Book One: Embers of War
Chapter 3: Blood and Calculations
First‑Person — Arata
Dawn was a pale promise when I crept through the mist to meet Orochimaru outside the Academy walls. His silhouette was perfectly still beneath a gnarled pine, the first tendrils of sunlight sliding across his pale skin.
"You're punctual," he observed, eyes narrowing as I approached.
"I've never missed a calculation," I replied. We moved into the training grove, where broken stumps and blasted earth bore witness to countless sparring sessions.
Orochimaru knelt beside a charred patch of grass. "We learn more from destruction than creation. Watch." He formed seals—snake, tiger, bird—and whispered a name I didn't recognize. A thin jet of black chakra hissed from his palm, carving a furrow in the soil.
The air smelled of ozone and smoke. I felt a thrill uncoil in my chest. Here was someone unafraid to breach limits.
"Your turn," he said, stepping back.
I drew in a slow breath, recalling the chakra flicker I'd felt in the orphanage. I focused on the core of my being, felt the energy pulse, and shaped it into my hand. One seal, two seals—no snake, no tiger—just a single hand sign I'd devised. A silver thread of chakra shot forward, slicing through a fallen log with surgical precision.
His pale lips curved into something like approval. "Imaginative."
Before I could bask in the praise, we heard distant shouting—an alarm from the village's outer watchtower.
"Bandits," Orochimaru guessed. "Or scouts." He vanished in a whisper of movement.
I followed, heart pounding—not with fear, but excitement. The patrol was on the far side of the river where a supply convoy had been redirected. We arrived to find two jonin locked in combat with six ragged figures wielding rusty kunai. The villagers flat‑out outnumbered them.
Without hesitation, Orochimaru darted into the fray. He struck a bandit's arm, severing sinew instead of bone, and whispered a binding jutsu that froze another in place. I leapt beside him, using my chakra thread to whip away a spear aimed at the jonin's chest. He spun and knocked our ally's attacker unconscious.
Within moments, the skirmish was over. The bandits lay groaning; the jonin dusted dirt from their flak jackets. One looked at me with surprise. "Where did you come from?"
I inclined my head toward Orochimaru. "We're… classmates."
The jonin exchanged a look with his partner, but said nothing more. As they escorted the prisoners away, Orochimaru touched my shoulder. "You follow orders well for someone who defies them."
I let the words settle. Defiance and obedience—two sides of the same coin. Both useful.
That night, I lay in my narrow bed and replayed every movement, every whisper of chakra. I'd broken no rules—yet I'd proven my worth. Not by standing on stages or reciting ideals, but by shifting the balance of life and death itself.
I drifted to sleep with a plan forming: knowledge guided by pragmatism. Power tempered by strategy. And an alliance with Orochimaru stronger than any bond forged in peace.
In a world built on blood, I intended to be the one writing the equations.
End of Chapter 3