looked after.
This morning, by rule and by custom, I am no longer a child of the orphanage. I am simply an adult. Who has to take care of himself, alone.
A four and half year-old adult...
I mean not really. Technically, I am what is called a "Youngholds".
Yeah, literally a child who hold his own household. A really stupid but simple term for people like me.
A normalcy here. Where children from the orphanage, once they've past their 5 or 6 years, are kicked out from it, to go live independently. All by themselves. Either in their own house, if they have the chance to be the infant of registered shinobis that owned the place, or to a common place, in the same room with 5 children or even way more, and where the supervisors only show up to collect the rent or check if the place is clean, nicely called "Half-Homes".
Fortunately, it seems I have the chance to be in the first category.
...
What in the universe is this mad world ?
No like... seriously
This is probably the worst idea I've ever heard of my life (counting the previous one), even for a lot of fictional worlds, that shit is really fucked up.
"Hello, now you are five years old. Time to grow, live all alone and to get a job. And by the way, happy birthday !"
What the fuck ?
These are children Goddamnit ! They can't even tie their own laces at this age !
In what type of dystopian social-Darwinist placed I ended up in ?
I can't remember a damn thing since it seems my memory as been wiped out. But did I really choose to be there ? Did I really liked a piece of fiction about a world that seems to be as dumb as he is cruel ?
Maybe I should've asked for fucking Fairy tail, Sailor Moon, or whatever bullshit anime with the power of love, cupcakes, grape juices and other bullshit like that.
Fuck me and this big brain of mine.
Oh, and about fucking me. Yes, I said once you are 5/6 years old... Which I am definitely not, so it seems someone has made some little "bureaucratic mistakes".
You witch !
Now I am the size of three apple and half, but this crazy state still seems open to the idea of counting me as an adult and to treat me like so. And expect me to be "responsible".
...
Fuck this
...
Maybe I should've really asked for Fairy Tail.
Or maybe Attack on titans, at least there they seem to wait for you to be at least some sort of teenager to enlist you in the army. From what I recall.
The matron said I should be grateful, for this opportunity to show my genius.
She sure told me so.
With her usual dry smile, that I am soooo fortunate to leave so early.... because I am a precocious, clever and "ahead of schedule." little guy.
She said these stupid things as if the fact I can shit on my own excused my age, as if knowing how to wipe my own ass make me ready for the world. I nodded, of course, but inside, and still now, I know she don't truly believe it, and that she is only glad to have one less mouth to feed.
Especially one who looks like mine.
And I will go home, or to my old family house, to be exact.
I have never seen it, but it seems that I have a house, where I will live from now. Instead of going to rent in a seven m2 room with half a dozen of dirty children. The house stands on the edge of the village, far away from the noise of the center, just before the endless jungle, or so they said.
My new home.
I stand on the threshold, a thin bundle of clothes under my arm, staring at the pale road leading away from the nauseating, garish, and crowded corridors I've always known. It's strange, going out after so many years. The air seems too big, too pure. My legs are small, my steps hesitant, but now there's no one left to hold my hand, not that anyone ever did so. I must move on.
Still, this situation is everything but normal and fair to me. Especially with the mentality from my previous world.
There, only the most backward, sluggish and barbaric nations could send little children to the factory or the war, expecting them to do adult's work.
So strangely, I hope the other nations also do this kind of things here, or it would mean that I am in the equivalent of a third world nation, which would be quite bad, for me.
Even if, according to the matron and the psychic of this new place, I'm big enough to look after myself, supported by the fact that I seem to be a precocious child.
I started talking at ten months and walking at fifteen. Not that it would be not expected from some reborn soul such as me. I was pressed to finally be able to move like a normal human being instead of being this sluggish little crying thing of a baby.
On top of that, and probably the biggest reason for my early removal from there, from what I've could hear between the nurses' whispers, is the fact the war made and is still making quite a lot of orphans, and that the orphanage lack the funds or the will to fully take care of all of them, so they have to get rid of the most resourceful ones to make room for the new arrivals.
Yes, that's true we're at war, the third one actually.
So, I was given one hour to gather my things before being taken to my home. Having to wake up at 5:30 a.m., and only having the time to wash myself alone in one of the many communal showers of the orphanage before I had to leave, not that I could do anything else, as the all building is still quite asleep, even now as the sun is peeking through the horizon, the first lights of the morning tainting my vision.
"Hmpft..."
I make a little sound as I stretch myself a little bit. Clearing my thoughts as I take the opportunity to look around, intrigued by this place I was banned from seeing for so many years. Experiencing the now so strange feeling of the wind on my skin, and the light of the sun warming my face, that years of confinement behind high walls (probably only high for me and my peers of age) have prevented me from.
Takigakure...
For years and months, these letters sounded so strange in my ears, a word that was nothing more than a term, a term whose the true sense I could not yet grasp.
Whispered by the matrons of the orphanage between two conversations about the everyday life or between two orders, spat with a mix of pride and bitterness, more of the first or of the second from time to time, depending on their mood.
A truly hidden village, quite more than the others, whose destroys their original names by letting thousands upon thousands of people, shinobi, nobles and civilians alike in, making these places, the heart of the shinobi world, a far cry from anything "hidden".
Or at least from what I've heard here, having heard more of this fact about the village than anything else, fact which seems to be a particular reason of pride and contentment for its people.
A small village, concealed in the heart of the great jungle of the north, hiding behind the endless greenery, shielded from the eyes of the outside world. A "great place to live," the old ladies used to say, though their wrinkled mouths always curled strangely when they said the words.
Not to me, of course, I only know this because I have the habitude to spy on any conversation I can find. They always try to talk to me as less as they can, and even less if it's possible. But that didn't stop me from hearing all of these things, from stories given to children of the orphanage, to basic gossip, about this place.
And now, for the very first time, I can actually see it.
The orphanage is located on the edge of the village, wedged into a slope between a few large stones on one side and on the stone flank of the other, the same that, from what I've heard, surround the whole village. Above this one, well beyond a distance that none other than a shinobi can climb, can be seen trees, beginning of the immense and supposedly infinite forest which has from this place of Taki a place of choice for our people, hidden away from view.
My place seems to be as far from the center as possible, as if to keep the less important individuals away.
From its winding threshold, descending along a path of gravel and stones, my gaze extends further than ever over the small valley beneath me, into a new world, truly. Whose lush beauty fills me with both fear and joy. As much for the nature as for the village itself.
The first thing that strikes me is actually not the view, neither the smell or the temperature... it is the sound.
Not the clamor of people, of course. Taki is a real far cry from any cities from my previous life, always full of people and sounds from pedestrians to cars, bikes and trains, with their crowded avenues and relentless noise from morning to evening and after, no, it is actually very quiet on this side, seemingly like a small town, or even only a big village for my previous world.
Here, the dominant voice is the water.
Always water. Dozens of streams and rivulets wind through the small valley and the village like veins of silver, trickling, murmuring, sometimes making little whistling sounds as they bounce off rocks and tree branches.
Likewise, from the trees themselves, which can be seen as far as the eye can see, some of which are lush and gigantic, unlike anything I've ever seen before, the only exception perhaps being in those documentaries from my old world about the Amazon rainforest.
From these exult the sounds of a thousand forest inhabitants, small and big, the wildlife here seeming more vibrant than anywhere else. From the sounds of insects to birds singing, even the wind between the trees.
The sound of this life seems endless. It seems that here, silence can almost not exist, only superimposed on the quiet, sometimes cacophonous, music of the forest, like a second heartbeat.
Further away, deeper, heavier, the roar of the great waterfall echoes in the valley. A constant and imposing presence.
Even here, on the outskirts, the air tastes humid, each breath filling my lungs with mist and moss.
Then comes the sight.
The village isn't actually located on a hilltop, as one might expect from any sort of settlement or fortress. But it is actually deep beneath the earth's surface, situated in a sort of vast hollow that almost seems to have been dug by an intelligent hand, as it appears to form a perfect circle, with walls so steep and smooth, like a knife cutting through butter.
Of course, the reason that immediately rules out the idea of outside help for this construction is the gigantic size of this valley, dug deeply and extensively into the ground, located at least forty, if not fifty, meters below the surface. Such a gigantic task would be impossible for any human civilization, not to mention the logistical costs and the lack of reason to create such a place.
And so one cannot help but wonder: if no mortal hand shaped this place, what force did? For its beauty carries the quiet certainty of something unnatural, a monument whose origin lies beyond understanding.
On all sides, rivers and waterfalls can be seen, emerging from the top of the walls, starting from the forest above before rushing down here. Others seem to emerge from the vegetation of the valley coming from unknown sources. Others seem to emerge from the wall itself, and from cavities dug into it. All joining together to end in an immense lake that take place in the center.
The village is small, reasonable in size but far from large, taking up little space in this immense setting. Mostly joined around the great lake, a big part of them being on the edge, the others being scarcely placed in the valleys, between the hundreds of rivers and water pont.
There and there on the cliffs, you can see houses cling to steep slopes and cliff faces, some seems constructed from scratch there with wood and disposable materials, others seemingly carved in the rock itself, others are balancing precariously on stilts that disappear into the current.
Most roofs look darkened by age, weighed down with moss and creeping vines that seem determined to envelop them entirely. Wood and stone are the main materials, but nature insists on leaving its mark everywhere here, with roots curling around support beams, flowers sprout between tiles, ferns climb the edges of walls.
Out from the cliff, in the more center area, some trees, mostly in the greenest area, harbour houses on them, life if half the village had sworn to never inhabit on the ground. These houses resembling the ones climbing the walls of the cliff.
Where mansions seem close one to another, whether on the rock or on the wood, can be seen rope bridges swaying between platforms suspended in the trees and in the cliff.
On these platforms, lots of men with headband and armour can be seen.
Although they seem to prefer the other path. As I can see more wandering on the cliff itself. Climbing it, descending it, or going from house to house, on their only feet, as naturally as if they were walking on normal ground, and not on a 90°-degree wall.
Are they using that, more than the bridges, because it is faster, because they don't want to be around civilians, or just to show off ? I don't know.
But what I know is, at this very instant, whatever future lies ahead of me, the wonders of this place, and of chakra, subdue me.
Narrow stairways and hidden paths snake up and down the cliffs, steep and treacherous to outsiders but mapped into the bodies of those born here.
And towering above all of it, overshadowing everything else, is the tree.
The Giant Tree of Takigakure. I had heard stories of it from the matrons, half in scorn, half in awe. A tree whose roots were said to dig into the bones of the earth itself, whose crown touched the skin of the heavens. Seeing it in person nearly makes me believe it. The trunk alone is a wall of living wood, thick enough to dwarf buildings, and its branches stretch outward so wide that entire districts rest beneath their shade. Strangely, no homes nor watchtowers are built into its roots and lower branches, while this would make the perfect place from all accounts, maybe is it sacred, and somewhat too much for anyone to install their house there.
I've heard that some stories says that this tree has stood since before shinobi and chakra were even a thing, that its strength flows through the streams and ponds, and that even the Hero Water, sealed within the village, owes its power to the tree's life force.
There lie the true heart of the village. Around this gigantic tree surrounded by a lac, I can see some of the most important structure of this nation.
A cluster of semi large buildings, most are modest but impressive by their structure, standing at the edge of the water, almost as if being as close as possible from the tree was a sign of power here.
Most have undecorated walls; some, even far from the lac, seems to be clan compounds, marked by banners fluttering in the mist and bearing their clan symbol. Their walls are dark, lacquered by only wood reinforced with stones and bronze pieces, making these great houses blend almost seamlessly with the environment... maybe was it a deliberate aesthetic, perhaps, or merely the result of centuries of life under rain and humidity.
I see one, the biggest (which by all account isn't very much compared to my previous life), which is probably the Takikage's Hall, the place from which this village is governed. Or at least where the lord is living.
A simple house, on a hill near the lake
A far cry from whatever is the place of power in the others hidden villages. No monument to power or authority... just a simple house built to live here, and to last at least some years, but not to impress.
The people are what surprise me the most.
After years seeing only orphans as tired as I was, or matrons with their faces carved into permanent scowls, the sight of so much life almost overwhelms me.
Shinobi in flak jackets leap easily from roof to roof, their movements clean, practiced to the point of perfection, as if jumping from roof to roof and tree to tree was only natural.
And Children run laughing across rope bridges and near the rivers or little lakes that essaim on this place, their games echoing through the mist that seems almost perpetual here.
On the center of the village, before the lake, merchants squat behind stalls heavy with river fish, bundles of herbs, and strange fruits that drip with rainwater. On this large market disposer on the edge of another river.
The smells of woodsmoke, wet stone, and roasted food twist together with the clean bite of running water, forming a perfume both chaotic and strangely comforting.
And yet, beneath it all, there's something else.
A tension, faint but persistent, like the hum of a blade drawn too close to the skin. It clings to the air, invisible but heavy, slipping into every smile, every laugh, every greeting. Shinobi laugh with their comrades, but their eyes never soften. Villagers barter loudly at the market stalls, but their voices carry an edge — not anger, not fear, something quieter. Uncertainty, maybe.
Even here, hidden deep beneath the forest canopy, far from the frontlines, the war can be felt.
It seeps through the cracks of this peaceful facade, a silent ghost that hovers over the rooftops. You can't see it, can't hear it, but you can feel it — like a sword suspended by a single hair, just above your head.
But that doesn't matter now.
Right now, what matters is this:
I am free.
Even with nothing more than a small bundle of clothes, a half-empty stomach, and a body too thin to look respectable, I am free for the first time.
And I am alone for the first time.
It's... comforting.
And strangely, yes, relaxing.
A faint smile pulls at my lips as I wander closer to one of the small rivers snaking through the village. The surface is perfectly still, like a mirror of silver and green, reflecting the world above it. I crouch beside it... and don't know if I want to smile or not when my own reflection looks back at me.
Medium-length, light-blue hair that catches the light like glass threads.
Skin pale as porcelain.
Pretty face... I suppose.
Quite weird for me to say that about myself. But true.
And those eyes... still so... strange, so different... otherworldly.
I've changed a lot, that's certain.
And yet, a strange dissonance hums beneath my ribs, like my body doesn't quite belong to me.
Maybe it's the eyes. Maybe it's my old self. Maybe it's everything.
"What time is it…?" I mutter absently, glancing around.
My gaze catches a large sundial carved into the stone near a training ground. Its shadow cuts clean across the circle — just shy of the sixth mark.
Six in the morning.
Right on time.
I tighten my grip on my small bundle of belongings.
"I should really be going now," I whisper, not to anyone in particular, but to the morning itself.
And yet, for a few heartbeats longer, I can't move.
Because the world around me — this strange, green world so full of water and life — feels too vast, too alive, too real. The waterfalls echo in the distance, the mist glows faintly with the rising sun, and the Great Tree's shadow stretches like a guardian over the village below.
For the first time, the word freedom doesn't sound like emptiness.
It sounds... appealing
So full of life...
"Your hair are really beautiful... I want to touch them"
Yeah, I like them too… but we shouldn't forget about the meeting, it—
Wait… what?
I turn, slowly, confused, my thoughts still halfway tangled in their own fog.
Behind me stands a little girl, maybe around my age, no, even younger. Three years old, maybe four. She's clutching a half-eaten dumpling in one hand, her cheeks puffed slightly with the rest of it still in her mouth, like a hamster storing acorns in its cheeks.
Her clothes are simple, a bit dirty from running around, and her brown hair is tied in uneven twin braids.
She stares up at me with eyes wide as coins, a mix of awe and fascination behind these two excessively large globes.
"Your hair really shine… like water," she says again, this time whispering it, almost if afraid the sound would make me leave, while she approches slowly, her hand toward me, ready to touch my hairs.
Am I a cat ?
"Thanks... hm... I suppose ? Yeah..."
I says with awkwardness, as I look toward left and right, wanting to disappear almost as much as I want to bury my head in the ground.
That's... unexpected... but not unwelcomed.
"I like yours too... they are, very... bright."
I said before shutting up, knowing I wouldn't make it any better if i continued. So I stay, as I watch her moving closer and closer to me, like unfazed by my words.
She reaches out her hand — tiny fingers trembling slightly, hesitant but determined — just about to brush the edge of my hair when—
"Airi!"
The voice cracks through the air like a whip.
The little girl freezes, her hand still raised, her eyes snapping toward the direction of the sound.
From between the crowd of early risers, a woman rushes toward us — a villager, maybe her mother. Her face is pale and tight, her eyes wide with something that isn't just worry. Fear.
Fear...
Oh, I see...
She grabs the girl's wrist, yanking her back so quickly the child almost drops her food.
"What do you think you're doing?" The woman's voice trembles — not with anger, but panic. Her gaze flicks toward me, and I see it happen.
Recognition.
The moment her eyes settle on my hair, her lips part slightly. Then her face hardens. A mix of fear and rebuking.
"Come," she says, not even looking at me anymore. "We're leaving."
The little girl looks confused.
"But, mama, he—"
"Now, Airi!"
The tone allows no argument.
The woman doesn't wait. She drags her daughter away, the child stumbling to keep up, still turning her head back toward me.
For a brief instant, our eyes meet again — hers full of innocent confusion, mine… empty, maybe.
Or I suppose that's what I would like them to be...
Then they vanish behind a corner, the crowd swallowing them whole.
I blink once. Twice.
The sound of the river fills the silence again.
Yeah…
Guess some things don't change, huh?
The villagers' glances cut sharp and silent, some quick, others lingering just long enough to sting. A few murmur under their breath — not loudly enough for me to catch the words, but I know the tone. I've heard it my whole life.
A traitor.
A mistake.
A reminder.
I take a slow breath. The air still smells like moss and rain, but now there's something sour underneath.
"Right," I mutter to myself, adjusting the strap of my little bag.
"Better not be late."
And with that, I start walking again — the sound of water beneath my feet, and whispers fading behind my back.
I head toward the en of the small "village", on one of the last houses in this little place, my heart beating a little faster. In front of the door, leaning against the wall, a man is waiting for me. A ninja.
I frown. Why a ninja to accompany me ? A simple person of the orphanage or the child services would not be enough ?
My questions are interrupted by his voice, dry and cold.
"Ah, right on time," he says without even looking at me.
I observe him. He's tall, imposing, and his muscular body betrays years of training. His hair, cut short, is a dirty blond, and his face, marked by years and war, is fixed in a hard expression, almost contemptuous. He wears the vest of a chūnin, the insignia of his rank clearly visible.
"A chūnin?" I remain surprised. Sending a ninja of this rank to accompany me, a kid? In the middle of a war, when they should be on the front… What do I really mean to adults?
"I hate being late and being kept waiting, it's a principle."I replied, as I approached him.
His eyes still don't meet mine. I feel like a file to be closed, a burden they just want to get rid of quickly.
Yet something in his attitude makes me uneasy. A primitive instinct tells me he's hiding more than he lets on. That he's more than just a guard.
I clench my fists. No matter who he is, no matter his intentions.
I am Kiyoshi Takikara, grandson of Kakuzu, and I don't intend to be dead weight.
"Name is Soken." He said while looking away, as if all of that was just a big waste of his day. And I can't blame him for that.
"I suppose I don't need to present myself then ?" I respond, as I look toward the market for the last time, looking at a dumpling on the ground.
Then the time extend itself, the silence installed between us for some seconds before the old man (not more than 30) finally ask.
"Shall we go?"
His sharp voice seeming to force me out of my thoughts.
I nod, ready to face what awaits me.
...
Soken wore a bored look, his eyebrows furrowed, but deep down, he was on guard, his mind sharp and curious. He had been given the mission to "watch over" the last descendant of the Takikara. A task he took seriously, despite his obvious annoyance.
This time, he had been asked to abandon the usual attire of Taki's Anbu and wear the more common vest of a chūnin. The instructions were clear: don't scare the child, avoid any suspicion.
Like everyone else, Soken knew Kakuzu's story. So, learning that his target was the grandson of the dreaded ninja had taken his breath away.
I wonder if this kid is as exceptional as his ancestor, he thought, mentally preparing himself for this encounter.
Suddenly, quite a powerful surge of chakra, for such a young and small child, could be felt.
Already at this point 4 years old?! If that's not some early signs of being a genius, Soken could not know what it could be.
But there wasn't only that.
Something about this child was off, as if he was looking as somebody far older than this age. Another sign in these early prodigies.
Always tense, always looking around with a mix of suspicion and interest. Like if he was calculating every single thing and person that he could see.
Interesting.
He forced himself to adopt a calm, distant tone, saying in a disinterested air: "Ah, right on time." He absentmindedly fixed his gaze on a group of butterflies fluttering nearby.
"I hate being late and being kept waiting, it's a principle." replied a child's voice, steady, devoid of any naivety.
Soken turned slowly, and there, he froze, his breath caught by a silent terror, a terror that he only felt when he was a child, when his grandma told him the stories. Threatening him to call back the traitor to take him down if he didn't eat his soup.
Damn, it's really him. It's his, eyes.
Actually, not quite much... Apart from the eyes. He realised as he claimed his heart from these emotional and childish dreadness.
White skin like porcelain, long blue hair, sharp chin.
It's like if everything that The great Kakuzu could not be in his grandson, except for the distinctif eyes.
And it is not looking alike any of his predecessor either, nor from his mother nor from his father. Soken knew, he looked at their dossier. Honestly, it is also as different as from any guy in this village.
Seriously, Soken could think about it for a long time, he never saw someone with such... particular form.
How in the world did this ended looking like this ?
Such a strange looking little guy...
It seems, like often with shinobis, genetics plays a very funny, but strange game.
A shinobi with light blue hair, that's something that will be very annoying when he will have to hide in bushes and attack from hidden places.
Maybe his personality, unlike his body, will be like his grandad.
Like every shinobi, he had seen Kakuzu's portrait in academy manuals, countless times. As well as the many and very detailed descriptions of his personality.
Discipline, pragmatism well largely bordering on cynicism. Distant, rarely expressive, and emotions often hidden behind a mask of indifference or contempt.
And this little boy, he wasn't sure if he was his spitting image outside of his eyes and prodigal development... it would be to him to see that.
Although he could see in these eyes, in these non-ending calculations, something that unsettled him.
He little boy looked at him calmly, waiting for some times before being the first to end this long silence. "A problem?" he asked, as if reading his thoughts.
"Uh, no, nothing… Let's go, let's not waste time," Soken stammered, turning away, trying to hide his unease.
Why did he had to accept this ?
Soken pinched the bridge of his nose, his heart beating a little bit faster than he wanted to admit. He remembered the stories, the missions, the reports about Kakuzu. A terrifying legend, a ruthless man, ready to do anything to survive and accumulate wealth and power.
And now, this kid. This kid was supposed to be his protégé, his mission.
"Fuck, why me?" Soken thought, his throat tight.
He wanted to believe it was just a simple child, not a descendant of the legendary monster reduced to miniature form. But reality wasn't keen to him. It wasn't a coincidence. It was him. The last Takikara.
An immense pressure fell on his shoulders. Protecting (or rather watching over, though he didn't understand the purpose) this child was much more than a simple mission. It was an annoying burden he already felt crushing him.
Such a troublesome job...
Soken took a deep breath, erased all emotion from his face, and murmured: "Yes, follow me."
They resumed their walk toward that house, the little one's new home.