The sun shone gently across the green hills beyond the Hidden Leaf Village, casting golden light on the dirt path winding through the trees. A small family walked together, laughing, chatting, utterly carefree. They were on vacation—something rare for shinobi families—but today was different. Today was for joy.
Five-year-old Tokasu Nara darted ahead, chasing a butterfly, his short black hair bouncing with each step. His round eyes sparkled with excitement, and his tiny sandals kicked up dust as he ran.
"Careful, Tokasu!" his mother called, a light, lilting voice like a breeze in spring.
"It's okay," his father chuckled, crossing his arms. "Let the boy run. He needs to wear himself out anyway."
Tokasu's mother, delicate and graceful, moved with the elegance of a flower bending in the wind. She had soft eyes and a warmth that made people feel like they'd known her forever. She was no fighter, but her charisma was her strength.
His father, by contrast, was everything a shinobi could be. Tall, powerful, with the quiet intensity of someone who had seen war but had never let it darken his soul. His hands were scarred. His eyes were calm. He was a respected member of the Nara clan—one of its finest.
Tokasu ran back and wrapped his arms around his mother's waist. "Mommy, did you see? I almost caught it!"
"You almost scared it to death, you mean," she teased, ruffling his hair.
"You'll catch it next time, son," his father added, resting a hand on Tokasu's head.
The boy beamed.
They made camp near a riverbank, with a small fire crackling and roasted fish cooking on a spit. The sky dimmed to a soft orange, the quiet sounds of the forest surrounding them. Tokasu curled up in a blanket beside his parents, giggling at his mother's stories and barely catching his father's teasing jabs.
"What if I become Hokage one day?" Tokasu asked suddenly, eyes wide with wonder.
"Then I'll retire early and let you do all the work," his father said with a grin.
"You would make a great hokage Tokasu," his mother added, poking his nose.
It was perfect.
Until it wasn't.
The first sound was like thunder—an explosive crack that shattered the tranquility of the woods like glass underfoot.
Then came silence. Deafening. Paralyzing.
Tokasu sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes. His little hands clutched his blanket. He could sense something—something wrong—before he even understood what danger felt like.
His father was already on his feet, kunai drawn with the precision of a seasoned jonin. His back straightened, his frame wide as he instinctively placed himself between his family and the unknown.
Two figures emerged from the shadows of the trees, their presence turning the warm air cold. Long black cloaks with red clouds.
Even at five years old, Tokasu felt something primal and wrong stir in the pit of his stomach.
"Akane," his father said, voice a strained whisper of steel. "Take him. Run."
"Taka—" she began, trembling.
"Now!"
The urgency in his voice snapped her into motion. She scooped Tokasu up without hesitation, his small arms wrapping tightly around her neck, his cheek pressed to her shoulder.
His father stepped forward, his shadow stretching unnaturally wide behind him. His chakra surged, invisible to the eye but thick in the air—like the taste of metal before lightning strikes.
The two attackers said nothing. No names. No threats. They didn't need to. Their silence was the promise of death.
Then the battle began.
Tokasu could only glimpse it as his mother turned and ran, but those few seconds were seared into his memory like flame onto paper.
His father's shadow writhed like a beast unleashed. It split into lances, spears, and claws, slicing through the forest, distorting the ground. One of the attackers evaded effortlessly, gliding backward with inhuman grace. The other moved to flank, spinning into a brutal close-range assault.
A wall of shadow burst from the earth in response, forcing the attacker back—but barely.
His father fought like a storm—controlled chaos. Every move precise. Every defense a prelude to offense.
He was not just a protector.
He was a warrior. A Nara. A shinobi of Konoha.
And yet—
They were monsters.
One moment his father was holding his own.
The next, there was only blood.
A weird blade appeared in his chest, sharp and cruel, twisting through rib and heart.
"Daddy!!" Tokasu screamed, his throat raw with panic.
His mother didn't stop running.
The forest became a blur of motion and terror. Branches clawed at her robes. Leaves whipped past. Her breath came in gasps. Tokasu clung to her, sobbing, his tiny fingers digging into her shoulders.
Behind them, chakra surged.
A tree exploded beside them.
The forest floor cracked beneath their feet.
Death followed like wind behind fire.
They burst through a thicket, stumbling toward a cliffside—the final boundary line before Leaf territory.
Akane skidded to a halt.
Below was a steep, rocky descent. Beyond it… safety.
"Mama," Tokasu whimpered, his voice cracking. "Don't leave me—please—don't—"
She was crying now, but smiling too—an expression only a mother could make.
"Be strong. For us."
She kissed his forehead.
Then, with every ounce of strength she had left, she threw him over the cliff.
The world tilted. The wind screamed in his ears.
And in that single, impossible moment, he saw her turn.
He saw the blade that took her.
He saw her fall.
And then—nothing.
Tokasu hit the ground with a sickening roll, bouncing through leaves and dirt and roots until he finally skidded to a stop in the undergrowth at the bottom.
Pain flared across his body. His limbs screamed. His head throbbed.
He reached out toward the trees—toward the ridge above, toward his mother.
But there was no one left to reach back.
Then, everything went black.