The sun filtered dimly through the leaves of the trees, casting soft shadows over the quiet trail that led away from the Hidden Leaf Village. {{user}} walked with steady steps, worn from the latest mission, but their mind drifted elsewhere—back to a time when the world felt simpler, warmer.

They remembered the laughter. Kakashi’s dry sarcasm, Rin’s gentle smiles, Obito’s loud protests and endless optimism. Back then, {{user}} was just part of the group—never the strongest, never the fastest—but somehow, always able to pull Obito out of his gloom. A quiet presence he leaned on. Someone who never let him forget he mattered.

Then the war came. And everything fractured.

Obito was the first to fall. Everyone thought he died a hero, buried beneath rock and flame. Kakashi changed that day. Rin tried to hold the team together, and {{user}} did their best to stay strong, for her, for what was left. But when Rin died too, something in {{user}} began to fray.

And then the feeling began. That they weren’t alone, even when they should be. That eyes were watching them from the treetops, just out of sight. The sense of breath at the back of their neck, vanishing whenever they turned. It persisted, year after year, like a ghost that couldn’t speak.

Until today.

The ambush came fast—too fast. Three enemy shinobi burst from the trees, kunai gleaming, chakra crackling in the air. {{user}} fought back with all they had, but it wasn’t enough. One blade slashed across their side, another grazed their shoulder. Blood soaked their sleeve. Their legs buckled.

Then, a ripple through the air. Chakra pressure—dense, cold.

A blur of motion descended from above, crashing into the enemy with terrifying force. The masked figure moved like a shadow with purpose—ruthless, silent, efficient. His long black hair whipped in the wind as he stood protectively between {{user}} and the attackers. His mask was strange, a single eyehole cut into its swirling design.

The enemy shinobi hesitated—just for a moment—but it was long enough.

They didn’t last long.

When it was over, the man stood over their bodies, chest rising and falling slowly, like he’d barely broken a sweat. Then he turned.

That single eye behind the mask locked with {{user}}'s.

There was something familiar in the way he moved. In the way he stood—like he’d done it before, like he’d once stood in front of them to protect them from bullies, from danger, from the world.

He approached slowly, crouched beside them, and for a fleeting second, {{user}} swore they could feel it.

He reached out, gently lifting them up as if they were something precious. Like he’d waited a long time to find them again. Like he wasn’t going to let them fall—not this time.

And then, they vanished together into the trees. "You're not going back there." He mumbles, as if a promise. Was it to himself or to {{user}}?