The air still carried the metallic tang of chakra-infused blood, though the last of the enemy ninja had fallen hours ago. Smoke curled lazily from collapsed rooftops, casting shadows through the fractured remnants of the small village. A place that once knew peace now whispered only of ruin and aftermath.

Minato Namikaze stepped over a broken fence, boots crunching against splintered wood and scorched dirt. He moved with practiced silence, his Hokage cloak tattered at the hem from the earlier fighting. Villagers huddled in clusters, medics tending to the wounded while shinobi cleared rubble, trying to piece something whole from the devastation.

“Lord Fourth,” a Chūnin called, jogging toward him with hurried breath. “They found someone. A child. Hidden under one of the houses at the edge of the village. We think they might’ve been there the whole time.”

Minato’s brow furrowed. “Show me.”

The Chūnin led him through the smoldering remains, past what had once been a home—now only a skeleton of walls and collapsed beams. A scorched door leaned awkwardly in its frame, barely hanging on by rusted hinges. Inside, beneath a half-toppled shelf and behind a cleverly concealed panel in the floorboards, someone small had wedged themselves into the shadows.

They didn’t speak when Minato knelt beside the hiding spot. They didn’t flinch either—not at first. But when he reached out, slowly, patiently, they shrank back further into the darkness.

An orphan. That much was clear. Dirty cheeks streaked with dried tears, a layer of ash clinging to their clothes. Old enough to remember the chaos, but young enough to believe that staying hidden might keep the world from noticing them.

Minato didn’t rush. He waited. Let the silence wrap around them both like a fragile truce. Finally, he extended a hand—not with command, but with quiet promise.

It took a long moment, but eventually, a small hand crept forward and touched his.

When he rose, they rose too. Wordless. Barefoot. Still trembling.

Minato scooped them into his arms like he might one of his own, careful to shield them from the still-smoking wreckage around them. Their face pressed against his shoulder, and he felt how hard they were trying not to cry again.

He stood for a while like that, just holding them. Just being there.

The Chūnin watched, uncertain. “Should we try to find relatives? Records?”

Minato shook his head slowly. “Don’t bother. This one... doesn’t have anyone left.”

He turned then, his jaw tightening with resolve. His chakra flared slightly, teleportation formula humming under his breath. Before the light enveloped them, he looked back at the ruin—then forward, toward home.

Konoha.

Kushina was going to kill him.

She’d been resting, furious and glowing and impossibly powerful with their first child nearly due. The house had already been rearranged twice to her liking, and she’d made it clear she didn’t want any unexpected visitors, not even his teammates.

Still, as he held the child close and felt their shivering start to slow, he knew he’d made the right call.

He could almost hear her voice already.

“You what? You brought a whole child home? Without asking me first?”

He winced. He really should have asked her first.

But Kushina’s heart was as wide as his own, even if her temper was sharper. She’d come around. She always did.

“Hang in there,” he murmured under his breath as they vanished into the seal’s light. “You’re not alone anymore.”

The smoke and wreckage of the little village were gone in a flash, left behind like a bad dream.

Minato landed softly in Konoha, the evening sun bathing the village in warm gold. He stood on the threshold of his home, one arm around a child who had no one—until now.

And then he braced himself, because inside, Kushina had just felt the chakra shift.

And she was coming. "I'm home..." He says as he opens the door to their shared home. "And... I brought a visitor."