Celestial Sandstorm

[GeomZii]

Celestial Sandstorm

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 1: A Stranger in the Desert
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A dry, relentless heat that sucks moisture from lungs with every breath. It was the second thing I noticed. The first was sand. It was everywhere. Gritty, fine sand. It was a taste on my tongue, a smell in my nostrils, and the feeling of tiny needles on my skin. I tried to open my eyes, but the glare was blinding: a white-hot sun overhead that seemed to pierce straight through my skull. I squinted, tears streaming down my cheeks, and tried to move. My limbs didn't respond the way they should. They were small and weak.


What the…

"Shh, shh, little one. Don't cry." A Gentle Female voice, which was familiar in a way that made no sense because I had never heard it before. I felt myself being lifted, cradled against something warm. A heartbeat thrummed beneath my ear, steady and soothing. The scent of sweat and sun-baked cloth filled my nose. I tried to speak, but what came out was a wet, gurgling cry.

No. No, no, no. I was a baby. OH!

The woman, apparently, rocked me gently, murmuring soft words I couldn't understand. Her language was foreign, melodic in a way that reminded me of... something. Something I couldn't quite place. I forced my eyes open again, ignoring the sting of the sun, and looked at her face. Dark hair, brown skin, and tired eyes that held love.

The first few months were a haze of sensory overload and existential crisis. I learned quickly that I was in a village. The sounds that drifted through the open window of our small home were distinct: the rhythmic clang of metal against metal, the murmur of voices haggling in a market, the occasional whoosh of something cutting through the air. The air itself was dry, gritty, and carried the faint scent of heated sand. Desert, my infant brain supplied. Definitely a desert village.

My matron, I learned her name was Aiko. An orphanage matron, from what I could gather. And she manages many orphans. She always speaks to us and sings to us gently. I was not able to understand any words except a word here and there. Shinobi, Sunagakure, Kazekage were the most common.

Oh, oh. And when she brought me outside, I was able to see behind her; beyond the shade of the cloth canopy, I saw a village. Sandstone buildings, curved domes, narrow streets choked with dust. People in loose robes, their faces wrapped against the elements. And in the distance, a massive structure that rose to the sky like a skyscraper.


No way.

I knew that silhouette. I had seen it in anime, in fan art, in countless fanfiction covers.

Sunagakure.

I had been reincarnated in Sunagakure, the weakest ninja village, the Hidden Sand Village. The desert death village. The place where Gaara went crazy and Orochimaru started a war, and everything went to shit.

Of all the places…

I started full-throated screaming, a shriek filled with terror that tore from my tiny lungs with a force that surprised even me.

"Kaito! Kaito, what's wrong?"

My Matron Aiko pulled me closer, her face creased with worry. She checked my swaddling, felt my forehead, looked for any sign of injury or illness. She found nothing. Because there was nothing physically wrong with me. I was just terrified. I was reborn in the Naruto world, a death world.

And then I felt something. A tiny pull that was barely a whisper that came from the inside. A presence that wasn't there before. And just before my eyes was a translucent book. When I focused on it, it became clearly visible, and knowledge rushed into my mind. A Cheat, which only I could see. Celestial Grimoire, a Cosmic artifact. With this, I may be able to survive. No, I may be able to thrive. I waited and waited, yet no powers were granted to me. No freebies or beginner packages were available. Months passed by, and I was starting to wonder whether I had imagined it. Meanwhile, I started to sit and walk. I tried opening the celestial grimoire many times, but nothing happened. Frustrated, I even tried to search my chakra, but it seemed my talent in that regard was average, as I was not able to even sense chakra. And when I took my first steps at 8 months. it happened,

Celestial Grimoire — 250CP

Perk Gained

Nutrition (50 CP) — The Witcher Novels
In these times, famine is a real danger, and many people spend long, exhausting time at work just to keep themselves fed. Food is bland for the poor, and what they eat depends on the time of the year and their location. Only the rich and powerful can allow themselves diversity and delicacies like catoblepas meat. Before you start to rage at the world for lacking fast food chains, know that while you may not enjoy the taste of your food, it is much more filling for you, as you need very little to sustain yourself. Only one or two good meals a week will suffice for a balanced diet for your person. Though do your best not to unveil this before others, as many starve on what keeps you thriving.


Accept?

What? Yes... yes.

Remaining CP — 200


I have so many questions now. I had not been able to open it and began to think it was broken, and all of a sudden it gave me this power. What was CP, and how did I earn CP? Was it the first milestone achievement or something like that? Right. It happened just after I took my first steps. But how do I gain CP? And what even is CP? Cost price? I tried summoning the Celestial Grimoire again but failed. Uhh, I will figure it out later. But this perk will come in handy, as food was always short in suna orphanages. Everyone was frail in the orphanage, and I was weak too.


I observed that the orphanage ran on a schedule as rigid as the desert itself. Wake before dawn, when the air was still cold enough to raise goosebumps on bare arms. The matrons moved through the dormitory with wooden clappers, striking them together in a sharp, rhythmic clatter that burrowed into your skull and refused to leave. No words. Just the sound, and the expectation that you would rise.

I learned to dress myself before I could walk properly. A single set of clothes: loose linen trousers, a faded tunic the color of dust, sandals made from woven reeds that wore through in weeks. In winter, a thin wool cloak. In summer, nothing but the linen, which clung to sweat-slicked skin and never seemed to dry.

Breakfast was served in the communal hall: a long, low-ceilinged room with sandstone walls and narrow windows that let in slivers of light. The tables were rough-hewn planks, scarred by years of use. The benches were harder than the floor. We sat in rows, oldest to youngest, and waited.

The food was always the same. Porridge made from millet, thin enough to see the bottom of the bowl. A single date, sometimes. A cup of water that tasted of iron and dust. The older children got larger portions. The youngest got what was left. I had recently started to eat solid food slowly. I learned quickly to keep my head down and not react when the boy beside me coughed into his bowl or the girl across the table stared at my food with hollow eyes.

Two good meals a week. That was what my perk required. Two meals that actually filled my stomach, that gave me energy, that let my body grow the way it was supposed to. But the orphanage served thin gruel seven days a week. There was no "good meal." There was only survival.

So I adapted.

I ate what I was given. I let my body absorb every scrap of nutrition, every grain of millet, every drop of moisture. The perk did the rest, stretching what little I had, making it enough. I didn't grow strong. But I didn't wither, either.

The matrons noticed, eventually. Not that I was healthy; I was careful to keep my frame thin, my movements sluggish, my eyes dull. But I was alive. The other children my age had hollow cheeks and stick-thin limbs. Some had bellies swollen from malnutrition. Some coughed constantly, their lungs never quite clearing. Some simply… faded. Went to sleep and didn't wake up.

Don't stand out. The words echoed in my skull every time a matron looked at me a moment too long. I learned to slump my shoulders and drag my feet. I usually let my gaze wander vacantly when the cold matron walked past.

Chores came next. Even the youngest children had tasks like folding blankets and sweeping sand from the floors, which was a futile task, since the sand came back within hours. Carrying water from the communal well to the kitchen was done by big kids, and sorting dried herbs for the infirmary was left for younger ones. The work was endless, repetitive, designed not to teach us skills but to keep us occupied and exhausted.

I didn't mind the chores. They gave me an excuse to move slowly and observe.

I learned the rhythm of the orphanage the way a prisoner learns the rhythm of his cell. The food arrived twice a day, always late. When the matrons changed shifts three times, with a brief overlap in the afternoon when the day matrons gossiped and the night matrons slept. Which children were troublemakers: a boy named Jiro who stole food and was beaten for it, a girl named Sari who talked too much and was slapped for it. Which children were favored: the strong ones, the quiet ones, the ones who never cried.

Which children disappeared.

Ren had been one of those. I stopped letting myself think about Ren.

Afternoon lessons came in the courtyard, when the sun was at its highest, and the heat was a physical weight pressing down on your skull. The older children learned to read and write, tracing characters in the sand with sticks. The younger ones like me sat in the shade of a tattered awning and listened.

Old Yumi taught the stories of Sunagakure; the founding of the village and the First Kazekage's unification of the desert clans was everyone's favorite. The Second Kazekage's rise to power. The stories of battles of the warring era, the older conflicts, and whatever stories and rumors passed down to civilians. The famous blood feuds and the betrayals.

At 1 year old, I was able to understand the language somewhat.

And the head matron spoke slowly to all orphans.

"The sand never forgets."



I could smell propaganda in the air.


That's what the old Head Matron told us ."Sand remembers every footstep, every drop of blood, every tear," she said, her weathered hands sifting the grains through her fingers. "It holds the memory of all who walked before, and it waits. The sand is our mother," Old Matron continued. "Our father, our ancestor, and our descendant. The sand was here before the first Kazekage drew breath, and it will be here long after the last shinobi falls." She knelt, scooping a handful of sand from the courtyard floor. "Feel it," she said. "Feel the weight, the texture, and the warmth." The children obeyed. I did too, my small fingers sifting through the grains. "The sand remembers," Old Yumi, her name, said. "Every footprint, every tear, and every drop of blood spilled in defense of our village. The sand holds the memory of all who came before us. It is our history. Our legacy. Our soul."



That is some intense level Bullshit lady.


She let the sand fall through her fingers. "To be born of Sunagakure is to be born of the sand. You are not orphans. You are children of the desert. And the desert does not abandon its own."

"The Kazekage is the sand made flesh," she said. "The desert chooses its champion, and the champion becomes the desert. The First Kazekage was chosen by the sand itself. The Second Kazekage carries that blessing forward."



Yay. Next, she will say the desert chose the Kazekage to be the god of shinobi.


I listened with two sets of ears: the ears of a child learning his place in the world, and the ears of a man from another dimension who knew the truth.

The Kazekage was not chosen by the sand. The Kazekage was a political position, a military title, a symbol of power in a village built on blood and iron. The First Kazekage had been a warlord who united the scattered clans of the Land of Wind through force and cunning. And also due to helplessness, two of the strongest clans, Senju and Uchiha, were united, creating the first ninja village, and many other clans had also continued to join. The other ninja clans in other nations had merely followed suit, either adapting to the new system or becoming a footnote in history swap away by the united ninja clans of Konoha. The Second was his successor, chosen by council and circumstance. He was chosen because he was second in command of the First Kazekage and the strongest shinobi at the time.

But that wasn't what Old Yumi taught.

"To serve the Kazekage is to serve the sand," she said. "To die for the Kazekage is to return to the sand. There is no greater honor. There is no greater purpose."

The children nodded and easily believed. In fact, it seems even the adults believed, or they needed to believe.

And I understood why. I knew how empires were built not just on swords and gold, but on stories. The Romans had their founding myths, the British had their civilizing mission, the Americans had their manifest destiny. Konoha had the Will of Fire.

Sunagakure only had the desert and its endless sands and eternal winds. Propaganda was genius, really, I realised. The desert was harsh and deadly. Life here was a constant struggle against heat, thirst, and starvation. The people needed something to believe in, something to justify their suffering.

The sand remembers.
The sand provides.
The sand protects.

Every child in the orphanage grew up believing that their hardship was noble, their sacrifice meaningful, their loyalty absolute. They would die for Sunagakure without hesitation, not because they were forced to, but because they believed. Old Yumi wasn't just a matron. She was a priestess of the desert faith, a keeper of the flame that burned in every Suna shinobi's heart, and perhaps an old shinobi lookout for talent and preparing the fodder. And her sermons were the kindling. The Sermon of Sacrifice.

She looked at each of us in turn, her obsidian eyes reflecting the torchlight.

"You are not children," she said. "You are sands, and sands cannot be destroyed. It can only be scattered, and scattered sands always finds its way home." What bullshit is she spouting, and yet I felt the words settle into the hearts of the children around me. I saw their spines straighten, jaws tighten, and eyes harden. They were ready to fight for Suna.

Die for Suna. A dark thought whispered in my mind.

This is how you build an army, I thought. This is how you build a nation. And this propaganda was in everything, in our stories, in games, in talks and metaphors.

Over the months, I was starting to grow healthy, my perk helping me in that regard. And matrons were starting to notice.

"Kaito has grown healthy," the head matron said. "Are you feeding him extra? " she asked.

"No, but he has recently grown healthy and even started to walk early. Kaito is very active," she said.

"Hmm. He will make a fine shinobi," the head matron said coldly.

Uhh! I will have to scale back all my efforts.

Even though I am a grown adult inside with great power like the Celestial Grimoire, my body is still that of a baby. There is only so much I can do to survive if somebody becomes curious about my health and decides to experiment on me.


Quickly, I decided on three rules. Don't stand out, Don't trust anyone, and do whatever it takes to survive. Everything else could wait.


Experimenting with my perk, I have come to realize that I do not need to eat much, only two good meals in a week. That roughly translates to five or six servings of food that we get each time in the orphanage. I could still eat like a normal child. And eating more than two good meals in a week does not seem to have any benefit.



Small mercies.


I grew slowly, trying to blend in like the way all children grow in Suna's orphanages. Malnutrition that had stunted my frame was beginning to fade away. I heard everything I could; adults usually speak freely around babies. I heard the history of this world I now inhabited.


There was no mention of Shinobi Wars or the great villages; Konoha, Suna, Iwa, Kumo, Kiri had barely formed 3 decades back. Second Kazekage's rule is not even a decade old. But the long peace has certainly disillusioned people, I observed, and tension was already brewing. I was not able to get anything concrete, of course. But I knew that I was too far back in the timeline before canon. I don't have much knowledge of this era, and even my knowledge of canon is useless now. I am bound to make waves and changes even if I hold back, which I doubt I can, especially with my Celestial Grimoire. And by the time canon arrives, any change I made will spiral over the decades. My knowledge of canon is now more of a guideline than any concrete knowledge.

I had scaled back my efforts and only started talking after other kids my age had. My plan worked; matrons have started to focus on other kids. Meanwhile, Celestial Grimoire stirred recently,



Celestial Grimoire — 200CP


Perk Gained



Animagus (200 CP) — Harry Potter

You are an Animagus, allowing you to change into an animal at will. A golden eagle is your animagus.


Accept?



I had read about Animagi. In another life and another world, I had devoured those books like a starving man devours bread. The idea of transformation, of becoming something other had always fascinated me. And now it was real and mine, if I wanted it.

Golden eagle.

I imagined it. The wind beneath my wings, the world spread out below me like a map, tiny and distant and free. I imagined flying over the dunes, over the village, over the endless desert. I imagined leaving it all behind: the hunger, the fear, the endless sand. I imagined being untouchable.

My hands trembled.

Yes. Accept. Accept now.

But another voice, quieter and colder, whispered from the back of my mind.

And then what?

And then what happens when someone sees you? When a shinobi spots a golden eagle circling the orphanage, day after day? When a hunter-nin traces it back to you? When the Kazekage's intelligence division captures you and wants to know how a child from a Suna orphanage can transform into a bird?

They won't kill you. They'll study you. They'll dissect you. They'll find the Celestial Grimoire, somehow, and then they'll take it. Or they'll kill you trying.

I closed my eyes. The temptation was a physical ache in my chest, a wanting so deep it felt like grief.

I could fly, I thought. I could be free.

I could be captured.

I could escape.

I could be dissected.

The two voices warred. The child in me, the part that was still small and scared and desperate for power, screamed at me to accept. To take the gift and to stop being so cautious.

The adult in me, the part that had lived and died and learned the hard way that power without wisdom was a death sentence, whispered back:

Not yet. Not while you're weak. Not while you can't protect yourself.

I opened my eyes. The words in front of me were shining brightly,



Celestial Grimoire — 200CP


Perk Gained



Animagus (200 CP) — Harry Potter

You are an Animagus, allowing you to change into an animal at will. A golden eagle is your animagus.



Accept?


No.


Remaining CP — 200



So I rejected it, as such an ability was too high-profile, too different, especially while I was still a baby. I regretted not taking the perk, but I did not know whether I would be able to control it or not, and it randomly transforms into a golden eagle. Even after I became an adult, such a perk would be difficult to explain, although I would have the strength to protect myself. I will have to think about which perks I should choose, which to ignore, and which perks are worth the CP. I will only take perks that could be hidden or explained, at least till I get old and strong. Instant Power is not worth it if I end up on the battlefield early or, worse experiment lab. So, how does the celestial grimoire work? I made sure to only talk after many kids started talking. I was not first in that sense. So it is not the first to achieve, but the first individual milestone achievement or something else.



Now, Only If I could learn what CP is? Too many questions.

This thing should have come with a manual.



The first sandstorm hit when I was fourteen months old.

I was in the courtyard, sitting in the shade of a tattered awning, watching the older children practice their calligraphy in the sand. The sky had been clear moments before, a pale, washed-out blue that was the closest thing Sunagakure ever had to a "nice day." Then the light changed.

It happened fast. The sun dimmed, and the air grew thick, heavy, charged with something that made the hair on my arms stand up. I looked up and saw it: a wall of brown cloud rising from the horizon, towering and relentless, swallowing the sky.

Oh, shit.

"Inside!" a matron screamed. "Everyone inside!"

The courtyard erupted into chaos. Older children dropped their sticks and ran. Younger ones stumbled, confused, crying. The matrons grabbed whoever was closest, shoving them toward the door.

I was too far from the entrance. I'd been sitting in the corner, trying to stay out of the way, trying not to be noticed, and now that caution was about to kill me.

The storm hit before I could reach the door.

It was like being buried alive. The sand filled my eyes, my nose, my mouth. I couldn't breathe or see. The wind shrieked in my ears, a sound like a thousand dying animals. I felt myself lifted off the ground, tumbling, scraping across stone.

No. No, no, no

A hand grabbed my ankle, then my arm. Then I was being hauled through the sand, dragged across the courtyard, shoved through the door just as the storm reached its peak.

The door slammed shut behind me. The sound was swallowed by the wind.

I lay on the floor of the dormitory, coughing, gasping, sand spilling from my lips. Aiko was there, her hands on my face, checking me for injuries. Her own hair was caked with dust, her eyes red and streaming.

"You're safe," she said. "You're safe. The sand didn't take you."

I wanted to speak and thank her. But all I could do was cough; a wet, rattling sound that made her pull me closer.

Outside, the storm raged for hours. It scoured the village, stripped paint from walls, filled every crevice with grit. The windows rattled, and the walls groaned. Sand piled against the door, sealing us in.

The children huddled together in the center of the room, wrapping themselves in blankets, trying to stay warm. The temperature dropped; the storm sucked the heat from the air, leaving only cold, dry wind. I huddled with them, shivering, my throat raw and my lungs burning.

This is life in Suna, I thought. The desert can kill you at any moment.

The storm finally passed in the early hours of the morning. The door was dug out. The courtyard was buried. The well was choked with sand and had to be cleared before anyone could drink.

No one died that time. But I heard whispers among the matrons of worse storms, storms that had buried weak and old buildings. Storms that had left children orphaned and shinobi dead.

The sand remembers.

I was starting to believe it.

After that, I learned to watch the sky and to read the wind. To feel the pressure change in the air before a storm hit. The older children taught me the signs: the stillness, the strange color in the sky, the way the animals went quiet.

"When the desert holds its breath," a boy named Jiro told me, "you run."

I never forgot.


I started again to focus on my chakra. Try to sense it or feel it; I did not know the right terminology yet; it seems like a simple thing in the anime. Everyone has it, even the civilians. Even normal animals, plants, and insects have it. In fact, every living thing in this world has chakra.

But I am not of this world. A voice whispered in my head.

What if my reincarnation has messed up my chakra? What if Chakra depended on the soul, and I do not have any chakra, as my soul was originally from a normal universe? Or what if I turned out to be chakra-crippled like Rock Lee?

No, no, I should not think such dark thoughts. If being an adult was the only parameter for unlocking chakra, there should be many more chakra users apart from ninjas, monks, and samurais. Almost every adult civilian would have unlocked chakra, which was not the case. Or at least I hope it was not here.



Focusing on the things I could do, I began learning the orphanage's routines. When food arrived, when the matrons changed shifts, which children were troublemakers, which children were favored, which ones were sick, which ones disappeared. That last category bothered me. Children occasionally left the orphanage. Some were adopted, some were taken by relatives. And some... The matrons never explained. I learned not to ask. In Sunagakure, questions could be more dangerous than answers. The matrons started teaching us reading and writing, and older kids started teaching us games- shinobi games, I Spy. I also started getting into a peaceful schedule. And when I turned 2 years old, the First Shinobi War, or as it was called, the Shinobi War, or simply War, started.

And somehow, I had a feeling that the war wasn't going to be the most dangerous thing coming for me.

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[V10D_B0RNE]

Let's see where this goes...

 

[GeomZii]

Celestial Sandstorm

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 2: Tier Four ___________________________________________________________________


Kaito POV

When people imagined Sunagakure, they thought of sand. They envisioned a village of shinobi struggling beneath an unforgiving desert, a nation poor enough to seem barely deserving of its place among the Five Great Shinobi Countries. The weakest of the great Ninja villages, which was associated with wind techniques, puppeteers, poisons, and assassins that barely met the standards of other great villages. Perhaps that was the greatest irony of all and, according to the story I remembered, one of Suna's defining traits. Its shinobi so often existed as the perfect counterpoint to the protagonists.

Side villages whose primary purpose was to demonstrate just how righteous Konoha was, disposable enemies, and antagonists. Other villages produced people capable of atrocities that existed solely to make the protagonists shine brighter by comparison. The narrative loved portraying them as emotionless killers who reveled in bloodshed. Their history seemed to have been written in corpses. Their Kage leader could be easily defeated by even the Jounins and Sanins of other villages. The first two Kazekage died from assassins; the third Kazekage was killed by their own Jounin-level puppeteer at the time. The fourth Kazekage, Rasa, was killed by Orochimaru. Even Gaara, who was a Jinchuriki after becoming Kazekage, was killed by Missing Ninjas. Hell, even their own Daimyo, whose military Sunagakure was supposed to be, abandoned it. Again and again, they had to be saved by the heroes.

And now that the war had begun, Sunagakure would bleed; its shinobi would die; Its orphans would become soldiers. And I, a child of two years with the soul of a man, would be swept up in the tide. Who would care if provisions in the orphanage emptied, when the very village was in the war that was supposed to be equivalent to a world war?
And if the war was coming for me, then I needed to be ready.

I opened my eyes and made my choice.

The sand may remember. But it has never met anyone like me.


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Technology in the Naruto world had progressed in some areas but fell behind in others. It resembled medieval Japan, so I had believed I had been born into some distant feudal era. We had electricity, light bulbs, but no firearms or vehicles. I had not seen communication devices like radios; indoor plumbing existed only in rumors only as a super luxurious commodity. As far as I could tell, civilization had progressed a respectable distance. From the scraps of information I could gather and my own knowledge of the world, civilization has diverged and gone off on tangents in many sectors, presumably because of the presence of mystical energy. Most of the Earth's technological inventions and machinery roots were in warfare. Chakra has fulfilled that role, halting progress in military, communication, and many similar sectors.

Before the war, my caretaker used to hum softly while rocking me back and forth, the gentle rhythm gradually lulling me into peaceful sleep. Then everything changed. The world decided it had had enough of peace and descended into chaos. Skirmish followed skirmish, and battle followed battle. The unfamiliar insignia of Sunagakure began appearing with increasing frequency. The headbands became common.


One thing I came to know is how inhumane a ninja village can be. Sunagakure's wartime rationing is a masterclass in bureaucratic cruelty. The system is tiered, and every citizen is assigned a category based on their "contribution" to the war effort. Tier One are Active Shinobi who get Full rations and full access to clean water. Even whatever quality meat, grains, dried fruits, and whatever imported goods remain are available to them. These are the men and women who bleed for the village, and the village ensures they have the strength to keep bleeding. Tier Two are the Shinobi Support Personnel who get two-thirds rations, and two-thirds the amount of clean water. These include medics, weaponsmiths, intelligence analysts, and administrative staff. They don't actively fight, but they keep the war machine running. They get enough to function, not enough to thrive.
Next were the Tier Three, which include the Civilian Workers. They rarely get quarter rations. Laborers, farmers, and construction crews fall in this category. They are essential but replaceable. The village needs their hands, but they can get by with quarter rations and about half the amount of water, though it was from old wells.
Lastly, we, the Orphans, along with the Elderly and the Infirm, fall into Tier Four. We barely got any rations from the village and had to search abandoned wells that are usually contaminated, even drains, for water. We got by on any rations we got in the market, where merchants profited by charging very high prices. The village has no use for those who cannot work, fight, or breed future soldiers. They are a drain on resources, a burden on the collective. They are given just enough to barely survive and nothing more.
The orphanage falls into Tier Four. It always had, but before the war, Tier Four still received occasional donations from wealthy merchants, religious offerings from the desert faith, and surplus from the Kazekage's discretionary fund. The war dried up all three.
Before the war, the orphanage was poor but functional. The children received two meals a day, thin gruel in the morning, flatbread and dried dates in the evening. Meat appeared once a week, usually in the form of tough, stringy goat that had been boiled into submission. Vegetables were rare, imported from the few oases that could grow them, and often wilted by the time they arrived.
The first sign I noticed of change in meals was the bread. The flatbread that used to be made from actual wheat flour was now cut with sand-dusted barley and ground millet. Then weekly goat meat disappeared. In its place was a thin broth made from bones that had been boiled three times already, until there was nothing left but the memory of flavor.
By the sixth month of the war, the orphanage's food supply had been cut in half. The children's bodies adapted in the way starving bodies do. They slowed down, slept more. They stopped playing games that required energy. The youngest ones cried constantly, their thin wails echoing through the dormitories until they exhausted themselves into silence. After that, children began disappearing. Some went to pseudo-hospitals like wind temples infirmaries or sand shrines dispensary, where they died of malnutrition and disease; others were taken by shinobi recruiters, and the rest went who knows where.
That was when I stopped being curious. I had been quiet before the war. Afterward, I became determined to be as invisible as humanly possible. Drawing attention seemed like an exceptionally poor survival strategy.

Unfortunately, I was beginning to suspect that avoiding notice wouldn't necessarily save me. Not that Hiro, who follows me along with Mido, would allow me any silence. We three were of the same age group, with me one year younger, and were raised together, that have created a sort of bond between us. Sure, there are bigger kids, but they spent most of their time outside, where they usually played in the past. Hiro and Mido are about a year older than me, yet they had started following me. Hiro is the loudest baby in the orphanage. He was also energetic and active. Mido, the baby girl, was quiet and shy. And then there was me.
Hiro is the kid who fills every silence, and I thought it was because perhaps silence frightens him. He was impossible to ignore.
He had a laugh that echoed off the sandstone walls, a grin that never seemed to fade, and a habit of asking questions no one wanted to answer.



Why do the matrons lock the kitchen at night? Why do some kids go? Why is the sky orange sometimes?



He asked because he was curious. After all, he was three and a half years old, and the world was a puzzle he was determined to solve.

Other kids thought he was stupid, but he merely played the fool because fools are safe. No one expects anything from the fools.



Or I was looking too much into it.



He is also fiercely loyal in a way that embarrasses me. He'd never say it aloud, but he'd take a beating for me or Mido without hesitation. He just wouldn't stop talking about it afterward.

The older orphans had grown meaner since the war started. Hunger stripped away patience and any kindness, leaving only the sharp edge of survival.

One of them, a boy named Jiro, had taken to cornering the younger children in the courtyard, demanding whatever scraps they'd hidden away.



Heh, Jiro.

Matron Aiko told me orphanages usually gave such simple names like Hiro, Mido, and Jiro to orphans with no names.



Most of the children gave in. It was easier than fighting.

I was prepared to give in too, as I had nothing hidden. The Nutrition perk meant I could survive on less, which meant I had less to hide, and I was ready to play the part of the scared toddler. It was safer than fighting back.

Then Hiro stepped in front of me.

"Leave him alone," he said, his voice steadier than I'd ever heard it.

Jiro laughed. "What are you going to do, weakling?"

"Matron Yumi, Matron Aiko, Jiro-Jiro, stealing from younger kids." Hiro started shouting in broken sentences.

"Keep quiet."

"Go away, I-tell."

Jiro's fists clenched, but Hiro didn't flinch. I could see his hands shaking and trembling at his sides, but his feet were planted, his chin up, his eyes locked on Jiro's.



He's scared, I realized, and terrified. And yet he's still standing there.



Jiro shoved him. Hiro stumbled back but didn't fall. He didn't fight back; he couldn't; Jiro was twice his size, but he didn't run either.

"If you-do-it-again," Hiro said, his voice cracking, "I'll-tell. Then-you-on-latrine duty."

Jiro glared at him for a long moment. Then he spat on the ground and walked away.

Hiro turned to me. The grin was back, wider than ever, but his hands were still shaking.

"See?" he said. "Hiro, protect you."



Idiot, I thought. I don't need protection.



"Thank you," I said quietly.

Hiro shrugged. "What-friends-for?"



Don't get attached. I remind myself.



But it was already too late. I did not know when I had come to see him as a brother.

___________________________________________________________________



Eventually, I discovered the year. 32 AV. Thirty-two years after the end of the Warring States Era and the establishment of Konoha. Sunagakure itself was only a year or two younger. But saying it was apparently heresy. According to the head matron and the priestess of the sands, Sunagakure had been the world's first true shinobi village. Its creation had supposedly brought an end to humanity's age of endless violence and ushered in an era of enlightenment.

I couldn't remember how long the First Shinobi War had lasted in the anime. Canon had barely bothered to explain it. But I understood enough to know that the reality was probably considerably uglier.

I wanted to become a shinobi. Supernatural power was practically sitting in front of me. And thanks to my cheat, becoming at least a jōnin seemed almost guaranteed. No, I would even go beyond that. I would just have to compromise the very morals I held previously, everything I believed about the sanctity of human life. Killing, Stealing, possibly torture. Those were the job requirements.

What choice did I have?
More importantly, I needed to start moving. So, I started investigating my own chakra. Stories had always made meditation sound important when it came to mystical powers.

Surely Meditation was key to success.
It took months of searching inward, concentrating, and wondering whether I had chakra or if my reincarnation had messed something up. Then, about seven months after the war started, when I was two and seven months old, I finally felt a tiny flicker. Barely a spark that I thought, it was my imagination. Something deep inside me that responded when I reached toward it.

And for the second time since my reincarnation, I felt the Celestial Grimoire stir.



Celestial Grimoire — 950 CP


Once Every Century (200 CP) — Fate/Legends - Empires of Antiquity

Talent that appears only once every hundred years might seem extraordinary in the present, but viewed against the vastness of history, it simply means there have already been a dozen or two people like you. World-class talent may represent the pinnacle of what an ordinary human can accomplish, but for those who enter the world of magic, it is merely the beginning. Like the legendary Salieri and his musical genius, you possess world-class talent in one artistic discipline of your choosing.

Singing.

Piano.

Painting.

Architecture.

Acting.

Calligraphy.

Healing.

Or almost any other art.

With sufficient connections, you could become one of the greatest practitioners of your chosen art in mundane history.

But your potential extends beyond that.

You possess an innate advantage when learning magical spells and abilities associated with your chosen art. Such techniques are easier for you to master, somewhat easier to utilize, and slightly more potent when wielded by you.

Magic channeled through a specialized musical instrument becomes stronger for a master musician.

A painter finds spells involving paintings and drawn imagery significantly more effective.

And so on.



Choose Art—


I spent a considerable amount of time debating what art to choose, and finally it was a tie between two arts that would prove most useful.


Calligraphy was tempting. Its relationship with Fuinjutsu alone made it incredibly attractive. Sealing was arguably one of the most versatile disciplines available to a shinobi. Improving my aptitude for them could provide enormous benefits later.

But healing was equally tempting, perhaps even more so. Medical knowledge would directly increase my chances of survival. It would also keep me away from the battlefield and war as much as possible. It would help me SAVE lives. And Sunagakure already possessed extensive knowledge concerning poisons, antidotes, and toxins. If I could combine that knowledge with exceptional healing talent and whatever basic modern biology and hygiene I remembered from school and searched online, the possibilities were countless, making it difficult to ignore choosing healing art. In the end, it came down to being the person who is hardest to kill, and the person the village can't afford to lose. So, I chose healing.



Chosen Art — Healing

Accept?

Yes.

Remaining CP — 750



I waited and experienced no change in myself. Looks like the perk provided me with no knowledge, only talent.



Guess it will only show itself when I start learning Healing arts.



__________________________________________________________________________________________

 

[Son-Of-Scorn]

I don't necessarily agree on the whole going undetected method, never works long term but I suppose if the aim is to simply survive then it can work for a bit.

 

[GeomZii]

Celestial Sandstorm

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 3: Sand Grain ___________________________________________________________________



Kaito POV



The war brought urgency to everything. Everyone moved faster. The entire village seemed to have been thrown into motion. Suna's stagnant economy had almost certainly been transformed by wartime demands. For the first time in years, perhaps since its creation, money was circulating with purpose. War seemed at least good in that aspect, as Suna economy transformed into a wartime economy.

The orphanage rhythm had changed due to war; every task was finished in half the time. Mornings were for feeding, midday was for lessons, evenings were for bathing and feeding, and at night time we went to bed. Between those markers, the matrons moved like clockwork, efficient, unhurried, their hands never still. There were four of them.



I didn't trust adults.



That was rule two. Don't trust anyone. But Aiko made it hard.

She was the one who held me when I cried, not that I cried much. I'd learned early that crying drew attention, and attention was dangerous. But sometimes the body betrayed me and the infant reflexes kicked in, and the tears came anyway, and Aiko was always there. She'd scoop me up, press me against her shoulder, and hum that melody I couldn't quite place. She smelled of sandalwood and clean linen. It was a simple thing, but it stuck with me. In a world of sand, sweat, and dust, Aiko smelled like something clean and felt safe.

She was young for a matron. Early twenties, maybe. Old enough to have seen things, young enough to still care. I watched her sometimes, when she thought no one was looking. She'd sit by the window, staring out at the dunes, and her face would go still like she was holding something inside that she couldn't let out.

I never asked what it was, as I was only three years old.

Three-year-olds don't ask those kinds of questions.



The way she'd shake herself and smile and go back to being Aiko, the matron who laughed easily and called me sand grain and never once looked at me like I was a burden.

She was the one who taught me the stretching games and the clapping games. She was responsible for taking care of kids, especially younger ones and babies. She also looked after all the orphans when other matrons had work to do. It was her duty to stay in the orphanage and take care of it.

I watched her with the youngest orphans who arrived recently, especially the babies who couldn't walk or talk yet. She was patient with them. She'd sit for hours, rocking a fussy infant, humming that same melody, her eyes half-closed. She never complained or sighed.



Why do I feel jealous, seeing her with other babies?



She was the closest thing I had to a mother in this life.

I didn't want to get attached. I told myself many times. But every time she picked me up, hummed that melody, and called me sand grain with that little smile, something in my chest cracked a little more.



The second Matron, Mira, even scared me, unlike the cold head-matron, who scared me with her calculating eyes. Instead, I was afraid of her because I couldn't read her. She had a scar on her neck. A thin, pale line that disappeared into her collar. A blade wound, maybe, or something worse.

She rarely spoke above a whisper. She was a strict and silent type, the kind who commands the room with silence. Reminded me of my Principal.



The other children avoided her. She felt distant deliberately, like a wall built brick by brick over years.

I couldn't help but watch her. She was a puzzle, and puzzles were the only thing that kept my mind occupied in a world that lacked entertainment.

She handled the older orphans who had grown up but not gotten adopted. The kids, barely past ten years old, had yet to find any job, contributing child labour in Sunagakure. She trained them in practical skills like how to forage, how to defend themselves with nothing but their hands. She taught them survival skills to prepare them for moving out and searching for jobs.

I pieced together the fragments of conversation that drifted through the orphanage, and she was also the one who bought the provisions. Mira left before dawn and returned before noon with a satchel that was always full. Even though the availability of food, cloth, and medicine was scarce. Mira made it happen.

When she returned from the market, I tried to observe her one time and followed her into the orphanage before she stopped and turned.

"I know you're there," she whispered.

I froze.

She looked tired.

"Go back to the Aiko," she said in a tone that brooks no resistance.

I nodded and ran.



The Third Matron, Sayuki, was the easiest to love.

She was old. Probably in her late forties or early fifties. She had a round face, a warm smile, and hands that never stopped moving. She cooked the meals and cleaned the dormitories and mended the torn clothing. She pretended not to notice when children stole extra bread.

She moved through the kitchen with steady hands despite the tremor in her breathing. I watched the way she smiled at the children, warm and genuine, even when she was exhausted. I watched the way she slipped extra portions to the smallest ones, the ones who needed it most.

She gave me extra bread once. I'd been sitting in the corner, pretending to eat, actually pushing my food around the bowl. She'd noticed.

"You're too thin, little one," she pressed a piece of bread into my hand. "Eat."

I ate because she was watching, and refusing would have hurt her. Because she had so little, and she gave it anyway. It showed her heart.

I learned later that she'd been skipping meals. That she'd been giving her own rations to the children.

She also trained kids how to start a fire, how to mend clothes, and how to cook a meal.



Old Yumi was the coldest Matron.

She was oldest in her sixties and yet had the strength and vigor of youth. Her face was full of wrinkles, making some kind of design; her hair white, her eyes dark and sharp. She walked with a cane, but her back was straight. Her voice was a rasp, but it carried.



She was the head matron. The one who handled the finances; she visited the merchants and the priests, asking for donations. The one who gave the sermons about the sand and the desert and the Kazekage.

And after all this time I was beginning to doubt that she really believed them. Perhaps she did it to appeal to the piety of the rich and make it easy to ask for donations.

I saw her once, late at night. I'd woken from a nightmare. I'd slipped out of the dormitory, looking for water or air, looking for anything to ground me.

And I found her.

She was sitting in the courtyard, alone, staring up at the stars. Her cane was on the ground beside her. Her hands were folded in her lap.

She scolded me, "You again. Go back to sleep."



_____________________________________________________________________________________



The orphanage had rules. Not many, but they were enforced with absolute consistency.



Don't steal from the kitchen, don't fight in the dormitories, don't leave the compound without permission.



I followed all of them because breaking the rules drew attention. And attention was the one thing I couldn't afford. The other children didn't understand.

Aiko was perhaps the closest to me. Unlike the head matron, who watched me with calculating eyes, Aiko simply... accepted me. Oddities and all.

"You walk like you're sneaking," she observed one morning, watching me walk after her with exaggerated care. "Are you practicing to be a ghost?"



I shrugged, unwilling to explain that I was testing my balance. That every step was an exercise in chakra control, tiny pulses through my feet, learning to grip the packed-earth floor without leaving marks.



She laughed. "You're a strange one, sand grain. But I like you."



Sand grain. A common nickname used to call little kids affectionately.


The games were the first real education I received. Not the official curriculum, but the informal training that Sunagakure's orphanage system had refined over years. Aiko led us through stretching routines every morning. To the other children, it was simply play: reaching for the sky, touching our toes, bending like reeds in the wind. But I recognized the movements for what they were: foundational flexibility training. The kind of stretches that would later allow a shinobi to contort mid-combat, to absorb falls, to move in ways the human body wasn't naturally designed for.

"Higher, my sand grain," Aiko encouraged, pressing gently on my back as I reached for my toes. "The desert rewards those who bend without breaking."

I filed that away.



The clapping games were next. Simple rhythms at first, pat-a-cake variations that any child might learn. But as we grew older, they became more complex, faster, and required precise timing and coordination.

Clap. Clap. Cross. Clap. Behind. Clap. Front.

I watched the other children struggle, miss beats, fumble the sequences, laugh it off, and try again. I didn't struggle. Not because I was naturally gifted, though the Celestial Grimoire had probably helped with that, but because I understood what these games were actually teaching. Hand-eye coordination, pattern recognition, ability to execute precise movements under time pressure. These were shinobi skills, disguised as childhood diversions. The finger games were the most revealing. Aiko would hold up her hands, fingers splayed, and we would mimic her movements. Simple at first, touching thumb to each finger in sequence, folding them one by one, making shapes that seemed meaningless. But then the patterns grew intricate.

Crane. Snake. Ram. Bird.

I recognized them immediately: hand seals. The foundation of ninjutsu, hidden in plain sight as children's games.



I started practicing obsessively. Not just during Aiko's sessions, but in every spare moment, fingers dancing through sequences while I waited for meals, while I lay in my cot at night, while I watched the other children play. The other orphans thought I was strange, which was not wrong. But I tried to mix in with the kids as much as possible.

The yoga-like stretching sessions became my favorite part of the day. I also enjoyed them in a way. And they gave me an excuse to practice chakra control without drawing suspicion.

Reach for the sky. I extended my arms, pushing chakra into my fingertips, feeling the faint tingle of energy circulating through my tenketsu.

Bend like a reed. I folded forward, drawing chakra down through my spine, feeling it pool in my core.

Balance on one foot. I lifted a leg, channeling chakra through my sole, testing how long I could hold the position before my control slipped.

The other children wobbled and fell. I stayed steady. Aiko noticed. "You have good balance, sand grain," she said, crouching beside me. "Better than most."

I shrugged. "I- prac….tice."

"I can see that." She studied me for a long moment. "Do you know why we do these exercises?"

I could have told her the truth. That they were building our bodies for the rigors of shinobi life. That the stretches were designed to prevent injury during training. That the balance exercises were the first step toward tree-walking and water-walking and all the other techniques that defied physics.



Instead, I said: " I-strong?"

Aiko smiled. "To survive."

Morning stretching became chakra control practice, pushing energy into my limbs, holding it there, releasing it in controlled bursts. Afternoon games became hand seal drills, memorizing sequences, building muscle memory, training my fingers to move faster than thought. Evening meditation became deep cultivation, drawing chakra from my core, circulating it through my body, expanding my reserves one agonizing inch at a time. I practiced using chakra exercises, but only internally, and only when I was alone, as kids here don't usually start on basic chakra exercises before 4 years old.

I learned everything I could. Practiced every moment I could steal. Prepared for a future that was rushing toward me faster than I was ready for. And in the quiet moments, the moments between waking and sleeping, between one breath and the next, I remembered. I remembered why I was doing this. Power, freedom, and the ability to choose my own destiny. The memories grounded me, reminded me that I was still human, still me. Even if I was about to become something else.



__________________________________________________________________________________________



"The bread's getting smaller," Mido whispered to me one night, her voice barely audible over the wind.

"What- -you-mean?"

"Last week, each loaf was this big." She held her hands apart. "Now it's this big." She brought them closer. "The matrons aren't reducing portions but – reducing loaves and hoping we won't notice. I kept a tally in my head "

I had noticed. Even when I'd been too focused on my chakra training, too consumed with the Celestial Grimoire, and too busy planning for the future. And so did Mido, and she told me that every morning, she counted the bowls of gruel. Every evening she counted the loaves of bread the matrons brought from the kitchen. She knew how many children were in the orphanage, which ones ate less, which ones ate more, which ones stole from others when they thought no one was looking. She even knew the names of all the kids in the orphanage.

"Why-you-telling-me?" I asked.

She looked at me for a few seconds straight, and for a moment, I felt like she could see straight through my skin, straight through the mask I'd been wearing since the day I woke up in this world.

"Because you are intelligent too," she said. "You just pretend you are not."

My heart stopped.

"I-am? "

"Yes, you are." She tilted her head. "You watch everyone and rarely say anything. You're like me, but different."

Different how?

She didn't answer. She just lay back on her mat and closed her eyes.

"Goodnight, Kaito."

I lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I'd just been discovered.



__________________________________________________________________________________________



The war has brought new faces to the orphanage. Refugees, mostly. Families who had lost everything in the fighting. Children whose parents had been shinobi and who were now orphans in truth, not just in circumstance.

Then, after roughly two years of intermittent battles, the war finally began to lose momentum. The fighting slowed. The constant tension gradually eased. For the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to breathe. The war had been short. Thank God for that. I had survived. And now, with the worst of the immediate chaos apparently behind us, I finally had the opportunity to begin something else. I had learned to read and write recently. And slowly, cautiously, I began preparing for the future.



_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

[GeomZii]

Celestial Sandstorm

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 4: After the Sand Settles


Kaito POV

The orphanage received new children in the weeks after the war. That was the first sign for me that the fighting had stopped. The matrons smiled more; the children, too young to understand what war truly meant, played games in the alleys and pretended to be heroes returning from battle. Orphanage schedules changed, and restrictions on food, water, and curfew loosened.

Outside, the end of the war brought a flood of injured people and amputees. The war was perhaps tougher on civilians, as it was back on Earth. The village celebrated in the form of various festivals in the streets, offerings at the sand shrines, wind temples, and the Kazekage gave a speech about the dawn of a new era. The civilian adults smiled more, trying to forget the dead that did not come back.

The ones who had returned had eyes older than their bodies, hollowed out by things they had seen and done. Some walked with limps, and some had missing limbs, their sleeves and pant legs pinned or empty. Many wore bandages or turban-like cloths around head hiding the injury scars or missing eyes, that covered wounds that would never fully heal. And some simply stared at nothing, their minds trapped in battles that had already ended.

Survivor's guilt, I thought. PTSD. The clinical terms from my previous life felt inadequate. They were just words to me. And words could not capture the reality of what these men and women carried inside them.



__________________________________________________________________________________________



"When will we be allowed to go out like other kids?" The question had been burning inside me for months.

Hiro and Mido were standing beside me quietly.

Sure, we went out with the matrons, but only around the orphanage; we were not allowed to play outside like bigger kids. The war has changed the schedule directly and indirectly, but now that the war has ended and I turned four years old, I was eager to explore outside.


Aiko paused mid-step, turning to look down at me with that gentle smile she reserved for the youngest orphans. The morning light caught the edges of her face, softening the tired lines around her eyes. "Eager to fly, sand grain?"

I shrugged, not trusting myself to speak. The truth was I wanted to see the village and to map its streets and to understand the world I had been reborn into.



Aiko crouched beside me, her calloused hand resting on my shoulder. "Now that the war has ended, there will be fewer restrictions for us orphanages. You all will be allowed more time outside."

She tilted her head, considering. "As for you, Kaito, Hiro, Mido, I think it's time."



Kaito. The name still felt strange on my tongue, even after years of hearing it. A borrowed identity in a borrowed life. Hiro whooped with excitement, already running toward the gate. Mido followed, her short legs pumping furiously to keep up. I simply walked at my own pace.

It always amazed me how carelessly the adults spoke of war and its effects, in front of children.



The war ended; now there will be fewer restrictions; and orphans will be given more freedom.


As if war were a season or an event, something that simply passed, like sandstorms or droughts. Perhaps that was the cultural shift in this world: the ever-present nature of conflict had numbed them to its horrors. Shinobi wars, Mercenary wars, Noble plots that inevitably involved bloodshed, Daimyo power struggles, Samurai duels, and ever-present bandits who preyed on the weak and the unwary. War was the background noise of this world. The constant hum beneath every conversation. And children grew up knowing nothing else. Or perhaps that was done to inform kids about the truth of the world they reside in and make them cautious.



__________________________________________________________________________________________



She took us three to the central village.

"The village is calm now. The recent sandstorm had been light." Aiko told them.

People gathered around their houses wore long white tunics and undershirts and white leather sandals. They were cleaning the accumulated sand.

"Look at that tall building." Aiko pointed out

Sandstone buildings rose from the desert floor like natural formations, their edges smoothed by wind and time.

"These houses are designed with curved, roofed alleyways in such a way that they stop gusts of desert sand from blowing inside and also provide shade to keep temperatures down."

Hiro pointed out. "Whoa, what is that tall building?"

"They are called Chimneys that rich houses have. They capture cooler air and funnel it down, providing cool natural air." Aiko replied, and I could see Mido listening with focus.

We saw Off-duty Shinobi move through the streets with quiet purpose.



"What are those people wearing?" Mido asked when we entered the market.

Following her finger, I saw merchants hawking their wares.

"Those are merchants, and they are wearing gandouras. Nomads and travelers usually wear wide, breezy tunics. Their head wraps, Lithams, are larger than the head wraps of people who reside within the village. Look at those animals; they are camels. Merchants and caravans travelled the whole desert on them," Aiko answered before Hiro could ask about them. He was excited to see the animals.



The sand and heat I had expected. But I always wondered why it was called the Land of Wind. Then the hot winds came, even within the security of the village walls, blowing through the streets, carrying grit and the distant smell of ozone. Despite the high walls surrounding Sunagakure, the winds still found their way in. Even in the calmest period, when the wind slowed down, it was still felt inside the village.


That's why, I realized. The wind defines this place. It shapes everything: the people, buildings, and the way they think. The Wind, desert, and climate didn't care about walls or the people who reside in it.



"Let's return," Aiko ordered us. On our return, we took a different route. We saw a large house complex that even had some desert plants.



"Those are Cactus, and that tree is a date palm tree. That funny-looking one is Acacia. The Clans grow and maintain these trees."



"Matron Aiko, where does water come from for these trees? The wells don't have much water." I asked, unable to hold my curiosity. Mido looked at me like I was a fool.



"Oh, silly, the village is built on an oasis. All the water in Suna, whether in wells, drains, or in the market, comes from Oasis. Hmm, Oasis is a big lake of water."



"Oasis! I want to see Oasis," Hiro excitedly said



"Oasis is under the protection of the Kazekage. Also, it is mostly located underground, so we can't visit it."



Hiro looked dejected.



Of course, such a large village in the middle of the desert with no rain can only survive upon an oasis.



How can I be such a fool?



But there was no mention of an oasis in anime, or it is another thing; this world is different. No, more like it was not related to anime, so it was not mentioned, like the other continents which were not shown.



Aiko took us out more often after that.


After the end of the war, markets have started prospering again. Most of the trade here came from Southern and Eastern cities and towns of the Land of Wind. The merchants were a revelation, the rich ones wearing bizarre clothing that offended my modern urban mindset. I had assumed, like my previous life's understanding of economics, that commerce here too followed predictable patterns. Supply and demand, visible inventory, and open negotiation.



The shinobi world was different. Merchants always seemed to possess exactly what a shinobi needed, but never openly. The useful merchandise weapons, scrolls, specialized tools was hidden somewhere down in the bags on camels' backs. And Camels were guarded by silent men with sharp eyes. They were the most valuable possession of the merchant. Owning one was the sign of status. After all, if a camel died, they would be stranded in the desert and would have to give a huge amount of money to the Camel guilds to transport and sell their wares.



Cheap goods like fabrics, food, and simple tools remained on display in a makeshift shop. But the valuable merchandise was concealed. I watched a shinobi approach a merchant, a chūnin by the look of his vest, his headband slightly askew. The man spoke quietly, and the merchant nodded. They disappeared into the back of the stall, where camels were guarded by guards. When the shinobi emerged, he was carrying a scroll I hadn't seen before. The transaction had taken less than a minute.



Interesting.



I wondered whether the limited availability of certain goods was caused by shinobi greed itself or if it was the opposite.

And why pay for something when you could simply take it?

Perhaps merchants who understood the system simply adjusted their business practices accordingly. Hidden inventory, quiet transactions, prices negotiated in whispers. It was a fascinating lesson in economics. And a reminder that in this world, power determined everything.



It was similar to why ninjas always followed Daimyo when they had the power. The truth was the manpower difference. The ninjas numbered in the thousands, while even smaller nations have populations in the millions. Daimyos had standing samurai and other guards numbering in the thousands themselves, which was enough to hold off any ninja rebellion for long enough to call for reinforcements and even other shinobi of different nations.

The Allied Shinobi Forces united in the Fourth Great Shinobi War had a total active and support force comprising ninja from the Five Great Shinobi Nations, reaching approximately 80,000 personnel, that too after including samurai from the Land of Iron.



After all, the phrase "quantity is a quality of its own" was true even in this world.



The winters were different in the Suna. Although days were pleasant and mild, nights frequently dropped near chilling temperatures. We covered ourselves with old, discarded thick woolen blankets over layered rugs. Some of us even had to sleep in the basement on particularly chilly nights.

The orphanage had its own ecosystem. At its center was Old Yumi, though no one called her that to her face. The others called her simply "Matron" as if she were the only one who mattered. As if the title belonged to her and her alone.
She walked with a cane. I suspected she didn't need it.

I avoided her. Not because she was cruel. She wasn't cruel or unfair to kids, cold, perhaps. She wasn't, at least to us. But because she watched. The way a hawk watches. The way a shinobi watches. And I had too many secrets to survive that kind of scrutiny.

"You're the quiet one."


The voice came from beside me. I hadn't heard her approach. Hadn't sensed her at all. That scared me more than anything else. I looked up. Matron Yumi stood over me, leaning on her cane, studying me with those ancient eyes. The afternoon sun cast her shadow across the courtyard, long and dark.

"Yes," I said.

"Good." She lowered herself onto a nearby bench with a grunt, her joints creaking like old hinges. "Quiet children survive longer; they learn more."

I didn't respond, and she didn't seem to expect me to.

"My name is Yumi," she said. "You may call me Matron Yumi, or simply Matron. I don't care which."

"Matron Yumi."



She nodded, as if I had passed some unspoken test. "Aiko tells me you're strange. That you watch everything and rarely speak. That you practice movements when you think no one is looking." My heart stopped.

"I- " She replied before I could answer.

"Don't lie to me, boy." Her voice was sharp as a blade. "I've been running this orphanage for years. I've seen a great many children pass through these walls. I know when one of them is hiding something."

I said nothing.

She studied me for a long moment. Then she sighed a sound like wind through dead branches.


"I won't ask what you're hiding. Everyone has secrets. The desert teaches us that." She tapped her cane against the packed earth. "But I will give you some advice, since you seem determined to become a shinobi."

I waited.

"Whatever you're planning, whatever you're preparing for, remember that you're still a child. You have time. Don't waste it trying to grow up too fast."

She stood, her joints creaking. "And eat more. You will still need it." She walked away.
I sat there for a long time, my heart pounding, my mind racing.

She knew.

Not what, exactly. But she knew I was different. That I was preparing for something. That I was hiding something. And she had chosen not to expose me. I didn't know whether to be grateful or terrified.



__________________________________________________________________________________________

 

[Riserflaming]

According to the head matron and the priestess of the sands, Sunagakure had been the world's first true shinobi village. Its creation had supposedly brought an end to humanity's age of endless violence and ushered in an era of enlightenment.

Click to shrink...

Lol. Lmao even.

The Villages got established because Madara and Hashirama decided to create Konoha. And they were so powerful that the rest of the world had to follow suit.

"The Second Kazekage—may the Sands bless him—has created this new... academy its called, for becoming shinobi. Anyone who wishes to be shinobi can apply. He is also asking the clans to send their children to the academy."

Click to shrink...

Lmao.

Second Kazekage plagiarising Tobirama's ideas and calling them his own. This is advanced bullshitery at its finest. The MC doesn't have enough inner sarcasm to point this out lol.

Instead, I said: "To be strong?"

She smiled. "To survive."

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See. This is why Suna is the Weakest Great Village.

This mindset itself is problematic. What do you mean you tell your kids that survival is more important than becoming strong? This is the thinking of the weak. Not prodigies. This is why Suna never produced a Shinobi of note except for Gaara and Sasori.

It's truly the village of the Bums. Third Kazekage was called the 'Strongest Kazekage' and he got taken out by Sasori. The same Sasori who was taken out by early Shippuden Sakura even if he held back a little.

However, I could not. Not yet. Not here.

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...I mean - he should show it as fast as he can. It's sealless Earth release. It's a strong bloodline. Suna doesn't have experimental bullshit nor any hate campaign against Shinobi clans. So a new bloodline would actually net him a lot of benefits.

"You will familiarize yourselves with it. You will follow it. You will not question it."

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This is why Suna only has bums. Third Kazekage got taken out by Sasori (a village genius). Rasa by Orochimaru(his partner for the Konoha Crush plan). Pakura by Mist Shinobi as her own village betrayed her.

Come to think of it - Suna really does have a tradition of it's only relatively strong Shinobi getting killed by betrayal lol.

The clan children stiffened. A few looked angry. None spoke. Smart, I thought. He is establishing dominance. Testing them. Seeing who will break first.

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Well. Suna doesn't have any strong clans to begin with. So even a Chunin can establish dominance over these clan children. I get the logic.

 

[Heavenly Mark]

Nice

 

[Turncoat]

I'm interested, though we'll see where it goes. There's spots where an editing pass definitely would have benefited it. Or a beta reader. But I am not opposed to reading a few more chapters.

 

[Ahzura Twilight]

...I mean - he should show it as fast as he can. It's sealless Earth release. It's a strong bloodline. Suna doesn't have experimental bullshit nor any hate campaign against Shinobi clans. So a new bloodline would actually net him a lot of benefits.

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Plus it would keep him from being as expendable no
It's easier throwing away a stick as opposed to a sword shaped stick

 

[Vanta Mk.XII]

Earth bending in a place filled with so much sand. That's just ideal lmao.

 

[Starman25]

Bending Arts (500 CP) — Avatar: The Last Airbender

You were born with the ability to manipulate the element of your nation, and have been trained in its use. The Bending Arts differ from element to element, but always involve a combination of physical movements designed to evoke that element, focused with the will of the Bender. Bending an element provides substantial control over it, allowing you to move it, shape it, and direct it, though the exact nature of each depends on the individual element. It should be noted, however, that you cannot actually create an element – though Firebenders can transform their body heat into a raging inferno and Airbenders can make the breath from their lungs into a gale, Waterbenders and Earthbenders must have a source of their element to Bend. You also get all knowledge of chosen bending art. You are well versed in basic bending and if mastered you could develop it to advance level.

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The cost of bending is really high, but the Legend of Aang version makes sense—since it was only in The Legend of Korra that they nerfed earthbending by claiming it only works on metal impurities (to explain how metal cars could escape police officers who bend iron).
And since the MC has a talent for healing, I wonder if he'll be able to heal using earthbending.

 

[GeomZii]

I'm interested, though we'll see where it goes. There's spots where an editing pass definitely would have benefited it. Or a beta reader. But I am not opposed to reading a few more chapters.

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Me too.
I am posting as I write. Lmao

 

[GeomZii]

The cost of bending is really high, but the Legend of Aang version makes sense—since it was only in The Legend of Korra that they nerfed earthbending by claiming it only works on metal impurities (to explain how metal cars could escape police officers who bend iron).
And since the MC has a talent for healing, I wonder if he'll be able to heal using earthbending.

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Active perks will have more cost. Plus years of knowledge of earthbending has its own worth, the katas, the fighting style earth bender use while earth bending (not martial arts).
Have not watch Legend of Korea , so can't comment on that.

 

[GeomZii]

Plus it would keep him from being as expendable no
It's easier throwing away a stick as opposed to a sword shaped stick

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Yes he will do it.

 

[GeomZii]

Suna doesn't have any strong clans to begin with

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It is known first kazekage uniting warring clans in land of wind. While canon doesn't mention them , I will try to create some OC Clans.

 

[Starman25]

The Village of Sand has its own version of the Eight Inner Gates:
The Seven Heavens Breathing Method.
The only problem is that this technique is much newer than the Eight Gates.

 

[Riserflaming]

It is known first kazekage uniting warring clans in land of wind. While canon doesn't mention them , I will try to create some OC Clans.

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Eh. I feel like that's a problem way too stories have - trying to make the weak powerful because the main story didn't show a particular faction having anyone strong.

Canon Suna, by Naruto's time or even in Minato's era, didn't have any powerful clan Shinobi. Including extra clans in your world building will just be a lot of extra work to fit in stuff that doesn't really matter.

Around this time period, Chio and Ebizo should be the Head Shinobi after the Kazekage. They should be in their prime right now.

Clans wouldn't add much to the story because if you add some clan character that becomes a major part of the story, you'll have to show why no powerful ninja ever came out of their clan.

I feel like having Shinobi who don't have any Kekkei Genkai be the core of Suna is more interesting.

 

[GeomZii]

Eh. I feel like that's a problem way too stories have - trying to make the weak powerful because the main story didn't show a particular faction having anyone strong.

Canon Suna, by Naruto's time or even in Minato's era, didn't have any powerful clan Shinobi. Including extra clans in your world building will just be a lot of extra work to fit in stuff that doesn't really matter.

Around this time period, Chio and Ebizo should be the Head Shinobi after the Kazekage. They should be in their prime right now.

Clans wouldn't add much to the story because if you add some clan character that becomes a major part of the story, you'll have to show why no powerful ninja ever came out of their clan.

I feel like having Shinobi who don't have any Kekkei Genkai be the core of Suna is more interesting.

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There many ways showing clans without showing them powerful. I have some ideas, will see how that works.
I will follow all canon strength and weakness including timeline from tumblr Naruto timeline. If you feel any changes, try to point it out. Any and all changes will be result of si making waves or Tsunamis.
OC Clans will somehow fit canon more or less.
Having clans is different from having powerful clans.

 

[Aadarm]

I've never understood why these reincarnates always think they are going to hide things and fool everyone when they live in villages of professional spies, information gatherers, interrogators and assassins.

 

[GeomZii]

I've never understood why these reincarnates always think they are going to hide things and fool everyone when they live in villages of professional spies, information gatherers, interrogators and assassins.

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Yes me too. But it's about human nature. Usually that's the first thought of humans in unexpected situation.

 

[Riserflaming]

Having clans is different from having powerful clans.

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Fair enough.

Yes me too. But it's about human nature. Usually that's the first thought of humans in unexpected situation.

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Yeah. Normal(ish) people really don't want to assume they are completely helpless in regards to their agency. So they fool themselves into thinking the situation is less hopeless than it seems.

Also, power level wise, Naruto has a pretty easily quantifiable scaling unlike some other verses where Feats and power levels contradict too much.

Genin - Chunin - Special Jonin (specially promoted due to some exceptional quality) - Jonin - Elite Jonin (Baki in Suna, Darui in Kumo, Early-Naruto Kakashi, Zabuza, etc) - Kage (Sasori, Hiruzen at the end of his life and Early Shippuden Sakura should fit here) - Strong Kage (Ay, Bee, Minato, Jiraiya, Itachi Uchiha without Izanami bullshit etc) - Super Kage threshold (Pain) - Super Kage peak (Madara, Toneri, Hashirama) - Six Paths level

Konoha genuinely is the center of the world. They keep churning out Strong Kage Tier fighters every generation.

There is a wide range of difference in Strong Kage Tier simply because of the fighters in the running have different kind of focuses. Still, I would say that Minato Namikaze is the Peak of what you can achieve if you aren't someone blessed by Bloodline in this world.

This world is the Legend of Eyes lol. Mangekyo Sharingan, Rinnegan, Tenseigan. Those are the proper way of getting to Super Kage Tier unless you are an Asura Reincarnation like Naruto and Hashirama. Or if you become the Ten Tails Jinchuriki.

At Super Kage Tier, you can take on an Entire Great Village alone and win. At Six Paths level, your vitality is bullshit as fuck. Madara regenerated to his Peak after Gai's final attack. And Obito survived so much fucking bullshit thrown at him before he finally croaked.

 

[GeomZii]

Fair enough.



Yeah. Normal(ish) people really don't want to assume they are completely helpless in regards to their agency. So they fool themselves into thinking the situation is less hopeless than it seems.

Also, power level wise, Naruto has a pretty easily quantifiable scaling unlike some other verses where Feats and power levels contradict too much.

Genin - Chunin - Special Jonin (specially promoted due to some exceptional quality) - Jonin - Elite Jonin (Baki in Suna, Darui in Kumo, Early-Naruto Kakashi, Zabuza, etc) - Kage (Sasori, Hiruzen at the end of his life and Early Shippuden Sakura should fit here) - Strong Kage (Ay, Bee, Minato, Jiraiya, Itachi Uchiha without Izanami bullshit etc) - Super Kage threshold (Pain) - Super Kage peak (Madara, Toneri, Hashirama) - Six Paths level

Konoha genuinely is the center of the world. They keep churning out Strong Kage Tier fighters every generation.

There is a wide range of difference in Strong Kage Tier simply because of the fighters in the running have different kind of focuses. Still, I would say that Minato Namikaze is the Peak of what you can achieve if you aren't someone blessed by Bloodline in this world.

This world is the Legend of Eyes lol. Mangekyo Sharingan, Rinnegan, Tenseigan. Those are the proper way of getting to Super Kage Tier unless you are an Asura Reincarnation like Naruto and Hashirama. Or if you become the Ten Tails Jinchuriki.

At Super Kage Tier, you can take on an Entire Great Village alone and win. At Six Paths level, your vitality is bullshit as fuck. Madara regenerated to his Peak after Gai's final attack. And Obito survived so much fucking bullshit thrown at him before he finally croaked.

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Ofcourse, konoha wars with all other 4 villages simultaneously proved konoha strength. But konoha also have lead in creating many institutions. That lead over years transform in battlefield advantages. That is apart from being in fertile land, supporting daimyo and prodigies that props like weeds.
Yes chakra system is one of most detailed power system with all its nuainces.
Si will not be lagging behind in cheats or bloodlines, due to Celestial Grimoire, atleast you can be sure of that.

 

[GeomZii]

I've never understood why these reincarnates always think they are going to hide things and fool everyone when they live in villages of professional spies, information gatherers, interrogators and assassins.

Click to shrink...

Yeah. Normal(ish) people really don't want to assume they are completely helpless in regards to their agency. So they fool themselves into thinking the situation is less hopeless than it seems.

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It's all about turning back into child. Trauma of death, rebirth, years of being helpless baby, and weak and small child body only reinforce idea of hiding untill they realise in a ninja village it's a fruitless endeavour.

 

[Riserflaming]

Hmm. For Waifus, Tsunade should be around his age as far as I remember. The Sannin gained their fame after being defeated by Hanzo in Ame.

So, maybe a few years older than our MC?

Well, the relationship can work out if the MC is groomed as the next Kazekage and vies for peaceful relations with Konoha.

Other than Tsunade, I don't remember any other viable Waifu in his age range unless the story only goes with romance in the very final stages.

 

[slightbug]

Can earthbenders bend sand? It's been a while since I watched Avatar, and I remember an episode of them in the desert.

 

[GeomZii]

Can earthbenders bend sand? It's been a while since I watched Avatar, and I remember an episode of them in the desert.

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Earth, sand, mud, clay, crystals etc.
In advance level any form of earth mineral, Lava, Metal etc.

 

[search]

The Sand religion makes as much sense as the village with a leaf emblem having the Will of Fire. Sand doesn't nurture, stupid ninjas…

 

[GeomZii]

The Sand religion makes as much sense as the village with a leaf emblem having the Will of Fire. Sand doesn't nurture, stupid ninjas…

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Hey, earth history is full of humans searching hope and believing in any religion, ideology, culture no matter how stupid it is from modern lens.
Plus it's propaganda like will of fire. And there are monks in Naruto who worship some sort of deity.

 

[Dimensionist]

I find it deeply ironic that when choosing between Air and Earth, in a literal desert (meaning sand everywhere, that even a genius earthbender like Toph had to work hard to control) in the Land of Wind (and a place that has a clear legacy for Futon ninjutsu as seen with Temari), the MC chose Earth.