The Current Date is November 7th, 392 BKE (Before Konoha Era).

Hattori Yanmaru’s date of birth is January 1st, 400 BKE.

An eight-year old Hattori Yanmaru watched on in shock, the blood of his father spattering across his face. His eyes were locked onto a blade, jabbed through the gut of his dad, wielded by one of the Land of Fire’s Samurai. Blood trickled down the blade for a second or two, the kid couldn’t really tell, before it was unsheathed from his father’s abdomen.

Biko Yanmaru crumpled to the ground, his body making a dull splash as it landed in a pool of blood originating from Rika Yanmaru. Hattori’s eyes trailed down, the horror on his face deepening.

“What… What kind of Samurai are you?” He mumbled, eyes focused on the bodies of his parents. Their unique eyes, with black sclera and single-coloured pupils, had dulled significantly. “What kind of Samurai kills two civilians!” He finally managed to look into the eyes of the Samurai. He choked down the bile and vomit that threatened to leave his throat.

“A Samurai?” The man, his sword coated in a thick layer of blood and gore, looked down at himself. He wore a straw hat, with paper tendrils all around the rim. His armour was standard for the Warring States Period; coloured white to indicate his Samurai allegiance. The man had a straw of wheat in his mouth, and an evil look on his face. “No, kid. A Ronin. Those peace-loving scum wouldn’t know true sword skill if it stabbed them up the ass.”

He pointed his blade towards the young Yanmaru, the last of his family-line, and spoke again. “I’ve been paid a lot of money to kill you lot. I don’t really know why, and I don’t really care.” His arm raised, and swung down – Hattori flinched and cowered.

A thud hit the ground next to him, followed by a gargled scream and some noise the kid couldn’t really decipher. Hesitantly, avoiding the ground where his dead parents lay, Hattori looked up at the man who was supposed to kill him.

His head was missing, a fountain of blood gushing from the neck it had been connected to just seconds before. His head turned mechanically to the left, where a second Samurai stood. He had an awkward look on his face, somewhere between apologetic and apathetic.

“Sorry, kid. I’ve been hunting this guy down for deserting the Daimyo’s army for a while. I should’ve got him before he got your, uh… parents.” Hattori just nodded numbly, his eyes flitting back towards the bodies of his family. He was alone now. They weren’t coming back. The Samurai shifted awkwardly.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“I can help you bury them. If you want. I’ve been trained in traditional Fire Nation burials.” Hattori just stared at the man, tears welling up in his eyes, before breaking down and sobbing.

The Samurai moved forward to catch him before he fell forward, directly into the puddle of blood and the corpses of his parents.

The two sat there for a while, one crying while the other tried not to cringe as the blood soaked into his clothing and coated his armour while he comforted the child.

It was many hours later, when the sun that had been just burgeoning across the lands, now sat at the height of the world. The Samurai lifted the child, exhausted physically and emotionally, and sat him down at a tree nearby. He’d fallen asleep.

“I know you’re asleep, kid, but I can’t imagine forcing you to dig the graves of your parents.” He sighed, and got to work. The scabbard of his sword was used as an impromptu shovel, with a decently thin and flat rock he’d found used as shovel’s blade.

It wasn’t long before two graves, of standard Fire Nation depth and preparation, had been dug. The Samurai lifted the body of Hattori’s father into his grave, first, before then doing the same to his mother. After covering the bodies with the dirt he’d used to dig the graves, he scrawled 父 across grave of the kid’s father, and 母 across the grave of the kid’s mother.

With the indication of which grave was whose, the Samurai’s work was almost done. He pulled a scroll from under his armour, and sealed the corpse of the Ronin inside. He was surprised, for a moment, as he lifted the blade wielded by the Ronin. It was high quality – likely a blade from The Land of Water based on the level of craftsmanship.

It wasn’t too bizarre in appearance, an extremely long executioner’s blade. On the hilt was inscribed ‘Kubikiribocho’. The only oddities were the two holes in the blade, one towards the blade’s tip in the center of the sword, and one on the blade's edge towards the hilt of the sword. The Samurai wielded it, going through a few stances of his Sword Art, before smiling. The blade was good.

He turned to the boy, still sleeping with his back against a tree, before his old blade. It was a standard Tanto-blade, unnamed, provided to him when he joined the Samurai Army of the Daimyo.

He dug it into the ground next to the boy, before patting his head and speaking to him for the last time.

“Still asleep, huh?” The man sighed, watching as Hattori pretended to sleep. “The only way to keep yourself safe, is to be the strongest.” He turned his head to gaze at the graves. “The world is violent. Peace is almost impossible to achieve, but if you become stronger than anyone else, you can do it. I believe in you, kid.” With that, the Samurai vanished in a burst of extreme speed.

Hattori’s eyes opened slowly. His eyes were like his father’s; black sclera, with a solid purple iris that lacked a pupil. His mothers were similar, though her eyes were a vibrant, beautiful green. Tears welled in his eyes.

“I will become the strongest, Samurai-san. I will bring peace. Thank you.” His vow wasn’t heard by anyone but himself; however that was all that mattered. His iris shifted to a dark red, that seemed to emit a hazy light. These eyes, Hattori knew, were a secret of his family.

The Bochigan.

The Eyes of Aspiration – a Dojutsu his father bragged about, claiming it to be on the same level as the eyes of the Uchiha and Hyuga.

His eyes shifted back to normal as the world darkened at the edges of his vision, a wave of exhaustion overtaking him. At eight years old, Hattori Yanmaru experienced Chakra Exhaustion for the first time, and passed out next to the graves of his parents.