The moon was high, its light silver and cold, washing the forest in ghostly hues.
Ayame moved like a shadow between trees, soundless and lethal. Every instinct screamed that she was being hunted—but she wasn't running.
She was baiting.
And the moment the hunter stepped into the open, she struck.
A blur—chakra surged—metal flashed.
Steel met steel.
The clash rang through the forest like a thunderclap.
The hunter staggered back, face masked, kunai drawn. Ayame's Sharingan glowed, her blade at the ready, hair fluttering behind her like a raven's wings.
"I'm giving you one chance," she said calmly. "Leave."
The hunter didn't answer. He formed seals instead.
Fire Style: Phoenix Flame Barrage!
Ayame countered before the words left his lips, forming one-handed seals.
Water Style: Mist Shroud!
The air turned to steam, dense and thick, masking her presence. Her chakra signature vanished completely. Even with a Sharingan, he couldn't see her clearly.
Amateur, she thought.
Her blade struck true moments later—angled precisely to disarm, not kill.
Steel clattered to the ground.
She pressed her tanto to his neck.
"…Who sent you?"
The hunter panted, blood dripping from his forearm. "You know who."
Ayame's gaze sharpened. "Fugaku?"
The hunter didn't confirm. He didn't have to.
Ayame's grip on her blade tightened. "Tell them this: If they come for him again, I won't be merciful."
She struck his temple with the hilt—hard enough to knock him out, but not kill.
Then she vanished into the night.
---
Back at the Cave
Sora hadn't moved from where she left him. He sat quietly, fingers pressed to the cold ground, eyes half-lidded as if lost in thought. In truth, he wasn't thinking in words.
He was feeling.
Sensing.
The chakra around him. The energy of trees, air, even the insects in the soil. More importantly… he was learning how to consume it.
Not just jutsu.
Not just space.
But raw chakra.
Life.
He placed his hand on the fire, where flames still danced weakly.
The air rippled.
The fire collapsed inward—swallowed whole.
Ashes remained.
Sora stared at his hand, unfazed. There was no burn, only warmth.
Then he heard footsteps.
Ayame entered.
He turned.
"I'm ready," he said quietly.
She paused.
"…Ready for what?"
"To begin."
---
Training Ground – One Week Later
Ayame stood atop a stone slab overlooking the hidden glade. Sora stood in the center, barefoot on the cool grass, eyes closed.
"Chakra control is everything," she said. "If you want to survive what's coming, you must be more than a devourer. You must refine yourself."
Sora nodded.
"Begin."
He inhaled slowly, summoning chakra to his feet.
First, she taught him tree walking. He mastered it in minutes.
Then water walking. He struggled.
"Balance," she said. "Not control. Trust the chakra."
He adjusted.
By the third attempt, he stood on the surface of the pond like it was solid earth. His eyes remained calm. Cold. Focused.
Too focused, Ayame thought.
Most children beamed with pride after even a small success. But Sora didn't smile.
She descended beside him.
"Are you proud of yourself?"
He shook his head.
"Not yet."
Ayame hesitated, then knelt. "Why?"
"I'm not strong enough to protect you."
Her chest tightened.
He looked at her then—really looked—and she saw it.
Not a child.
A soul forged in suffering, reborn in silence.
And behind those eyes… something ancient. Watching. Waiting.
She wrapped her arms around him tightly.
"You don't have to protect me," she whispered.
"I do," he answered.
---
That Night
Ayame prepared a small scroll, inscribing her chakra into the seal. Sora sat nearby, practicing drawing chakra through his fingertips, shaping it into tendrils.
She watched in silence, then finally asked:
"Do you remember… before this life?"
He stopped.
A long pause.
Then he nodded, slowly.
"I remember a world with no chakra. But with war. Machines. Death."
She waited.
"I was no one special there. But I had dreams. Powerless dreams."
"And now?" she asked quietly.
"I'm going to devour the limits of this world."
Ayame's blood chilled.
Not from fear.
But from the certainty in his voice.
---
The Next Morning
Ayame presented him with a training weapon—short, forged from chakra-conductive metal.
"Time for combat drills."
Sora took it, weighed it in his hands.
"It's light."
"You're still small."
He nodded, eyes scanning the forest.
She attacked without warning.
Their spar began—swift, brutal, beautiful.
Sora's reflexes were monstrous. Even without formal taijutsu, his body moved with an unnatural instinct. He dodged a roundhouse kick, ducked under her blade, and countered with the back of his training weapon.
She blocked. Barely.
Their weapons clashed again and again—Ayame guiding him, but never going easy.
A sudden flare of chakra burst from him—wild and hungry. Ayame saw the space around his blade bend.
She stopped him instantly.
"Control it," she said sharply. "If you bend too much, reality will snap."
Sora clenched his fists. "I want more power."
"You will have it," she said softly. "But you'll earn it my way."
Then she reached forward and ruffled his hair.
"And when the time comes… you'll be stronger than all of them."
He smiled, just faintly.
---
Deep Underground – Uchiha Clan Archives
Fugaku stood before a sealed door few even knew existed.
"Have you confirmed the anomaly?" he asked.
The archivist beside him nodded. "The devourer's chakra signature matches ancient Kaguya records. But it's… mutated. Like it wasn't born of this world."
Fugaku said nothing.
The last seal opened.
Inside was a single scroll marked with a red warning:
"Classified: Forbidden—Do Not Awaken."
He took it.
Unrolled it.
And read the name aloud:
"Sora."