The Land of Fire's border was not supposed to be this silent.
The dense forest stretched endlessly, its shadows long and deep as dusk crept across the horizon. A chilling wind swept through the trees, rattling branches like skeletal fingers. Team Hawk moved swiftly and silently, their footsteps muted against the moss-covered ground. Hawk, their ANBU commander, signaled a halt with a raised hand.
"Listen carefully," Hawk said in a low, commanding tone. His porcelain mask caught the last glimmers of sunlight, making his presence feel even more imposing. "Our mission is to investigate the disappearances and deaths reported from the border villages. Ichika, report what you know."
Ichika Uchiha stepped forward, her Sharingan inactive but her eyes sharp with focus. "Children have been vanishing over the past few weeks. Entire families have been broken. But what's more disturbing is the pattern—most of the missing women are between the ages of eighteen and fifty. Some have been found… but not alive." Her voice faltered briefly. "The bodies were… drained. Almost as if life itself had been sucked out of them."
Haru Hyūga, calm as ever, activated his Byakugan briefly, scanning the area to ensure no one was nearby. "The reports are consistent with foul play… and worse. This isn't just bandits or rogue shinobi. Something else is happening here."
While Ichika and Haru exchanged observations, Akira Senju stood slightly apart from the group, lost in thought. He wasn't staring at the darkening treeline—his gaze was turned inward, toward memories that were slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.
I'm forgetting more each day, he thought grimly. The show… the story I once knew so well. What's left are only fragments. The names of battles, the faces of a few characters… and even they are fading.
Akira clenched his fists. He had been born into this world with knowledge from his past life—a knowledge that had kept him one step ahead of danger. But now, the edges of those memories were blurring, dissolving into nothingness. All he had left was a small diary he had written in since childhood, filled with everything he could recall about the original timeline. But when he read through it this morning, there was no mention of an incident like this.
This shouldn't be happening… not now, he thought, feeling unease coil in his stomach. Orochimaru's experiments… those come later. I'm sure of it. Then who—or what—is behind this?
As the last light of day sank into the horizon, Hawk gave the order to move. "No more delays. We'll enter the village under disguise. Remember—low profile. We're farmers, not shinobi. Keep your chakra suppressed."
The Village of Aragi
The village sat on the edge of the border, a cluster of modest wooden homes surrounded by farmland. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and lanterns flickered to life one by one, bathing the streets in a soft amber glow.
Team Hawk had changed into simple clothes along the way—faded tunics, worn sandals, and travel-worn cloaks. A wooden cart, loaded with sacks of vegetables and dried produce, creaked as they pulled it along the uneven dirt road. Their posture was relaxed, their expressions weary but unassuming—farmers who had traveled far.
But even as they entered, Akira could feel it—eyes watching them. The villagers weren't openly hostile, but wary. Every glance lingered just a moment too long. Mothers kept their children close. Men whispered to one another, their voices low.
"They're scared," Ichika murmured softly, her lips barely moving.
"Keep walking," Hawk replied in an equally low tone. "Suspicion is natural. We'll earn their trust."
As they made their way down the main path, a villager finally approached them—a man in his forties, with calloused hands and tired eyes. "Evening, travelers," he said politely, though his voice carried a note of caution. "You look like you've come a long way. Need help with your cart?"
Ichika stepped forward, slipping seamlessly into her role. "That's kind of you, sir, but we'll manage. We're… used to hard roads." She smiled faintly, though her tone carried just enough exhaustion to be convincing.
The man's gaze flicked over the group. "Where are you coming from?"
"Land of Wind," Ichika answered smoothly. "Our fields dried up. Can't grow a thing there anymore. We've heard this side of the border is more forgiving. So…" She motioned to Hawk and Haru. "My father and brother thought we'd try our luck here. This is my younger brother, Akira."
Akira gave a shy nod, playing his part.
The villager's expression softened. "Land of Wind, eh? That's… quite the journey. Dangerous roads, too. But don't worry. Things will be better for you here. You'll find good soil and good neighbors."
The four exchanged a polite chuckle. "Thank you," Hawk said, his voice deep and calm. "That means a lot."
The villager nodded once more before walking away, leaving them to continue toward the inn. But the eyes didn't stop watching.
The Inn
The inn stood near the village square, a two-story wooden structure with warm light spilling from its windows. Inside, the scent of cooked rice and grilled fish hung in the air. The innkeeper—a stout woman with streaks of gray in her hair—welcomed them with a warm, if slightly wary, smile.
"Rooms for the night?" she asked.
"Yes," Hawk said, placing a small pouch of coins on the counter. "Two rooms, if you please."
The innkeeper glanced at the cart outside. "Merchants?"
"Farmers," Ichika replied quickly. "We'll be selling in the market tomorrow."
"Mm. Just be careful," the woman said softly, leaning closer. "Strangers don't always get a warm welcome these days. Too many… bad things happening after dark."
Her eyes flicked toward the window, where shadows from the village streets stretched long and thin.
That Night
Later, in the privacy of their shared room, Team Hawk removed their disguises and spoke in low whispers.
"This place reeks of fear," Haru said, his Byakugan scanning the village perimeter. "But no signs of chakra signatures outside the norm. Either whoever is responsible isn't here—or they're very, very good at hiding."
Ichika sat cross-legged on the floor, sharpening her kunai. "Then we start asking questions tomorrow. Carefully. If women are being targeted, we need to know how and why."
Akira sat apart, his diary open on his lap. But instead of writing, he stared at the fading ink of old notes—half-remembered battles, names of villains, events that may or may not happen now. His grip on the past was slipping, and with it… his advantage.
If I lose everything I knew about this world, he thought, I'll just be another shinobi walking blind into the dark.
For the first time since transmigrating, he felt a cold, unfamiliar fear.
And somewhere beyond the village walls, unseen eyes watched the inn.
Waiting.