They didn't sleep that night.
Not because they weren't tired. Their limbs felt like stone, their eyes stung with dust—but something deeper wouldn't let them rest. A twitch in the air. A shift in the wind. A pressure beneath the skin, low and humming.
It wasn't hunger. That had become normal. Hunger was simple, quiet, manageable.
This was different.
They lay flat on the wooden floor of the abandoned home, staring at the rotted beams above, listening to every creak of the forest around them. The wind outside didn't move the trees so much as it whispered through them, like it had something to say—but wasn't sure they were ready to hear it.
At some point, the sky turned gray. Then silver.
Then pale blue.
They rose slowly, stiff from stillness, and stepped into the cold air. Their breath fogged in the morning chill. Somewhere nearby, the faint clatter of hooves echoed through the forest. A delivery cart heading toward Konoha's back gate.
They didn't follow it.
Instead, they moved deeper into the woods, legs shaky but eyes sharp. Birds scattered as they passed, disturbed by something in them that felt—wrong. They noticed it now. The way the shadows leaned toward them. The way the world watched.
That pressure inside, the not-chakra, pulsed again.
It wasn't growing stronger. Just… more awake.
The stream from the day before curved past their path again. They stopped and stared at their reflection. Same unfamiliar face. Dirt-streaked. Eyes dull but not dead. There was something buried behind them, and not just memory.
Movement.
Their head snapped up.
Footsteps, faint but certain, moved fast through the trees. Too smooth for a civilian. They backed into the brush, heart hammering, breath held.
A figure emerged from the trees.
Young. About their age. Short brown hair. Konoha hitai-ate tied around his neck. Not a famous face. Not a main character.
But a real one.
The boy crouched at the stream's edge, dipped a canteen into the water, and sighed like the day had already worn him down. He glanced around—then froze.
Their eyes met.
He stood, instantly on alert. "Who's there?"
They didn't answer.
The boy reached for a kunai tucked into his vest.
"I said—"
A sharp snap echoed through the trees. The boy whirled around, kunai ready. But it didn't come from them.
Another sound. A low growl.
The boy backed up slowly. "No, no, no—not now…"
Something stepped into view behind him. Gray. Lanky. Misshapen.
A wolf, but wrong. Its fur was patchy, its eyes cloudy white, and its limbs bent at odd angles. It didn't walk—it limped, dragging one paw behind it. But it was fast. Too fast.
It lunged.
The boy stumbled back, trying to dodge, but it clipped his shoulder. Blood bloomed across his uniform. He fell hard, scrambling.
They moved without thinking.
Their feet slammed the ground. They grabbed the nearest rock and hurled it—more instinct than aim.
The rock cracked against the beast's skull. It howled, turning toward them with a noise that didn't belong in any forest.
And then it charged.
They froze.
It was too fast. Their legs wouldn't move. Their body screamed to run—but it wouldn't listen.
And just before the beast reached them, just before its jaw opened—
That pressure inside them snapped.
Not outward—but inward. Like a chain pulling tight. And suddenly, they weren't in their body anymore.
They were somewhere darker.
A memory? A dream?
No—a seal.
They stood in an empty black space. Ink floated around their feet in slow swirls. Faint glowing symbols hovered in the dark—silent, ancient, breathing.
At the center of it all was a shape.
A door. Tall, metal, covered in cracks.
A voice—their own voice—spoke from nowhere.
"Not yet."
They gasped.
And they were back.
The beast was inches from them—but it stopped. Snarled. Shook its head like it'd been struck by something invisible.
And then it turned and ran. Limping, wounded, growling into the trees.
The forest went silent again.
They dropped to their knees, breath torn from their lungs, chest burning. That pressure in their ribs had gone quiet. Like it had tested something. Measured their fear—and been satisfied.
Footsteps again.
The boy approached, kunai still in hand, but lowered. His shoulder bled heavily, face pale, but his eyes were locked on them.
"What the hell was that?"
They didn't answer.
They couldn't.
"You're not a ninja," he said, voice hoarse. "But that thing looked at you like—like it knew you."
He hesitated.
"What's your name?"
They stood, slowly.
"…Don't have one," they said. It wasn't a lie. Not really.
The boy frowned. "That's not normal."
They shrugged.
"You live near here?"
"…I guess."
Another pause.
Then, softer, "Thanks. For the rock."
They nodded once. It was enough.
He winced, tied some gauze around his arm, and muttered something about needing to report to his squad. Before he left, he looked back.
"You should stay away from the woods."
And then he was gone.
They didn't move for a long time.
Because they weren't afraid of the woods. Or the wolf.
They were afraid of what had spoken inside them.
The seal.
The door.
And the voice that had said—Not yet.