Chapter 1.

The morning had dawned cold and grey. Winter was approaching in the land of water. From the clouds that hung high a drizzle started to fall. It's drops, carried by the wind, fell softly against the windows of a building. There, in a room, a tired looking woman held in its bosom a small child. Her smile attested to the peacefulness of the morning.

Against all odds her child was born. Today was the second time that her child was almost gone, never to receive love. Yet he endured again. His last fight against death had took a toll on him and, as soon as he was given to her, he fell asleep.

A child not even month old has already defeated death twice. A brave child. One that will be the pride of her clan. The Kaguya clan revered fighting, they lived for it. To do battle against insurmountable odds and coming on top was the dream of all.

That a newborn had already accomplished what was nigh impossible showed its strength. And the birth of a strong child requires a strong mother. That she was. And his survival vindicated her.

Her child had already embarked in a path towards glory. The clan will rise with him to places never reached before. She was certain of it, and she would give her life just to see to it.

The door to her room opened. Forth came a beast of a man, his eyes fixated on the child, not even acknowledging the woman that held it.

His look bored deep into the child. A sadistic, vicious look, filled with ambition. And then she knew, he was anxious. He was anxious for his child to become the weapon she was meant to provide. Yet she knew he saw the same thing that she did, and her eyes could only copy his.

"I will call him Isamu", she said. Her eyes left the child and went straight to his. Unmovable. Unwavering. Even in her weaken state she will not be trifled with. It was her child, and for now his destiny was partly hers.

"Isamu Kaguya, my son. Heir of the clan." he said with a solemn voice. Eyes never leaving the kid. "He will do… for now". With that he left, his mind reeling with plans to develop the child.

Isamu's first months passed in a confusing blur. Day after day his vision grew better and his mind clearer. His mother always doted him, playing constantly with him, singing him lullabies to sleep. Slowly Isamu grew taller and learnt how to stand. His hair grew white and straight. His ambar coloured eyes seemed to see deep inside those that were started at.

To his mothers surprise Isamu learnt to walk and talk at six month old. She was cooking dinner when she felt something tugging her pants. When she looked down little Isamu was hugging her leg. Laughing she lifted him up in the air.

"Hahah! Mamma!" said Isamu joyfully while being tossed to the air.

"Oh my! look at my little angel growing so fast! I'm so proud!" She said as she dew him closer to give him a kiss.

Isamu soon started learning how to read and write. His mother introduced him an old woman that would take care of him while she wasn't home. "Obaa-san" as Isamu called her wasn't very sweet. No one seemed to be other than his mother.

One day when he was about eight months old. the old lady had taken him to play at the village playground; it wasn't a pleasant experience to say the least. The other kids were very violent, always fight playing even encouraged by the adults. He never liked it. There was no one of his age. That day he was pitted against some other kids, older than him. It didn't hurt much, but he didn't enjoy it. He felt overwhelmed, scared. His crying had alerted the old lady but she did nothing about it, only when the kids had grown bored of kicking him she came, only to reprimand him for not fighting back for it was the clans pride and joy to fight against the strong.

Isamu never went back to the playgrounds, always sticking around his house, content to learn and play with his mother.

Isamu absorbed knowledge like a sponge and soon, with his fast developed brain some memories, hidden behind a hazy mist started slowly resurfacing. One night he awoke abruptly form his sleep, crying disconsolate. He had dreamt about when he had burnt himself and the ghost pain had woken him with a jolt. Since then he could feel the fire that once consumed him now seated in the pit of his stomach, he felt it blazing as it once did. A smoldering ball of white.

And from then on he could also feel the fire that had brought him back from that fiery hell and the fine green string that attached him to it. He could feel his mother and that drew him closer to her, for he could now feel what she felt and he soon made sense of it. He felt her sometimes her fire bursting for then to dim. He could feel her joy, her sadness, her fear and anger. He could feel her fire as a stable ember, and to tremble. So he started trying to make her happy, for her to be proud of him, and he felt angry when he felt her sad or fearful.

His concern to protect his mother drew him soon to ask her to train him, he wanted to be strong so she felt proud of him. It didn't took much as she soon agreed to teaching him, every morning and evening every day she could, a stretching and training routine.

Stolen story; please report.

Her mother seemed to morph though training. She was stern and demanding. WHat she started teaching him was called "Dance of the Willow". It started simple but every new step he was taught made it progressively harder, more awkward. It strained his muscles and joints and his mother would make him go through every step of every move until he couldn't stand.

One day, after his first birthday Isamu was forced to join his mothers visits to some shops. Reluctantly he followed, staying always by his mother's side, grabbing her hand. Having not been outside for so long he took the sights in. He now realised that everyone looked similar to each other. A lot. And how different he was. There was no one with his hair or eyes, not even his mother.

Some greeted his mother but no one looked at him with kindness, some even averted their eyes, other didn't even acknowledge him, and he could feel hostility from the few that did meet his eyes. Was it fear or contempt?. He drew closer to his mother and felt for her fire but all he could feel was, shame?.

On their walk they passed by people fighting, savagely, in some parks nearby. He remembered the time he was beaten. He was now stronger than before, hours spent in rigorous training, and he wanted to prove himself to his mother so that she would be proud, so that he could feel like a proud member of the kaguya clan

He let go of his mother hand and run towards the fighting grounds, looking for the kids that had beaten him. He soon found them by a side. He jumped with his fists ready towards them, no words involved. He soon started gaining ground, the advantage of surprise visible. Isamu flowed through the steps his mother taught him, moving in between fists with practiced ease. He delivered precise kicks and blows yet his advantage was slowly eroded by his rivals numbers.

Isamu started growing tired, his legs hurting from missteps. Tho he punched hard he was yet to knock anyone, and started losing ground. He could see some grown ups looking the fight, they were murmuring to each other, laughing. He could see his mother frowning. Being deconcentrated from the battle he soon messed his dodging and was punched across his face. He was once again overwhelmed. Pitted against the ground Isamu felt ashamed, sad. Angry.

His flame flare. His bones screamed in joy, drinking with insatiable thirst from the fiery fountain that laid in his stomach.

Isamu shouted, tears visible. He jumped to his feet, invigorated, ready to fight again. He was huffing. The kids had stepped back. There was fear in their eyes. Suddenly all the adults watching stood between him and the kids. His mother appeared next to him, smiling.

"Calm down son. Let's go home, shall we? I'll make you your favourite, miso soup". His mother said while stroking his back head.

Isamu blinked, anger fading, returning deep down into him. He felt exhausted. Isamu grabbed his mother's hand and they returned home.

Isamu nodded. He had finally made his mother proud. His enemies feared him, he emerged victorious.

But now he felt the grown ups eyes boring deep into him. Isamu wasn't aware but two tiny, barely visible horns had spouted out of his forehead. They disappeared back into him.

Since then every time he went outside he was shunned. No kid wanted to play with him. The adults avoided him. Yet all he could feel was pride.

After the fight his training with his mother became harder, more vicious. She had stopped being the doting mother he once knew, ever more demanding, punishing him when he did not deliver. He was confused, and his confusion soon became anger.

But it didn't last as he soon realized it was a facade. For what purpose he did not know. But reaching for her fire made him know her true feelings. Her pride for him. Her love.

The old lady turned just as bad. She would punish him if he ever fail one of her tests. His hands attested to her wrath. But she held the knowledge he so much craved and so hi quenched his anger.

He had learnt about the world. Tht his clan lived in a small village, comprised only by their own in the land of the mist. He learnt that there was a war raging on and that his clan was taking part in it. Isamu already suspected as much, lately there where less adults at the village, and those who returned where hurt. Besides, Isamu knew his clan was a violent one, they would never back from the prospect of conflict and fights.

Isamu also learnt about the human body and how what he called fire was, in fact, called chakra and that it should be circulated through certain paths. Furthermore doing so would mean controlling it and gaining more power. But how to do it he wasn't ready to learn as he was too young.

Yet he would not be stopped in his quest for knowledge by such an inconsequential impediment. If she didn't want to provide him with answers then he would find them for himself. He wanted to be stronger. The prospect of controlling what once destroyed him was too big of a temptation. Maybe with it his mother would show her pride.

He had spent unimaginable time in the void, alone. He had burnt himself with the fire once and came back. What should he fear?.

Having set his mind Isamu spent every night, every idle moment he could find, as scarce as they were in between learning with obaa-san and an increasingly harsher training with his mother,to learn by himself how to make use of his chakra.

He knew that if chakra had to follow paths, then they should exist. yet with his classes of anatomy and his own perception of his body after long hours of dancing with his mother never revealed them. So he could only sit, remember the feeling of the void, feel out for the fire and carefully swirl it. Carefully. He didn't want to be burn again.

It was slow and difficult, but he did not mind. He could feel how his chakra would seep into his muscles and for a brief moment he would feel invigorated. He also felt the neverending hunger from his bones, how they yearn it, demanded it. Yet he didn't indulge them out of fear. He needed to be cautious.

His second birthday had passed just as the first one did. Now his third birthday was soon approaching.

Isamu now stood at 1.4 meter. His growth marked by cuttings in one of the houses beams. His hair was at shoulder length. His eyes glowed as resolute as ever.

Apparently the war had ended and soon the patriarch and those who survived would return. A celebration would take place with a tournament between all the kids. According to his mother Isamu would participate even tho there was no one his age. The few kids at the village where between five and seven. The patriarch had demanded it and so there was no other way.