Kazuki Arata's dreams are haunted.
Each night since his rebirth, he's returned to the same endless field—shrouded in rain, thunder crashing across the skies, the air alive with ancient power. A man stands in the center of it all—tall, solemn, and cloaked in white, with hair like flowing ink and a gaze that pierces through the soul. Around him, giant trees spiral into the heavens, too massive to be natural, too sacred to be ignored.
The man says nothing.
But behind him, in the storm's eye, a shape begins to form. A massive red eye opens above the clouds, surrounded by three spiraling tomoe. The same name echoes again and again, carved into his bones:
Ōtsutsuki.
Every time Kazuki wakes, his sheets are soaked with sweat, his fingers crackling with sparks. Chakra surges beneath his skin, wild and restless, refusing to be stilled. His control falters. His emotions simmer just beneath the surface.
But there's no time to dwell.
The Academy has begun.
Kazuki, like every other child in Konoha his age, now attends classes daily. The instructors teach them to mold chakra, to respect the Will of Fire, and to memorize the names of previous Hokage. To most students, it's overwhelming. To Kazuki, it's… laughably elementary.
Still, he plays the part—quiet, distant, observant. To his peers, he's the silent boy in the back row, always watching, always alone. Only Hinata Hyuga occasionally steals glances at him during sparring matches. She hasn't said a word, but he notices the way her fingers twitch whenever he channels chakra near her. She feels the storm under his skin.
And so do others.
It happens during a routine chakra control exercise.
They're learning to stick leaves to their foreheads—a foundational test of focus and energy regulation. Most students are struggling, but Kazuki balances three leaves with ease. Iruka notices.
"Try tree-walking next," the instructor says, gesturing toward a training log.
Kazuki walks up the vertical surface with practiced ease, his chakra gripping the bark like magnets. He could climb to the top blindfolded. It's instinctual.
But then, for a reason he doesn't quite understand—maybe the restless storm inside him, maybe the hunger to know—he pushes it a little further.
He molds his chakra not just into motion, but into layers—shaping water from the air, weaving it with the smallest pulse of lightning.
It happens all at once.
A sharp crack splits the air. Water forms in a spiral down his arm, and arcs of lightning lace across it like veins. His Storm Release ignites.
The log under his foot shudders. The air grows heavy. A stray bolt of chakra lashes out—and boom.
A training dummy ten meters away explodes in a shower of splinters.
The class falls silent.
Even Naruto, who was loudly complaining just moments ago, stares with wide eyes. Sasuke frowns, intrigued. Some students step back. Others whisper.
Kazuki's chest tightens.
He clenches his fist and drops to the ground, muttering, "Sorry. Lost control."
Iruka's eyes narrow. He doesn't speak—just gives a tight nod and moves on. But the damage is done.
Kazuki isn't invisible anymore.
That night, long after the Academy closes, Kazuki slips into the restricted wing of the library.
He moves like a shadow—chakra flowing through his feet in rhythmic pulses to mask his steps. A technique from his old life. He senses a sealing tag on the door and sends a ripple of energy across it, disrupting the ink just long enough to slip inside.
The room is dark and forgotten. Dust thick on shelves. Old scrolls crammed into cracked wooden boxes. Most are faded mission reports and historical treaties—but then he finds them:
Ancient chakra theory. Bloodline logs. Disbanded clans.
One scroll stands out—its leather cracked, the edges singed.
"Records of the Disbanded Clans."
He unrolls it slowly, careful not to damage the fragile parchment. The list is long. Some names he recognizes—clans wiped out in the Warring States era, others marked as traitorous. But one entry chills him:
Kaminari no Ichizoku. The Clan of Thunder.
A nomadic bloodline rumored to wield Storm Release without hand signs. Said to have perished under mysterious circumstances. Their existence is labeled "unverified." Myths say they were destroyed by their own uncontrollable power. Others claim they were silenced—too dangerous for the newborn ninja villages to tolerate.
Kazuki's breath hitches as his eyes fall on a drawing beside the entry.
A symbol: three jagged lightning bolts swirling around a single eye.
The same eye from his dreams.
Ōtsutsuki.
His hands begin to tremble.
Then—movement.
A flicker of chakra outside the door.
He's been followed.
Kazuki rolls the scroll shut and turns—just as the door creaks open and a silhouette steps inside.
A woman in a long brown trench coat, fishnet shirt beneath. Violet eyes. Dango stick in one hand, the other near her kunai pouch.
Anko Mitarashi.
"Academy kids don't belong in here," she says lazily. But her smile is too sharp to be friendly. "Especially not ones who blow up training dummies."
Kazuki stays perfectly still.
She steps closer, eyes scanning the room—and him.
"Curious little thing, aren't you?" she adds, voice low. "Storm Release. At five years old. Either you're a prodigy… or a problem."
Kazuki forces his expression to stay blank. "I didn't mean to."
"Of course not," she says, licking the dango. "And I didn't mean to follow you here. But here we are."
She tosses him something—a small, wrapped manual. "Advanced Chakra Layering." The kind of material Genin aren't supposed to see.
"Next time," she says with a wink, "don't blow stuff up. Do it the smart way."
And with a swirl of smoke, she's gone.
Kazuki returns to his apartment, heart hammering.
He knows three things now with terrifying clarity.
First: His bloodline is real. And it didn't start here.
Second: His reincarnation was no accident. Someone—something—pulled him here.
And third: He's not the only one aware of it.
He sits in the center of his room, hands trembling as he forms a seal. Not a standard one. One that feels… ancestral. Deep. It flows through him like a memory.
Chakra floods his veins.
Time slows.
Rain outside the window falls upward.
The world dims.
And from the void, a voice speaks—neither male nor female, but eternal.
"You are the heir. Our legacy flows in your blood. But will you awaken it… or be consumed by it?"
Kazuki opens his eyes.
His fingers glow with lightning.
Water pools beneath him without being summoned.
And inside his chest, the storm is no longer silent.