The Day of Fire and Rain

  The explosions started in the market district—I remember that clearly. The sound wasn't like thunder; it was sharper, hungrier. Mother's hands were still wet from washing dishes when she grabbed me, her purple hair whipping around her face as she ran to the window.

  "Yuu!" she called to Father, who was already moving, strapping on his weapon pouch. "It's Hanzo's forces—they're sweeping the district!"

  I knew this day would come. In my past life, I'd read about Hanzo's paranoid purges, his fear of any power that might challenge his own. But knowledge of history means nothing when you're watching it unfold in real time, when you can smell the smoke and hear the screams.

  Father's face hardened as he made hand signs I recognized—a detection jutsu. "They're targeting Shinobi families. Anyone with potential to—" He stopped, looking at me with sudden, terrible understanding.

  They'd noticed. Despite our precautions, despite pretending to be less advanced than I was, someone had reported my unusual development. In a village ruled by paranoia, even a child's precocious talent could be seen as a threat.

  "The basement," Mother said, already moving. We had practiced this, though they never told me why. Under the floorboards was a small space, reinforced with basic sealing jutsu. "Quickly, little one."

  But I couldn't move. The blood in my veins was singing with awareness, telling me exactly how many Shinobi were approaching our home. Seven. All jōnin level. Too many for Father to handle alone.

  "No," I said, my child's voice steady. "We run together."

  Mother and Father exchanged glances—the kind parents share when their child surprises them. But there wasn't time for questions. The explosions were getting closer.

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  I raised my small hands, forming seals that neither of them had taught me. The blood in our bodies responded, synchronizing our rhythms and making us lighter and faster. Father's eyes widened as he felt the change.

  "What—"

  "Later," I promised, already moving toward our back door. "Trust me."

  We fled into the rain-soaked streets, my blood manipulation technique keeping us connected, allowing me to enhance our speed and mask our chakra signatures. Around us, Amegakure burned despite the downpour, decades of tension erupting into violence.

  We made it three blocks before they found us.

  "Protection Formation: Blood-Paper Shield!" I called out, combining techniques in a way that made Mother gasp. The rain itself seemed to freeze around us, hardening into crystalline barriers infused with our combined blood chakra.

  Father didn't hesitate. Whatever questions he had about his four-year-old daughter's abilities, he set them aside and took advantage of the protection, launching a counterattack through gaps in my shield.

  "Maria, take her and run!" He shouted, his hands blurring through signs. "I'll hold them—"

  "No!" I pushed more chakra into the shield, expanding it. "We stay together. I can—"

  The world exploded.

  Later, I would learn this was the day Hanzo deployed his new poison gas techniques for the first time. The purple mist ate through my shields like acid through paper. I heard Mother scream, saw Father's desperate attempt to reach us.

  In the chaos, I did the only thing I could—I used every drop of chakra I had, every ounce of knowledge from both lives. The effort nearly killed me. As darkness took my vision, I saw Hanzo's forces approaching through the poison mist. My last thought was a prayer to whatever gods watched this world that my parents would understand why their four-year-old daughter had tried to save them instead of herself.

  When I woke days later in Hanzo's compound, I was alone. The bitter truth settled in my heart: despite my best efforts with blood-paper manipulation, I couldn't save them. I didn't even know if they were alive.

  Years passed as I pretended to be what Hanzo wanted—a prodigy he could mold into a weapon. But every night, as Amegakure's rain fell outside my window, I folded paper cranes and practiced my techniques, preparing for the day I would escape and find my family.

  After all, as Mother always said, the rain tells stories. And mine was far from over.