The Hotstushi Clan
The Hotstushi were known for straightforwardness—no nonsense, no deception. Their power came from unrelenting discipline and fierce pride. The two Raikage—father and son—carried the weight of the village and clan on their shoulders, renowned for lightning speed and overwhelming force.
Aya, strong-willed and nearly a match for the old man, embodied this spirit. Her pain was fierce, but her love for this child was fiercer.
The room around Rukon—Kaien—was simple but sturdy, the warmth of the hearth casting long shadows. Outside, war might consume countless lives, but this child was a new beginning, a chance to carve his own path.
The Burden and the Gift
What this really means is that Rukon's life will be shaped by legacy—both a blessing and a curse.
He is born into expectation, into power, but also into a world on the brink of chaos. His father and grandfather are legends. His sister is fierce. And the war looms.
He will be watched, tested, and likely feared.
But here's the thing he also has space to grow in a way he never had before.
Kumo values strength, but strength tempered by honesty. This will push him to master himself and face challenges head-on.
A New Dawn
Outside, the cries of newborn Kaien echoed down the corridors of Kumogakure.
The Third Raikage placed his hand on Aya's shoulder and gave a rare, faint smile.
"May he grow to be strong enough to bring peace."
The future fourth Raikage nodded silently, eyes fixed on his nephew.
Inside the quiet room, Kaien let out another cry, a signal that his new life was beginning.
--
Kaien was only a week old, but his mind was anything but infantile.
He couldn't move much. Could barely lift his head. And yet, his mind raced with clarity that belonged to a man not a newborn swaddled in silk. Though he only focused on Muay Thai in his previous life. He was always a Reformist at heart.
Every day was the same. He was held to his mother's chest, fed, cooed over, kissed. Aya, his mother, loved him fiercely. Her chakra always pulsed with warmth. When she laughed, it echoed like a river in the valley, her joy so vast it almost made Kaien forget the shadows in his thoughts.
But he wasn't like other infants. Not even close.
His body was still forming, weak and helpless, but his thoughts? Sharp. His memory? Intact. Reborn? Maybe. Cursed? Possibly. Gifted? Without a doubt.
Kumo—his village, his home—was broken. Or if not broken, then asleep at the wheel.
And Kaien hated inefficiency.
During one of those long quiet hours where Aya napped with him in her arms, Kaien stared at the ceiling beams and thought of war. He remembered fragmented stories from his past life, or maybe inherited memories through chakra—whatever the source, they painted a strange truth.
Kumo had the tools of the Sage of Six Paths. The Treasure Tools. The Kohaku no Jōhei. The Benihisago. The Shichiseiken. Tools that could bend language, seal souls, erase people from existence with a word and a swing. And yet... the tools sat. Gathering dust. Hoarded like sacred relics instead of weapons of deterrence.
How the hell did Kumo even get them?
He remembered vague whispers in ancient texts—battlefield scavenging, betrayal between clans, or some old pact with a wandering monk. The stories differed, but one detail stayed consistent: Kumo didn't forge the tools. They inherited them. And that made all the difference.
A weapon you forge, you understand. A weapon you inherit without knowledge? You fear it. You hesitate. You store it in a vault.
Kaien's breath shuddered in his small chest. He couldn't speak. Couldn't hold a kunai. But his mind built blueprints, broke down battle doctrines.
Kumo's strength lay in its speed. Lightning chakra. Raw aggression. But aggression without clarity was just noise. They trained assassins, not diplomats. Saboteurs, not strategists. They leaned too hard on the Raikage to hold the line alone. And worse, they had no spiritual cohesion. No shared identity beyond "might makes right."
It was a village that had power, but no philosophy. That was its greatest weakness.
Weaponize the Treasure Tools Properly
If Kaien ever got close to those tools, he wouldn't treat them like ceremonial scrolls locked in an underground chamber. He'd experiment. Dissect. Reverse-engineer their chakra patterns and turn them into production models.
Even if he couldn't replicate the divine craftsmanship, he could learn how they responded to spoken word, why names were essential to their sealing process, and maybe even break down to the Benihisago's soul resonance.
He imagined a Kumo Special Ops unit trained in using miniaturized versions of the tools. Lightning-fast linguists and seal masters who could pin a name mid-fight and extract a soul before the enemy knew they were being targeted.
You didn't need an army when you had mythic-level assassins.