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“I don't believe in love at first sight because my mother started loving me before seeing me.”

― Luffina Lourduraj

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A few years into the future…

My Baby Naruto,

There are still a few months until we meet, but already I'm busy writing you letters. I started writing things down because I honestly couldn't stop thinking about you, and because even though I've only been carrying you for a matter of months, it already feels like there's so much to share. It's all in a tiny journal on my nightstand, one I'll give you someday when you're a bit older. There's a letter about how your dad and I met, another about the day you became a reality, plus others about your grandpa and your grandma and some of the special people who already love you.

It seems like just yesterday we found out we were having you. The memory brings tears to my eyes. I was so afraid when I took that pregnancy test. Afraid of what the future would hold. Afraid of my inadequacy to be a mother. Afraid of the changes that I knew would inevitably come. In the midst of the fears that flooded my heart came an overwhelming joy in knowing that we were going to be parents and our life was about to change forever.

The moment I learned that I was pregnant with you, I was ecstatic. You suddenly brought a love into my heart that I had never before experienced. My love was your very first love, and it will last your entire lifetime, even long after I’m gone. That’s how much I love you, Sochi.

You know, last night I started crying thinking about the joy that will flood my heart when they lay you on my chest for the first time. I can’t wait to hold you! Until that moment and until the day that you read this letter, know that you are loved dearly.

I can't wait to meet you.

Love,

Kushina Uzumaki-Namikaze

"Okaa-san…" Naruto whispered, unable to stop the tears from falling.

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 - PROLOGUE  -

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 ”I drink to make other people more interesting.”

― Ernest Hemingway

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0

Three guards sat in a room filled with dusty tomes, drinking their worries away. Skirting their duties in favor of getting hammered, they hid behind a wall of pilled documents, parchments, and scrolls; however, one of them finally had enough. Relaxation during work was acceptable once in a while, yet Masashi and his friends were on their eighth straight night. He did not want to lose this job and find a new one, chiefly because of its perk of allowing him to focus on writing his novel as opposed to worrying about his living expenses. Guarding the vault, gave him a lot of leeway to follow his dreams.

Now, if only his accomplices could see reason. But judging from the elation plastered on their faces and the pink tint smeared on their cheeks, it would be a dauting task.

“We should stop this,” Masashi Kishimoto urged, turning down another swig. “This is not right.”

“Come on, Masashi. Our superiors are not here. Besides Lord Daimyo and his nobles are already dreaming to whatever disgusting fantasies they have. Who’s to stop you, or us, for having a little bit of fun? We’re the guards here remember?” Tite Kubo encouraged, forcing Masashi to drink by putting the cup in front of his face.

“Do the nobles frighten you, Masashi?” Eiichiro Oda asked with a hint of a smile.

Masashi did not rise to the bait. He was an aged man past forty, it was natural he’d seen a lot of things in his life. He knew he was being goaded, his resolve being tested, yet there was only so much he could do against two persistent drunkards. With a sighed, he took the cup and ruefully replied, “Nobles will be nobles.” He then brought the cup near his lips but decided against it.

“You should reconsider your statement, Oda. Everyone’s afraid of them. Like you should be. They can make your life a living hell and it will be effortless in their part especially if you happen to snag their interest.”

Shrugging off the comment, Oda stared Masashi into the eyes and seriously said. “I’m not afraid of them and their so-called sport of tormenting hapless commoners. There are terrifying things than petty nobles and their useless squabbles.”

“Really?” Kubo hesitantly asked, “Like what?”

For a moment Oda shivered in fear as his mind was seized by the terror of his nightmare. Upon closer inspection, he wasn’t with them anymore; he was viciously battling for his life, pitted against his greatest fear and considering the haunted look on his face, he was losing the battle. Luckily, the timely and forceful dropping of the Sake bottle courtesy of Kubo successfully pulled him back into reality.

Still trembling and shaking, Oda looked over his shoulders before nervously muttering.

“Pirates.”

“Pirates? That’s what you’re afraid of?” Kubo questioned, finding the answer ridiculous. “Give me a break! What did these pirates do to you?”

Irritated of being slighted, Oda’s brow furrowed. “It’s not what they did to me; it’s what they will do to you. These pirates will take you onto their ship that has a head of a lion. Dragging you across the sea and around the globe, to throw you into ridiculous battles for survival. You’ll be up against freaks with bizarre abilities steaming from fruits— fruits that grows from a Devil Tree. If that is not enough, their captain has this creepy ability to stretch himself in all places. All for the idea of finding a treasure that might not even exist in the first place.”

“Oh yeah?” Kubo said aggressively. “Shinigami is a much better story than that. Creatures that are beyond our understanding. Fighting near us, yet we can’t see them because it requires spiritual awakening. They are souls carrying swords, which also have souls, giving them two forms. Their duty is to collect the souls of the dead and put them in a vast blender of society. Wiping their past and their memories, even their personality isn’t safe, hoping to turn us into weapons— soldiers. If not, our other choice is to turn into these abominable creatures with holes into their bodies. What’s more horrifying than that?”

Oda fired back as he raised a finger at Kubo’s ugly mug. “That’s obviously an exaggeration. No way that’s true!”

“Of course, it’s true. Just like what your pirates did to you!” Kubo slammed his cup to make a point.

"Now, you are just trying to piss me off."

“What? Does little Oda have a secret trauma for pirates?"

"I told you to stop insulting me. At least mine's real."

"Hey— it's very real. Take that back!"

"Oh-ho! Can you see who's crying now, huh, Kubo? I can feel your tears all the way from here."

“Do you want me to give you something to cry about?”

Eyes wide, Masashi shook his head in defeat, letting out a disappointed 'hum' each time they open their mouths to retort a thrown insult. He watched his friends banter as their arguments kept getting more and more absurd by the minute. He couldn’t believe these two were grown-ups. But before he could slander more in his mind and strip them of their remaining dignities, he heard Oda call his name.

“Why don’t we just ask Masashi to know which one of us right?”

“Agreed. It’s your funeral, old man. Be ready to taste defeat! I’m going to kick your ass and throw your bo—”

“So, Masashi, which one is scarier?” Oda intervened before Kubo could get back and spout his childish threats. He was getting weary of hearing the same thing over and over again. Although, Kubo did his best to rephrase and made it sound a little different each time. They still translate to a single thing. He was a bad ass. That itself was nonsense to Oda.

“Yeah, Masashi, which one?”

Masashi instantly paled. It was now his turn to be fearful for his life. He reluctantly downed the sake in one gulp and told them in a shuddering voice. “Both of you are wrong. T-There is one more… more dangerous than your puny pirates and spookier than your cute Shinigamis.”

“What!?”

“S-Shi… Shinobis. The c-creatures of the night.”

Oda and Kubo gasped at Masashi’s unexpected answer. They began tearing up as they let out a restrained snort before chuckling a bit. Both paused and recalled Masashi’s answer before looking at each other then turned their attention towards Masashi. Seeing his grave expression and remembering the hilarity of his statement, they finally exploded in fit of laughter. “Hahaha. Hah— Masashi, I—Hah, don’t think you’ve understood the question,” Oda slapped Kubo at the back as he erupted in another set of cackling. “We asked you which one is scarier… Not tell us what your phobia is.”

“Yeah! Masashi, is your nyctophobia clouding your judgment?” Kubo added.

“Those shinobis are as docile as a cat. Paid mercenaries, they are. Word on the palace, Daimyo-sama controls them the same way how he treats his girls— like bitches,” Oda cheerily said.

Masashi had known they would drag him into the quarrel sooner or later. He wished it had been later rather than sooner. “My uncle told me the same thing.” He paused for added effect. “Nowadays, he spends his time alone in the forest away from civilization, dead— six feet below the ground.”

“My nanny said the same thing,” Kubo scoffed, lacing his voice with additional venom. “Just like when she told me that a Yuki-onna visits naughty children and buries them in the snow when she doesn’t get her hugs.”

“He’s right, Kubo. You should respect the dead. There are things we could learn from them. No need to mock Masashi here,” Oda pointed out.

“Yeah, yeah.” Kubo shrugged.

“But honestly, Masashi, what did your uncle do? We knew he was working as a blacksmith here in the capital. A good one particularly with those tiny knives,” Oda said with an odd mixture of confusion and concern.

Masashi didn’t respond. Looking at his memories, he knew his Uncle Sadai was a missing-nin and an even better assassin, but nothing more. His uncle was as elusive as his search for a love life.

Oda could see the tension around Masashi’s mouth, the barely suppressed anger in his eyes. Masashi was a man of few words, an honest, honorable man, that place people’s needs above his own. Yet, he was more than that. He was prideful as he was stubborn. Being disrespected was akin to losing his life. Underneath it all, Oda could sense something else. He could feel it; a nervous tension was looming perilously close.

Kubo unknowingly shared their sentiments. He too could sense the uneasiness in the air. He had been a guard of the Vault for eight years. Of course, compared to these geezers, he would be their junior. If he could get away with it, he would call them his uncles. But he wasn't a new young kid on the block. He was old hand— a veteran. He had the experienced the terror and chaos of the battlefield and came back alive. Watching a couple of dusty documents was a piece of cake.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Until tonight.

Something was different tonight. There was a creepiness lurking behind this darkness that made Kubo’s hair rise. It wasn’t his skills or his talent that allowed him to survive thus far. It was his instinct. The gut feeling that warned him of the incoming dangers. Like when animals fled to safety to avoid an earthquake. They don’t have any early warning device, they only had their instinct. This was the same— a hunch.

Masashi and Oda had felt it too. The tension intensified as the silence took over their once happy bantering, each lost in their own thoughts.

Clatter!

In his dazed state, Oda accidentally dropped the shot glass spilling its contents. Masashi was there in an instant. “Careful!” he shouted. “These documents are valuable!” pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. Kubo helped cleaned up the mess in doing so, dispersed the built-up tension in the atmosphere.

“You know,” Kubo started. “I’ve been thinking.”

Masashi immediately replied, reminded of Kubo’s previous transgression. “You’ve been thinking? Are you sick?”

“No, I’m serious here. We’ve been guarding this place for the better part of a decade now. They say it is just a storage for old papers. There’s no need to hire us. Tell you the truth, we’re overqualified in guarding this place,” Kubo expounded. “And don’t think about denying it either. Doesn’t it stir something within you? Curiosity? No? Maybe suspicion? Excitement?” He completed his piece.

“I haven’t really thought it,” Masashi made light of the unexpected discovery. “Works for me though. I can concentrate on my novel,” he chimed.

Kubo interjected, “You have the audacity to write a novel and — This, this is a mystery! Something you, who aspires to be a novelist is lacking in enthusiasm, which is important, I must say, find dull." He inhaled sharply and slammed the door to Masashi's face. "I advise you to stop writing. It won’t work for you.”

“And what do you know about writing?” Masashi quickly answered. “Last time I checked, you were sticking your nose to some impressionable young servant.”

The hidden invisible tension gushed out as the two traded jabs back and forth.

Now, it was Oda’s turned to play peacemaker. Kubo was antagonistic to everyone, more so with his friends. Their previous wrangle with each other might have been intense but it was just a friendly banter nevertheless. Oda could point out his friend’s age, being two years younger than them, yet it was a useless undertaking for people like them passed the age of forty. Though he was clueless where all the maturity went to, he would try his best to sympathize with Kubo before Masashi had enough and elected to drive a dagger through their friend’s back.

“Yeah? You’re right. I might not be curious about the secrets of this place because I’m not foolish to stick my head where it doesn’t belong.” Masashi balled his fists, tempers flaring.

Kubo shunned the insult and concentrated on his lecture. “That’s the main reason you wouldn’t succeed in your dream of being a writer. You’re just plain boring. Imagine, there’s a hidden adventure waiting for you and just sit there on the sideline like a cowa—”

“Now, look. I don’t know what your problem is, but I won’t be tolerating your insults any longer. I—”

“Guys, stop it!” Oda had enough.

The two were dangerously close to spilling blood. He decided to interfere before words that couldn’t be taken back left their drunken mouths ruining whatever friendship they built burning like a wildfire, quickly spreading and unbelievably corrosive. Their harmless wordplay turned hostile the moment Kubo insulted Masashi’s passion for writing. Oda determined that Masashi was close to snapping, any more words would force him to use needless force further fueling the incoming firestorm.

“Kubo, you know how passionate Masashi is on his novel. Heck, you were the one who suggested he started writing in the first place. Why say things like that now? You know what, you are drunk and so much more maddening to understand. Why do you have to be so pesky and irksome all the time?

“Ever since you and Masashi started arguing, all I heard are derogatory comments and rude remarks. Do you really have to humiliate someone just so you can get your point across?”

“Masashi, you know how Kubo is… his mouth and his attitude screams trouble like the school’s most notorious delinquent yet you’ve allowed yourself to be stirred by your emotions and provoked by his jeering. That is his most recognizable trait and his natural talent, being annoying. Everyone knows that.

“Yes, he started it, but you know how immature our friend is, right? But you’ve always been the one to stay patient particularly during his tenacious childlike tantrums. What change? Hm?”

The moment Oda finished dressing these ladies that were pulling each other’s hair until one of them becomes bald, he knew he halted the spread yet the fire hasn’t died yet; and before it can regain its strength and make him go bald instead, he struck.

“Now, could we please get past this go back to being good friends enjoying an occasional drinking session?”

Kubo almost snickered while Masashi sported a slight smile on his lips. Oda had successfully doused the kindling with his timely humor and calming action. Yes, they were enjoying an occasional session for the eighth straight night.

A serene silence permeated the surroundings. Words weren’t being exchanged as each of the guilty party evaluated their attitude for the past hour. Masashi reflected on how he let himself be misguided by his emotion as it clouded his beliefs and destroyed his composure. Kubo remained speechless and wounded because of how Oda addressed his maturity even though deep down inside he knew it was true. Masashi remembering how Kubo was, relented, vowing to forgive his friend. While Kubo reached a decision to be a little more understandable and a little less vexing.

“Truce?” Oda extended his hand.

The arguing parties looked at each other and nodded, sealing a silent pact between brothers to stop their bickering.

“Yeah! All right! The big three is back! Yet regardless of what happened earlier, Kubo raised an interesting line of thought. It’s called the vault after all. There may be some kind of treasure here.” He began tapping his fingers like a drum on the table, the aforementioned misdemeanor was forgotten in place of solving a puzzle.

“Aha! A piece of treasure. One piece of treasure. The One Piece!” Oda wrapped up with an unbridled amount of energy.

“A forbidden scroll of knowledge,” Masashi tossed his idea.

“A magic crystal?” Kubo offered.

“A magic artifact that looks like a crystal?” Kubo tried again.

“Come on, guys. That’s not far-fetched!” Kubo defended himself.

"Keep telling yourself that! Even you are not assured about the idea with that tone," Oda announced flatly.

“I may lack curiosity but I’m certainly not lacking any creativity compared to a certain monkey over here,” Masashi swiped, he may have forgiven Kubo but it doesn’t mean he was off the hook. Kubo opted to endure and show a little wisdom present at their current age.

The famous trio swapped ideas more outlandish than the prior thrown into the mix. It encompassed things such as spaceship full of alien ladies looking for love, a blue cat’s magical door to anywhere, a time machine, a gate to another dimension or parallel universe, a hyperbolic chamber and much more. At the end of their discussion, they were right where they wanted to be, nowhere.

“All this thinking is making my head hurt,” Oda groaned, shaking his head.

A small line formed between the Masashi’s eyebrows. “We’re are guards, you know, not nobles. Thinking is for scholars." Then he took the half-empty Sake bottle, tucking it safely into his body. "We're done here." He stood up and motioned for them to follow. "Let's go. We've got a job to do."

“Yeah, yeah, Spoilsports,” Oda said sardonically as he stood up.

“More like a killjoy like an old man. Maybe his joints are aching already,” Kubo corrected him as they grumpily followed Masashi back to the main hall.

“What happened here?!” Masashi barked. His heart stopped in his chest. For a moment, he dared not breathe.

What they saw was the stuff of nightmares. Bodies were strewn everywhere. Blood oozed out their wounds painting the floor red as the heavy smell of iron filled the space. Oda walked and knelt to the closest body, he saw one of his longtime friends, the gulp was stuck in his throat.

“God!”

“Something’s wrong,” Kubo stated the obvious, trying to diffuse the gravity of the situation. The worst thing they could do now was panic, and panic could cost them their lives. Someone took down a whole company of guards. They were terrified, but none of them wanted to show it.

Without warning, Masashi yelled. “Get down!”

A hail of shuriken whistled past. They were under attack, but they couldn't pinpoint the direction which the attack came from nor could they see the attacker. Crouched, they slowly got up while keeping their senses alert.

An obsidian sword came shivering through the air.

Kubo met it with steel saving Oda from an untimely death. Noticing that the black cladded offender was shorter than he was, he strained his muscle to overpower the swings. Kubo pushed him back and pushed him hard, leaving no room for retaliation. The bloodlust confined through the years that he left in the vicious graveyard of warriors came rushing back. Assured of his victory, he got cocky and failed to assess the man’s body language.

A fast swing came, then the realization dawn on his face. He hardly able to parry it but when their blades met, Kubo rapidly felt that he was outmatched. His adversary was stronger, faster, and more skilled than any of them. That single exchange told him that much. Then he finally noticed the relaxed, cool composure oozing from the man’s body adding to his doubts.

The swings came sooner at a much sharper angle than before. The duel just turned deadlier. Another assault was coming for him. Dodging the first, Kubo checked a second blow, and a third, then fell back a step. Another flurry of blows and he fell back again. He was being toyed around and his bloody headache wasn’t helping at all.

Masashi saw the assailant’s eyes; blue, deeper and colder than any human eyes, a blue like the freezing tundra of Yuki no Kuni, The Land of Snow. It was merciless daring them to come.

Kubo was the first to fall, a double-wing attack that folded into something else at the last minute got him by the chest. It was a masterful display of swordsmanship. Kubo was undoubtedly the best out of them on frontal assault and exceedingly exceptional with a sword on his hands, him falling doesn’t inspire confidence.

Wasting no time to mourn nor to think, Oda started to lunge for the opening created by his friend’s death; he swung in a blazing arc. Fury burning in his eyes, he kept pressing forward, raining down strikes from above, from the side, trying to create an opening to put the attacker down. Vowing vengeance against this injustice for his friends and for Kubo.

His opponent was on the defensive, contented to parry and redirect each of them. For a moment, Oda dared hope as the success of his attacks were dimmed by the ingested liquor.

An agonizing scream echoed through the main hall; Oda was limping, his right thigh was stabbed. The attacker led him by the nose; a momentary hesitation was all it took. His opponent deliberately showed an opening; the kind a novice swordsman would make. Shocked, for a split-second, he didn’t know how to react, that was when a quick thrust found its way to his thigh.

Slowed and wounded, a fast three slash combo ended his life stabbing his heart.

Masashi was petrified by the series of events. He was the least skilled out of them. Chances were betting for him to die, but his need for survival wouldn’t let him lay ahead and give up. He roared, a roar of a cornered animal.

The match started in a flash. Contact was made between the blades, but their swings emitted no sounds; it was drowned by Masashi’s absolute focus to save his life. The instant he saw an opening, he was already sending his blade, not bothering to contemplate if it was a feint or a trap. This wasn’t the time to be cautious. His opponent was terrifyingly good, he knew that. His best chance of survival was to catch him off guard, a lucky blow or something.

Maybe he was already broken mentally.

Again and again, the swords met, the masked individual parried his every effort with ease and unnatural grace. Masashi was panting from exertion now, his breath booming in the deafened hall. His blade was chipped; the man’s coated with thick red— the blood of his friends.

Then the attacker lunged, using obscure forms that Masashi scarcely recognized and could barely block. Masashi was forced to go on the defensive. He furiously raised his arm to block an overhead strike, his knees buckling, his sword cracked a little. A hasty dashed backward protected his footing. Getting knocked down means death, he was barely able to take that blow. At the same time, his enemy had already circled to his rear. To parry the next blow, he instinctively raised his sword then used the momentum to roll behind his aggressor.

It was a mistake.

As he was getting up from his roll, another overhead strike came. Masashi managed to block it with his sword, but the shock of the blow reverberated down from sword into his hand. Shaken, however, he was more than ready to receive another strike, yet the next slash turned out to be the last.

When the blades touched, his steel shattered.

The horizontal follow-up cleaved through his sword like butter. Masashi failed to notice the faint buzzing sound enveloping the sword, thin enough barely at the edge of hearing, like the screeching of a glass. He was able to leap back at the last-minute to avoid getting diced in two, but it already cut his chest open.

Grimly light-headed, he was forced to defend against another series of blows. A two-pronged attack, the feint was slicing up and across, while the actual thrust came from beneath. Masashi spotted it a beat too late. The Obsidian sword bit through the armor beneath his arm stabbing him in the stomach.

The aspiring novelist and guard cried out in pain. Blood welled between the leather scales. Holding his wound, dreadfully afraid of what’s to come, while blood dripped on the floor feeding the chilling concrete ground.

"D-Don't c-come any c-closer," Masashi squawked as he raised the remains of his blade defiantly. All the while suppressing the trembles that attacked his weakening body.

Unthreatened by his false bravado, the intruder of the vault walked up to him and kicked his knees smashing the kneecaps in the process. Limping, Masashi waved his fragmented sword for the second time hoping to keep the mysterious man at bay. He went soaring as another kick was sent to his wounded chest.

It was cold butchery.

As he lay dying on the floor, Masashi forced himself to a sitting position. Then he looked over to his friends. Kubo was lying face down; his clothes were a tatter. Oda died sitting, his body leaning against the wall. Both of them dead, he would join them soon. Masashi felt it was the end of an era.

Masashi wanted to beg for his life, to let him go, let him live yet there was something he greatly desired more than those things. Masashi wanted this mysterious man dead. For the things this man did tonight, the dreams he took away and the lives he ended. Damning and cursing the masked individual as life continued to be siphoned out of his body.

 As Masashi looked up, he saw his conqueror walking towards him, silent on his feet while the nonstop dripping of his blood and every one of his victim tonight resonated through halls, singing ominously, from that Obsidian instrument of death.

Stopping and standing above him, Masashi met that frightening gaze. The man’s eye stared at him.

The pupil burned blue, an intense blue.

“W-What a-are y-you?” Masashi croaked, desperately clinging to life as he coughed blood.

“A Shinobi.”

The broken sword fell from his hand. Masashi closed his eyes to pray.

His end was near.

He was right all along.

Right to fear the creatures of the night.