The mist carried rumors faster than the wind.
Haruki learned that before he learned what death truly meant.
It started with whispers.
Adults speaking too quietly.
Villagers gathering in small groups.
Conversations ending whenever children approached.
The usual signs that something had happened.
Something bad.
Haruki noticed it immediately.
By now, he was six years old.
Old enough to recognize fear.
Young enough not to understand all of it.
He was helping his mother carry supplies from the market when he saw three fishermen standing near the docks.
Their faces were pale.
One of them kept glancing toward the northern shoreline.
"Did they identify him?"
"Not officially."
"They won't."
"They know."
The men fell silent when they noticed nearby children.
Haruki frowned.
Another secret.
Another mystery.
He hated mysteries.
The answer arrived the next morning.
The village woke early.
Far earlier than usual.
Haruki stepped outside to find people moving toward the coast.
Not rushing.
Not panicking.
Watching.
Like something terrible had happened and nobody wanted to be the first person to say it aloud.
His father emerged from the house immediately.
The moment Yukio saw the crowd, his expression darkened.
"Aiko."
She understood instantly.
"Take Haruki inside."
"But—"
"Inside."
The tone ended the argument.
Mostly.
Haruki obeyed.
For almost three minutes.
Then curiosity won.
Again.
Slipping out the back of the house, he quietly followed the crowd.
The shoreline wasn't far.
Mist rolled over black sand.
Waves crashed against the rocks.
Dozens of villagers stood gathered near the water.
Haruki squeezed between adults.
Then froze.
There was a body.
A man.
Maybe in his twenties.
Maybe older.
Haruki couldn't tell.
The corpse lay partially buried in wet sand.
His clothes were torn.
His face bruised.
But that wasn't what caught everyone's attention.
It was his arm.
The entire limb was encased in ice.
Perfectly preserved.
Crystal clear.
The ice hadn't melted despite the rising sun.
Fear spread through the crowd.
Not sympathy.
Not sadness.
Fear.
"Bloodline user."
The words came from somewhere behind him.
Several villagers nodded.
"Serves him right."
Haruki turned.
The speaker wasn't angry.
He sounded relieved.
As though the dead man deserved it.
The reaction confused him.
Why?
The man was dead.
Shouldn't people feel bad?
Another villager spat into the sand.
"They should all disappear."
More nods.
More agreement.
Haruki stared.
The crowd wasn't mourning.
They were celebrating.
A chill crawled up his spine.
Not from the sea breeze.
From them.
Then he saw his father.
Yukio stood at the edge of the crowd.
Completely still.
His face betrayed nothing.
But Haruki knew him.
The muscles in his jaw were tight.
His hands were clenched.
He looked angry.
Not at the dead man.
At everyone else.
The crowd eventually dispersed.
The body remained.
A team from Kirigakure had arrived to collect it.
Shinobi.
Real shinobi.
Haruki watched them from a distance.
One of them examined the frozen arm.
Another recorded information on a scroll.
They worked efficiently.
Professionally.
Without emotion.
As though this happened often.
Maybe it did.
The thought made Haruki uncomfortable.
That evening, the village returned to normal.
At least on the surface.
But something felt different.
The whispers were louder now.
The fear more obvious.
Haruki sat outside while the sun disappeared beyond the ocean.
His father joined him.
For a while, neither spoke.
The waves filled the silence.
Eventually Haruki looked up.
"The man on the beach."
Yukio's expression hardened.
"What about him?"
"Why was everyone happy he died?"
The question lingered.
Yukio didn't answer immediately.
Because there wasn't a good answer.
Not one a child should hear.
Not one a father wanted to give.
Finally he spoke.
"People can become afraid of things they don't understand."
"I know."
It was one of his father's lessons.
"Then why don't they try to understand?"
The simple question struck harder than expected.
Yukio looked toward the darkening sea.
Why indeed?
Why fear a child born different?
Why hunt families?
Why destroy lives?
The answer was ugly.
And simple.
Because fear was easier.
"Some people choose fear."
Haruki frowned.
"That's stupid."
A laugh escaped before Yukio could stop it.
A genuine laugh.
Rare these days.
"Sometimes it is."
The boy looked back toward the village.
His thoughts drifted to the dead man.
To the ice covering his arm.
To the hatred in the crowd.
Something about it felt wrong.
Deeply wrong.
He couldn't explain why.
He only knew he never wanted people looking at him that way.
Later that night, Haruki woke unexpectedly.
Voices drifted from the next room.
His parents were arguing.
Not loudly.
Quietly.
Which was somehow worse.
"They found him less than twenty kilometers away."
Aiko.
"I know."
Yukio.
"That's close."
"I know."
"We should leave."
Silence.
Then:
"Not yet."
Aiko's frustration was obvious.
"How many more bodies?"
The question hung heavily in the air.
No answer came.
Because neither of them knew.
Haruki remained still beneath his blanket.
Listening.
Confused.
Afraid.
For reasons he couldn't quite understand.
Eventually the voices faded.
The house fell silent once more.
But sleep didn't come easily.
Not after what he'd seen.
Not after hearing his parents.
Outside, the mist rolled through the village.
Endless.
Silent.
Watching.
Far beyond the village limits, hidden deep within the forests of the Land of Water, a group of armed men stood around a campfire.
One of them tossed a scroll into the flames.
The paper burned quickly.
On it was a list of names.
Families.
Bloodlines.
Targets.
Near the bottom of the page, a recently added note had been written beside a name.
Yukio Yuki — Status Unknown
The flames consumed the words.
But somewhere in the darkness, hunters were already searching.
And with every passing day, they were getting closer.