Chapter Text
The first thing Teodor noticed was the sky — a blazing, saturated blue that pressed down on him like it had something to prove. It was too clean, too sharp, like the whole world had been upscaled to high definition. No wires. No buildings. No distant hum of a city. Just open sky and craggy mountains as far as he could see.
He sucked in a breath and choked on the air — thin, dry, and laced with something electric. Not smog. Not car exhaust. Just wind. It rattled through sparse trees and brittle grass, brushing against his skin like it knew something he didn’t.
He sat up slowly.
His body hurt in that post-impact, lingering way — not sharp pain, but like he'd been dropped from a great height and wrapped in muscle soreness. His hands sank into dry earth. His fingers twitched.
Why am I alive?
The thought cut through the fog like a blade.
He remembered walking home. The drizzle. Wet leaves on the pavement. A flash of light — blinding, swallowing everything. And then… nothing.
So why was he here, breathing, conscious?
This is a dream.
He pinched his arm, hard. Then again. He slapped his face.
It stung.
“Shit,” he whispered, staring at his palm. “That felt real.”
His voice was off. Lower. Slightly raspy.
He blinked. Slowly brought both hands to his face. His skin felt different — tighter, unfamiliar angles in his jaw, unfamiliar bone under his cheek. The panic crept up fast, rising like a tide in his throat.
He scrambled to his feet, breath catching.
The clothes were wrong. Loose, layered cloth in shades of gray and dark red. Nothing like what he’d gone out in. His legs moved differently — longer stride, thinner frame. Everything felt too light. Too not-him.
He spun in a circle. No roads. No power lines. Just endless rocks and pale mountains, the wind carrying the distant scent of pine and ocean salt.
“Okay. Okay, I need—mirror. Something. Anything—”
He broke into a half-stumble, half-run toward the downward slope. Trees thickened. Bushes dotted the rocky trail. A few minutes in, he heard it: water. Rushing, low, and steady.
A lake.
He pushed through the last bit of underbrush and nearly fell down the last slope to the water’s edge. The lake shimmered in the sunlight, shallow and crystal-clear. He fell to his knees and crawled forward, heart in his throat.
Then he looked down.
It wasn’t his face.
The boy staring back from the reflection had sharp cheekbones, a narrow chin, and a light smattering of freckles across his nose. His hair was short and blood-red, wind-tousled and coarse. His eyes — bright, icy blue — glinted like a stranger’s.
Teodor stared at him.
The reflection blinked.
His breath hitched. He sat back hard on the ground, shaking.
This is someone else’s body.
The silence pressed in, dense and cruel.
“Okay,” he whispered again. His voice trembled now. “Okay, you’re not dead. You’re… somewhere. You’re in someone else’s body. You’re in…”
He looked around again — the sharp peaks, the dry air, the faint taste of electricity on the wind.
No. Impossible.
This wasn’t real. It was a show. A story. He knew the characters. Knew the plot. Knew who died and when.
Except… the trees were wrong for a dream. Too real. The ache in his knees. The smell of dirt. The way his new hand still trembled from holding himself up.
If it was a dream, it was too cruel to be fake.
He looked at the red-haired boy in the water again.
“…What the hell happened to me?”
And then, faintly, in the wind: the sound of a bell.
The bell in the distance had long stopped ringing, but the echo of it clung to Teodor’s ears like a thread — something real to anchor him in the strangeness.
He walked slowly now, keeping to the trees, trying to understand the body he was in. His new legs were longer than his old ones. His stride was smooth, confident, like muscle memory he didn’t own. His shoulders had definition. His hands bore tiny callouses — someone who had trained, maybe fought. Whoever this boy was… he wasn’t soft.
And neither was the world around him.
The trees here weren’t familiar. The bark was pale gray. The leaves are long and thin. The mountains loomed like jagged teeth in the sky, and the air held a faint hum, like a storm just over the horizon.
Teodor’s thoughts tangled in on themselves.
Is this reincarnation? Possession? Why me?
Am I dead back home? Does anyone know I’m gone?
How do I get back? Can I get back?
He pressed a palm to his chest. His heart still beat. Steady. Real.
Too real.
His stomach growled. That, too, was real.
He paused, crouched near a tree, and looked down the slope — the path he'd followed was widening now. Faint grooves in the dirt. Tracks. Wagons, maybe. Someone had passed through here.
And then — voices.
Teodor ducked low.
The voices grew louder — casual, weary. Laughter, even. He crept closer, keeping low behind a boulder, until he saw them.
Three travelers. Two men, one woman, dressed in layered clothes for long journeys. No headbands. No armor. One carried a long pole with tied bundles — dried meats, tools. The other had a cart pulled by a stout brown ox. Civilians.
Teodor’s throat tightened. People. Real ones. He hesitated. Then, slowly, he stepped out from behind the boulder.
One of the men spotted him first. He stiffened. The other two turned.
"Hey!" the older man called out, cautious but not unkind. "You alright, boy?"
Teodor blinked. He licked his lips. “I uh. I think so.”
They exchanged glances.
"You lost?" the woman asked, stepping forward a little. Her face was weathered, kind but wary.
Teodor nodded slowly. “I… woke up near the cliffs. I don’t know where I am.”
The younger man frowned. “Cliffs? You mean by the Lightning Maw?”
Teodor’s pulse jumped. Lightning Maw. That was an old term. A memory stirred. Not a memory — an association. From stories. From Naruto.
The Land of Lightning? One he remembered from lore books, filler arcs, and obscure forums. He nodded carefully.
"You hit your head or something?" the woman asked, scanning his face. "You sound like you've been out there alone too long. Are you from one of the border villages?"
Teodor hesitated. Every answer he considered felt like a lie. So he settled on the one thing he could truthfully say.
“I don’t remember.”
The three travelers stiffened slightly.
“… That's so,” the older man muttered. “Well. You don’t look like a bandit. You hungry?”
He nodded again.
The woman sighed and pulled a rice ball from one of her side pouches, tossing it toward him. Teodor caught it — surprised at the ease of the motion — and looked down at it like it might vanish.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“Where’s your village?” she asked, voice probing now. “Family?”
Teodor looked up at her. “I don’t know.”
It wasn’t a performance. Not really. He didn’t know anything about the boy whose skin he was wearing. Not where he came from, not how old he was, not who might be searching for him.
The travelers exchanged another look. Pity. Unease.
“…You’ve got red hair,” the younger man noted suddenly. “That’s rare around here.”
Teodor stiffened.
The woman narrowed her eyes. “What’s your name, boy?”
Teodor opened his mouth.
Nothing came.
He didn’t know.
Not the name of this body. Not even what village he might be from. Just one name. The one he brought with him from the other side.
“…Teodor,” he said finally.
They seemed to accept it. At least for now.
The older man nodded toward the road. “We’re heading south to Kanegi Point. It’s a day and a half walk. If you don’t mind traveling quietly, you can come with.”
Teodor bowed his head slightly. “Thank you.”
He followed them, still chewing slowly, the taste of food foreign in his mouth. Warm. Anchoring.
As they walked, the woman kept glancing back at him. She didn’t say anything else, but Teodor could feel it — suspicion. Or curiosity. Maybe both.
That night, by a small fire, as the travelers slept beneath their cloaks, Teodor sat with his knees drawn to his chest, staring at his reflection in the side of a dented pot.
Red hair. Blue eyes. His — for now.
Not home. Not a dream.
A world where death was currency. A world where children were killed and gods walked with names like Madara, Obito, Kaguya.
A world already spinning toward war.
Teodor whispered to himself, just to hear it again.
“I’m alive.”
And in the firelight, something inside him whispered back:
For now.
Teodor didn’t sleep that night.
Even though the fire was warm and the travelers were kind, he felt like a parasite curled beside them — a ghost with borrowed hands. He ate their food. He took their warmth. But every breath felt like theft.
So, when the horizon began to bleed with early light, Teodor rose quietly, bowed his head toward the three sleeping strangers, and left.
No footprints behind him. Just wind.
The walk was long. Dust coated his throat, and the sun climbed steadily overhead, but something stubborn kept him moving — the same stubbornness that had made him hide every test score, every hurt feeling, every cracked tooth back in the real world. He didn’t want to owe anyone. Not in this life either.
By the time he saw the village gates — if you could call them that — his legs trembled from exhaustion.
A set of wooden palisades marked the village edge, with worn banners fluttering lazily overhead. Two men sat near the entrance on crates, dressed in traveling cloaks and sharing a canteen. One of them squinted at Teodor as he approached.
“You walkin’ in from the cliffs?” the man asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Teodor nodded slowly.
The other man raised a brow. “Raiden? That you?”
Teodor froze.
The name hit him like a blow. It knocked the breath from his lungs.
“…What?” he croaked.
The first man laughed. “Damn kid, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You okay?”
Teodor tried to recover. “I… hit my head,” he lied. “I don’t remember much.”
“Yeah? Guess that explains the limp.” The second man stood, approaching cautiously. “Your mom’s been losing it for days. Thought you were dead.”
Teodor’s mouth went dry. His heartbeat drummed in his ears.
Raiden. That was the name. This body’s name.
He swallowed. “Can… you take me to her?”
The house was on the edge of the village, near the woods. Small. Weathered. Smoke curled from the chimney. As they approached, one of the men jogged ahead to knock on the door.
A woman answered.
She had the same red hair. Faded, streaked with gray at the temples. Her eyes were red from crying.
When she saw him, she staggered.
“Raiden—?” Her voice cracked like glass.
Teodor felt his stomach twist. He couldn’t speak.
She rushed forward, pulled him into a tight embrace, her hands shaking as they gripped his back.
“You’re alive,” she breathed. “I thought—someone said they saw a blood trail by the ridge, and—” Her words dissolved into sobs.
Teodor stood still.
Frozen.
She was warm. Her voice cracked with years of love.
And she thought he was someone else.
He was someone else.
“…I’m sorry,” Teodor whispered.
She didn’t seem to notice the hesitation in his voice. She just held him tighter.
Later, inside the house, after she fed him more than he could eat and asked him soft, careful questions he deflected with nods and murmurs, Teodor sat on the edge of a bed — Raiden’s bed — and stared at the wall.
The woman had gone to fetch a neighbor. Something about the healer checking his head.
Alone, Teodor touched his chest.
Raiden.
He got up and looked around the room.
There were no photos — not in this world — but scrolls and old notebooks sat in a pile on the desk. A cracked wooden practice sword leaned in the corner. And a scrap of a headband — not a shinobi’s, but a child’s plaything — tied to a hook near the window.
Raiden. Who were you?
He stepped to the window and looked out. The village was small, sleepy, with narrow alleys and children chasing each other through the dirt paths. Chickens pecked in a nearby coop. It looked nothing like the world he came from. Nothing like anything he knew.
And yet…
It was real.
As real as the weight in his chest.
He didn't know how Raiden died. Didn't know how he ended up here. But he knew one thing: he wasn’t just borrowing this life.
He’d inherited it.
And that meant he owed it something.
The old floor creaked under Teodor’s weight as he paced the bedroom. He’d tried sitting, tried lying down, but his thoughts wouldn’t let him rest.
He had a name now. A mother. A place in this world.
But none of it felt like his.
A knock interrupted the stillness. Not harsh — rhythmic and familiar. His… Raiden’s mother answered it with a soft “Come in.”
A woman named Sayuri entered, wrapped in faded robes that smelled of clean herbs and old wood. Her eyes were sharp despite her years, her mouth drawn in a line of habitual seriousness.
“Raiden,” she said, scanning him. “You gave us all quite the scare.”
Teodor swallowed and bowed his head slightly. “Sorry.”
She nodded briskly and motioned him to sit on a low stool by the hearth.
“You’ve always been a quiet one,” she said, rolling up her sleeves. “No surprise that hasn’t changed.”
Always been quiet. A useful lie he wouldn’t have to maintain.
The healer touched his wrist, then pressed two fingers lightly under his jaw. She murmured something to herself, then moved to his temples.
“No fever. No swelling,” she muttered. “Pupils look even. You remember how you got hurt?”
Teodor shook his head.
“Hmph.” She stepped behind him, gently tilting his head forward. Her fingers parted his hair. She hissed through her teeth.
“What is it?” Raiden’s mother asked from the doorway, wringing her hands.
“There’s a scar,” the healer said. “Fresh. Back of the head, just behind the ear. Someone hit him hard. Could explain the memory trouble.”
Teodor tensed.
The healer paused, her hand still resting lightly on his scalp.
“Strange placement,” she added softly. “That’s not a fall wound. That’s… deliberate.”
Silence stretched like a wire between them.
Raiden’s mother exhaled shakily. “He must have been ambushed.”
The healer hummed noncommittally. “I’ll leave some nerve root tincture. For the dizziness.”
She cleaned the area with practiced ease, then stood.
“I’ll come by again tomorrow. Don’t let him wander far. Memory loss or not, someone clearly meant to harm him.”
She gave Teodor a final, searching look. Then she left.
The house felt smaller now. Heavier.
His mother — Raiden’s mother — brought him soup he didn’t touch. She sat across from him, eyes flicking to the door every few seconds like she was expecting someone.
And someone did come.
Another knock. Firmer. Controlled.
This time, when she answered, she stepped back sharply.
A tall figure in dark gray flak gear stood in the doorway, the Cloud insignia gleaming on his chestplate. Pale eyes. Dark skin. A shinobi.
He bowed. “My apologies for the sudden visit. I’m here on behalf of the Lightning Daimyō’s office. My name is Kaito.”
Teodor’s pulse kicked.
“Raiden’s… alive,” his mother said, voice thin. “We thought—”
“I heard,” the shinobi said calmly. “May I come in?”
She nodded, stepping aside.
Teodor rose slowly, keeping his face still.
The shinobi looked him over with a gaze that seemed to cut through flesh and blood.
“So you’re Raiden,” he said.
Teodor nodded once.
“I was sent to investigate the disappearance of a youth fitting your description. You vanished near the Lightning Maw ten days ago.” The shinobi folded his arms. “Your name came up in an unrelated probe.”
“Unrelated how?” Teodor asked, voice even.
The shinobi tilted his head slightly, like he’d caught an accent he couldn’t place.
“You were seen with someone we’ve been watching — a merchant carrying scrolls he wasn’t supposed to have. The man was killed the day after you vanished.”
Raiden’s mother gasped.
“I don’t remember anyone like that,” Teodor said quickly.
“Convenient,” the shinobi murmured.
He stepped closer.
“Tell me,” he said softly. “Do you recall anything at all? About the week before you vanished? Who did you speak to? Where did you travel?”
Teodor shook his head, forcing his hands not to clench. “I only remember waking up near the cliffs.”
The shinobi narrowed his eyes. “What about chakra flow? Can you mold chakra?”
Teodor hesitated.
“I haven’t tried.”
“Well then.” The man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s find out.”
He tossed a small kunai onto the table. “Channel just a little chakra into that. Enough to make it tremble.”
Teodor stared at it.
Shit.
In his world, chakra was a theory, diagrams, and game mechanics. Not something he’d ever done before.
He reached out, not touching the kunai, but focusing hard. Willing himself to remember how people did it. Breathing steadily. Drawing energy from the stomach. Pushing it into the arm. Into the hand.
Come on. Come on.
The kunai twitched.
Slightly.
The shinobi’s eyebrow raised.
Teodor dropped his hand.
“Low reserves,” the shinobi said. “But it’s something.”
He picked up the blade.
“I’ll file this under ‘trauma-induced amnesia.’ But we’ll be watching. If anything returns to you — memories, locations, names — you report it. Understood?”
Teodor nodded tightly.
The shinobi lingered a moment longer, then turned and strode out the door.
Later that night, Teodor lay awake on the thin mattress, staring at the wooden beams above. A breeze from the open window lifted the edge of the blanket at his feet.
His head throbbed faintly. Not from the scar. From the weight of what he now knew.
Someone had attacked Raiden. Maybe even killed him. And Raiden had been involved in something — knowingly or not — that had drawn the interest of the Cloud shinobi.
Teodor was now at the center of a story already in motion.
A boy with secrets.
A world moving toward war.
And he — he-he-a ghost from another life—was trying to live a borrowed one.
What happened to you, Raiden?
He didn’t know yet.
The dawn was pale and quiet when Teodor slipped from the house. Raiden’s mother still slept, her soft breathing a reminder of the fragile peace here. Outside, the village slowly woke — rooster calls, children’s laughter, and the faint clatter of merchants setting up stalls.
Teodor pulled his sleeves down, hiding the scar behind rough cloth. Every glance at the back of his head sparked a cold knot in his gut.
He didn’t have memories, but he had questions. And answers hid somewhere in this sleepy place.
First Stop: The Village Square
The village square was simple — a dirt clearing ringed with wooden stalls and carts selling fresh vegetables, pottery, and tools. Farmers and merchants chatted, eyes flicking curiously toward the unfamiliar face weaving among them.
Teodor kept his head down, ears sharp for any name.
“Raiden!” a voice called out suddenly.
A wiry man with a thick beard approached, wiping dirt from his hands on his trousers.
“You look like hell, son. What happened to you?” the man said, squinting.
“I... I don’t remember,” Teodor lied smoothly. “Was told to come here.”
The man chuckled. “You’ve been off the grid for almost two weeks. Strange for a kid who used to be the fastest runner in the village.”
Teodor blinked.
“Your family owns the bakery down the street. Your mother’s been worried sick. You should check there.”
Second Stop: The Bakery
The smell of warm bread wrapped around him like a memory he didn’t own.
Inside, flour dusted the wooden counters. An older woman hummed, kneading dough with practiced hands. She looked up sharply.
“Raiden?” she said, her voice cracking. “Is that really you?”
Teodor nodded.
“You disappeared right before the Harvest Festival,” she said. “You were helping your cousin with the deliveries. No one saw you leave.”
She wiped flour from her hands and lowered her voice. “But a few days before, you started acting strange. Distant. Didn’t say much, kept looking over your shoulder.”
Teodor’s heart thudded.
“Did anyone threaten you?” he asked.
The woman hesitated. “There was a stranger — a man. Tall, cloaked, with a deep voice. Asked around for you twice. No one told him where you were, but... people talked.”
“Who was he?”
“Don’t know. The village elders warned us about outsiders after the last war.”
Third Stop: The Old Library
Dust motes floated in the air as Teodor pushed open the creaking door.
The librarian, a thin woman with silver hair and round glasses, glanced up.
“Raiden Arashi?” she asked, flipping through a ledger. “You borrowed several books — mostly on history and chakra control.”
Teodor’s eyes scanned the spines lining the shelves. He was surprised that he had a surname; no one told him before.
“Why these books?”
She shrugged. “Maybe you were curious? Or studying for the academy?”
Teodor had gone home and brought back the books his body had borrowed, trying to find why exactly he needed them.
A few torn pages caught his eye, pinned to a corkboard: crude drawings of an ancient seal, notes about an artifact called the Dragon’s Eye.
“Do you know anything about this?” Teodor asked.
The librarian frowned. “It’s a legend. Supposed to be a relic of immense power, lost for centuries. Some say it can control the chakra itself.”
Teodor felt the air shift. Power. Secrets. Danger.
He pulled a tattered scroll from the shelf — a map marking a location deep in the nearby mountains.
Fourth Stop: The Mountain Path
The village elders had warned travelers to avoid the old mountain trails. But Teodor needed answers.
The path was narrow, winding between twisted roots and jagged rocks. The wind whispered in his ears like a voice he couldn’t quite catch.
At the base of a cliff, he spotted faint symbols carved into stone — the same strange glyphs from the scroll.
A chill ran down his spine.
He wasn’t just Raiden. He was a key to something long forgotten.