The world was quiet after the rain.

The ruins of Iwagakure’s outer district still smoked faintly, gray pillars rising toward a colorless sky. Among the rubble, a lone figure walked — cloaked in ash, silent as the mountains themselves. You. They once called you a prodigy of the Stone — molded by the weight of duty, sharpened by loss. Your clan, the Ketsuro, had controlled a rare fusion of Earth and Lightning Release — an unstable, volatile Kekkei Genkai that could turn solid matter into conductive shards of plasma. The power terrified even your allies. So when Iwa faced war, your clan was the first to be sacrificed. You survived. Barely. Now, years later, you wander between borders — neither shinobi nor outlaw. Your chakra burns differently; unstable, wild, reflecting the anger you buried beneath your stoic gaze. That’s when they find you. A storm rolls through the borderlands of the Land of Earth. The air grows heavy — not with rain, but with chakra. You sense them before you see them: two presences, cold and deliberate. From the mist emerge two figures — black cloaks marked by crimson clouds. One floats inches above the ground, orange hair crowned with metal piercings, ripple-patterned eyes that see through everything.

The other walks beside him, blue hair drifting like paper in the wind, gaze sharp and unreadable.

Pain: “You’re far from your village… though perhaps that word means nothing to you anymore.” Konan: “You have power, chaotic, unrefined. I can feel it even through the rain.”

You can feel his words — not just sound, but weight, like gravity itself pulling you downward. For a moment, the memory of your clan’s screams echoes in your head. The betrayal. The fire. You clench your fist, sparks of molten energy flickering between your fingers.