Konoha, October 9th, Year 48...
Deep in the north side of the village, a boy only about 5 years old, was lying flat on a bed, breathing heavily.
Suddenly, Ren Hoshino jolted awake with his heart beating hard, faster than ever. For a moment, he lay still, staring at the faint morning light slipping through the paper windows, trying to pull himself fully into the present. The dream had followed him out of sleep again, heavy and sticky, like it had left fingerprints on his mind. Even with his eyes open, he could still see pieces of it drifting behind his eyelids: a sky burning orange, rooftops collapsing, a giant fox with nine tails like tornadoes rising above the village like a living disaster.
He didn't know why he kept seeing it. He didn't know why it felt familiar in a way that made his stomach twist. The whole thing had a strange flatness to it, like he wasn't standing there in the chaos but watching it from somewhere else.
He pushed himself upright and rubbed his eyes. His room slowly came into focus. The low dresser. The wooden toys on the shelf. The folded futon in the corner. The faint scent of tatami and clean laundry. All of it grounded him to reality, pulling him away from the heat and noise that still lingered in his mind.
Ren stood up and stepped into the hallway. His legs felt a little unsteady, but he forced himself to move. The dream had been the same for a week now. A village he knew. A monster he didn't. And a strange sense of unease that followed him even after he woke.
He made his way downstairs.
His mother was already in the kitchen, holding his baby sister in her arms. She was feeding her with a small spoon, humming softly under her breath. His sister giggled, smearing food across her cheek with a tiny hand. His mother's hair was tied back in a loose bun, and even half-asleep, she looked gentle.
His father sat at the table, reading a mission report. The scar across his cheek made him look stern at first glance, but his expression softened the moment he saw Ren walking down the stairs.
The instant Ren reached the bottom step, his baby sister spotted him and squealed, reaching toward him. He walked over and kissed her forehead. She grabbed his sleeve with surprising strength for someone so small, babbling happily.
His mother smiled at him.
"Good morning, Ren."
His father nodded at him.
"Morning."
Ren nodded and murmured a quiet greeting, taking his seat at the table. His breakfast was already waiting. Grilled fish with crisp skin, miso soup still steaming, a bowl of rice, and a small serving of pickled daikon. The warmth rising from the bowls wrapped around him like a blanket.
He picked up his chopsticks and began to eat.
The first bite of fish settled heavily in his stomach, still reeling from the nightmare he had had the night before. The warmth of the soup helped, though. It spread through his chest, pushing back the cold feeling the dream had left behind. But as he chewed, his mind drifted back to the first time it happened.
He had been three years old.
It had been a normal night. His parents tucked him in. His mother kissed his forehead. His father told him to sleep well. He remembered feeling safe and closing his eyes.
Then everything changed.
He was suddenly lying in a bed that wasn't his. The air smelled sharp and chemical, nothing like the soft scents of home. Machines beeped around him in slow, steady, but eerie rhythms. His body felt heavy, too heavy to move. His skin burned. His bones ached. His breath came in shallow, painful gasps.
He didn't understand any of it.
He didn't understand why he couldn't lift his arms.
He didn't understand why his chest felt like it was collapsing. He remembered a voice calling his name. A voice filled with fear and grief. A voice he had never heard in this life.
He remembered the moment everything went quiet.
He woke up screaming.
His parents rushed into the room. His mother held him close, whispering that it was just a nightmare. His father rubbed his back. They tried to calm him down, but he couldn't stop shaking. He couldn't explain what he saw. He didn't have the words.
For days, he couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the weight of that other body. The pain and the fear coursing through his veins. His parents stayed up with him, taking turns holding him until he stopped trembling, believing he was just a child having nightmares.
He thought so too.
Until the "nightmares" kept coming.
Not every night, but often enough that he began to dread sleep. He saw places that didn't exist in this world. He heard voices that belonged to people he had never met. He felt emotions that were too heavy for him to carry alone. Confusion. Helplessness. Acceptance. The kind of acceptance that only comes at the end of a long fight.
He didn't understand any of it, but the memories felt too real and vivid to ignore.
One night, half-asleep, he heard his parents talking in the hallway. Their voices were low, but the worry in them was sharp enough to cut through the sliding door.
His mother's voice trembled.
"I don't know what to do. He's only three. Children shouldn't wake up like that. He looks terrified."
His father tried to sound steady, but Ren could hear the strain.
"It's just nightmares. He'll grow out of them."
There was a pause. Then the soft sound of his mother crying.
Ren lay frozen under his blanket, staring at the ceiling.
His mother cried quietly for a long time. His father held her, whispering something Ren couldn't make out. The sound of it made his chest ache in a way the dreams never had.
He didn't want to be the reason they cried and worried
He didn't want to see his mother's eyes red in the morning or hear the tiredness in his father's voice.
Over time, he learned to hide the fear. He learned to breathe through the panic. When the dreams woke him, he stayed still until his heartbeat slowed. When the memories made his hands shake, he tucked them under his blanket and waited for the trembling to stop. His parents still checked on him sometimes, but he always smiled and told them he was fine.
By the time he turned five, the dreams hadn't stopped, but he had changed. He didn't cry anymore. He didn't cling to his parents when he woke up. He didn't ask questions he knew they couldn't answer.
Years passed, and the dreams were strangely consistent of a different life of the same person.
But the dream last night was different.
It wasn't a hospital room, pain, or "his own death."
...It was Konoha.
His Konoha.
Burning.
He could still see the flames licking up the sides of buildings he walked past every day. He could still see the massive fox, its tails sweeping through streets he knew by heart. Strangely, though, it felt like he was a bystander watching it through a strange screen instead of being a direct participant.
But he didn't know why it left him with a tightness in his chest that hadn't faded even after breakfast.
He finished the last bite of rice and set his chopsticks down.
His father folded his mission report and studied him for a moment.
"You look tired. Did you sleep alright?"
Ren hesitated, then gave a small nod.
"I slept fine."
It wasn't the truth, but it wasn't a lie either. He had slept.
His baby sister reached for him again, babbling happily. He touched her hand, and she laughed, her whole face lighting up. The sound eased something in him. It reminded him that the world he lived in was warm and alive and real. That all those dreams were just that - dreams.
But the uneasiness in his chest didn't fade.
For a week now, something inside him had been whispering that a storm was coming.