Morning light spilled through the thin curtains of the orphanage, bathing the small room in a warm, golden hue. Hiro stirred awake, blinking as the familiar sounds of the orphanage came alive around him. The ctter of ptes from the kitchen, the muffled giggles of children who were already awake, and the steady, calming voice of Kaya giving instructions all blended together into the hum of his morning.

  He sat up in his small bed, neatly tucking the bnket aside before slipping his feet to the floor. The dresser next to him held his few belongings, including an oddity that always caught his eye: a smooth, gray stone tablet the size of a sheet of paper. It rested quietly beside his neatly folded clothes, unremarkable at first gnce except for the intricate crest engraved on its back. Hiro couldn’t say why, but something about it made him uneasy—as if it held a weight he couldn’t yet understand. Shaking off the thought, he turned his focus to the day ahead.

  The hallway outside his room buzzed with activity as the younger children shuffled toward the kitchen. Hiro joined them, his movements quieter and more deliberate. As he passed by, a few of the kids tugged at his sleeve, eager to pull him into their chatter. He offered them a small smile and a nod but didn’t linger long. There was breakfast to help with, and he knew Kaya would appreciate the extra hands.

  In the kitchen, Kaya moved with practiced efficiency. Her short, dark brown hair, streaked faintly with silver at the temples, was tied back as she stirred a pot of porridge. She gnced over her shoulder and spotted Hiro entering the room.

  “Good morning, Hiro,” she said, her voice warm but firm. “Can you set the table for me?”

  “Yes, Kaya,” Hiro replied, already reaching for the stack of bowls. He moved through the motions with ease, arranging the table while Kaya tended to the meal. The younger children began filtering in, their chatter filling the room as they took their seats. Hiro worked quietly, his sharp green eyes flicking over the room to ensure everything was in pce.

  Kaya watched him from the corner of her eye, her expression softening. For someone so young, Hiro carried himself with a calm maturity that set him apart from the other children. He rarely spoke unless necessary, but his actions spoke volumes. Whether it was helping with chores, guiding the younger ones, or simply observing the world around him, Hiro always seemed... steady.

  “All set,” Hiro said as he pced the st bowl down. Kaya nodded in approval.

  “Thank you. Go ahead and sit. I’ll bring the porridge over.”

  Hiro obeyed, taking a seat at the far end of the table. The children around him dug into their food as soon as Kaya served it, their ughter and chatter creating a lively symphony. Hiro ate in retive silence, occasionally offering a small nod or a brief reply when someone spoke to him.

  The morning unfolded in a familiar rhythm. After breakfast, the children divided into groups for their chores. Hiro found himself sweeping the front porch, a task he didn’t mind. The repetitive motion of the broom allowed his mind to wander. From his vantage point, he could see glimpses of the vilge beyond the orphanage walls—shinobi moving with purpose, shopkeepers setting up their stalls, and children running through the streets. It was a world that felt both close and distant, a pce he could see but not yet touch.

  “Hiro, can you help me with this?” A small voice pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to see Mayu, one of the younger orphans, struggling to carry a pail of water.

  “Sure,” Hiro said, setting the broom aside. He took the handle from her and carried the pail with ease, earning a bright smile from the little girl. Moments like these came naturally to Hiro; he didn’t think much of it, but Kaya often noticed.

  “You’re a big help around here, you know,” Kaya said ter, catching him as he finished his chores. “The other children look up to you, even if they don’t say it.”

  Hiro hesitated, unsure how to respond. Finally, he gave a small nod. “I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

  Kaya chuckled softly. “Spoken like someone much older than they are.” Her tone was light, but there was a trace of something deeper—a mix of pride and worry—that Hiro couldn’t quite pce.

  The afternoon brought a short lesson for the older children. Kaya guided them through basic literacy and math, her instructions clear and patient. Hiro excelled without much effort, though he rarely drew attention to himself. When another child stumbled over a word or struggled with an equation, Hiro would quietly nudge them in the right direction, earning grateful smiles in return.

  After lessons, the children were allowed some free time. While most of them ran off to py in the yard, Hiro found a quiet spot near the garden. He sat cross-legged, watching the leaves sway in the breeze. It was peaceful, and peace was something Hiro valued more than he could expin.

  Kaya’s shadow fell over him as she approached. She sat down beside him, her expression thoughtful.

  “You don’t py much with the others,” she observed.

  Hiro shrugged lightly. “I like the quiet.”

  Kaya nodded, her hazel eyes scanning the yard where the other children ughed and chased each other. “Quiet can be good. But don’t forget that it’s okay to be a child too.”

  Hiro gnced at her, unsure how to respond. Kaya didn’t push the point. Instead, she pced a gentle hand on his shoulder before rising to her feet.

  “Dinner in an hour,” she said, her voice carrying its usual steadiness.

  Hiro watched her walk away, her faded Konoha headband tied loosely around her arm as a quiet reminder of her past. He stayed in the garden a while longer, the warmth of the sun on his skin and the rustling of leaves filling the silence.

  That night, the orphanage settled into its usual calm. The children’s ughter faded as they climbed into bed, and Kaya made her rounds to ensure everyone was tucked in. Hiro y in his own bed, his small room quiet and dimly lit by the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

  Beside his dresser, the stone tablet rested in its usual pce. Hiro’s eyes lingered on it for a moment. He didn’t know why, but the tablet always felt... significant, like a puzzle waiting to be solved. But tonight, like every other night, it remained still and silent.

  As his eyes grew heavy, Hiro let out a small sigh. The hum of the orphanage—the soft breathing of the other children, the creak of the old wooden floorboards—lulled him to sleep. The tablet sat undisturbed, its surface catching a faint glint of moonlight, as if waiting for its moment to reveal its secrets.