The wind carried a damp, earthy smell as it passed through the narrow alley, making the wooden plaques on the door creak.
Orm squatted under the apricot tree practicing Ice Release. The ice beads that condensed rolled onto the bluestone slab and shattered in the moss in the cracks of the stone, just like the family's situation—not good enough, not bad enough, but because of that rare Ice Release bloodline, they were pulled by invisible threads, suspended in a limbo.
In a small area in the western corner of Konoha Village, people with the surname "Ganapa" lived. The Orm family's residence was hidden deep in the narrow alleys of this area. Although it was not as grand as the Uchiha clan's territory, it was still two rooms wider than an ordinary house.
The courtyard wall has been there for many years, and the base of the wall is covered with moss. Only the wooden plaque with ice-patterned patterns hanging on the gate can still show that it is different from ordinary people.
The old locust tree in the yard is crooked and twisted, its branches almost reaching the roof of the neighboring house. The stone mill under the tree is worn smooth and shiny; it was used by my mother to grind herbs when she was alive.
Orm squatted on the ground, poking at the ice bead she had just condensed with her fingertips—her ice magic was still unstable at twelve years old. The ice bead rolled twice in her palm and melted into a puddle of water, making her fingertips numb with cold.
This was the fifth time she had noticed something was "wrong".
Last month in the bathroom, a dark shadow suddenly flashed in the mirror. She splashed hot water on it and heard a muffled "ouch." When she turned around, there were only swaying tree branches outside the window. Two weeks ago, while practicing her skills in the warehouse, she always felt like she was being watched from behind. She deliberately knocked over the fire pit. When the sparks splashed into the dark, she smelled burning fabric. The next day, she heard that the "patrol guard" had burned his hand.
Her father said she was too sensitive, but Orm knew that those eyes lurking in the shadows were different from the guards in the house. They were like cockroaches, hiding during the day and emerging at night, watching her every move, making her feel uneasy.
"Orm".
His father's voice suddenly came from behind him, with its usual coldness and hardness. Orm turned around sharply and saw his father standing at the edge of the training field, with an unfamiliar girl beside him.
The girl was half a head taller than her, wearing a drab gray training uniform with frayed cuffs, and the way she rolled up her elbows showed a sharp and efficient demeanor.
Her jet-black hair was tied into a tight ponytail at the back of her head, secured with a faded dark blue cloth ribbon. The ends of her hair fell to her waist, and as she moved, they gently brushed against the folds of her training clothes, giving her an indescribable sense of neatness.
Sunlight fell on her forehead, and Orm noticed a faint scar there, almost blending into her skin tone, which must have been an old injury.
"This is Ling." The father's gaze swept over Orm. "She will be with you from now on."
Orm's brow furrowed instantly—it's happening again. Weren't those "eyes" hiding in the shadows enough? Now they're going to put them right in the open?
She scrutinized the girl, whose ponytail swayed gently as she turned her head, a few stray hairs falling from her temples and clinging to her pale skin, making her eyes appear even calmer, like a pool of water hidden in the shade of a tree.
"Follow me?" Orm stood up, deliberately straightening his back. His twelve-year-old frame looked like an undeveloped blade of grass next to the girl, and strands of golden hair slipped in front of his eyes with the movement. "What can she do? Help me carry my bag?"
The girl didn't speak, but simply let her hands hang down, her gaze fixed on the melting ice water puddle at Orm's feet, as if she were studying something.
Her right hand was always close to her waist, where the hilt of the knife was wrapped with cloth again and again, and the hilt was polished to a shine.
With her ponytail hanging down to one side, the exposed neckline was sharp and clean, like a meticulously polished blade.
The father's voice deepened, "Don't be like the previous ones, always causing trouble."
The first few? Orm sneered inwardly. Those "troubles" that she stuffed ice shards into his collar and sprinkled itching powder on his headband were clearly things he couldn't handle.
She glanced at the scars on the girl's arm—three parallel, shallow marks on the outside of her forearm, the new flesh lighter in color than the surrounding skin, which looked a bit frightening.
Then look at that jet-black ponytail, so different from her family's signature blonde hair, it's like a blob of ink sunk to the bottom of the water.
After their father left, only the two of them remained on the training ground. The wind swirled fallen leaves past their feet, but the girl remained motionless, her ponytail hanging down her back like a black bamboo rooted in the soil.
Orm suddenly felt irritated. She clenched her fist, chakra surged up her arm, and an ice ball the size of a pigeon's egg instantly formed in her palm. Without aiming, she casually tossed it towards the girl's feet.
With a "smack," the puck exploded near the girl's shoe, splashing icy water that soaked her trouser legs.
The girl's body didn't even sway. She just looked down at the wet spot, then looked up at Orm, her eyes devoid of emotion, as if she were looking at a piece of ice that had fallen to the ground.
She raised her hand to tuck the stray hairs that had fallen in front of her eyes behind her ear. Her ponytail swayed slightly with the movement, and the ends of her hair brushed against the scabbard at her waist.
"Hey," Orm raised his voice deliberately, "Are you scared out of your wits? The first few people who got hit in the leg by my hockey puck were crying and begging to go home."
The girl then moved, bending down to pick up a leaf that had been soaked by ice water at her feet. She twirled the leaf halfway between her fingers and said, "Miss Orm's ice technique is much more stable than the one she practiced in the warehouse last week."
Orm's heart skipped a beat. She had been secretly practicing her magic in the warehouse last week, and she had clearly locked the door—how did she know?
"You're spying on me?" Orm's voice sharpened, and the ice crystals in his palms began to freeze again. "Like those rats hiding behind trees?"
The girl tossed aside the fallen leaves and patted the water off her hands: "The patriarch instructed me to follow you and ensure your safety."
"Security?" Orm chuckled in exasperation, ice shards swirling between her fingers. "I think it's surveillance, isn't it?"
She suddenly took two steps forward, and her Ice Release chakra exploded violently, instantly freezing the ground and climbing up the girl's ankles—this was a new trick she had practiced. She still remembered how the "guardian" who always peeked at her doing her homework had frozen her with this move last time, and how he had jumped up and down in a comical way.
But just as Ke Bing crawled over the girl's ankle, she lifted her foot to avoid it.
Instead of jumping away in a panic, he steadily took half a step back, and at the same time gently pressed his hand on the ice. The thin ice cracked into pieces with a "crack".
Her movements were very light, but her ponytail rose in a neat arc as she turned to the side, like the wings of a blackbird spreading.
Orm was stunned. This method... was unlike that of an ordinary guard.
The girl's fingertips were covered in ice shards. She didn't wipe them off, but just looked at Orm and said, "Your Ice Release is still unstable. Don't always use it near your feet, or you'll slip."
"Mind your own business!" Orm's face flushed slightly. He turned and walked deeper into the training ground, deliberately making a "rustling" sound as he stepped on the fallen leaves. After a few steps, he realized there was no movement behind him.
She turned around and saw the girl still standing there, her gaze fixed on the spot where she had just practiced her magic, where a few unmelted ice beads lay scattered.
Sunlight shone on her ponytail, giving her jet-black hair a faint sheen, and the old scar on her forehead was edged with gold, making it appear somewhat soft.
Orm suddenly stopped and deliberately bumped into the girl as he turned around—the girl seemed to have anticipated this and stepped aside.
As he stepped back half a step, he gently pressed his hand on the ice, and the thin layer of ice cracked into pieces with a "crack".
As she turned to the side, her ponytail drew a clean arc in the air, like a black ribbon gliding through the air.
Orm watched as Ling thwarted her little trick once again. She glared at the girl, turned around, and continued walking forward, without making any more moves.
Sunlight filtered through the sycamore leaves, casting a long shadow behind her. Her golden hair and black ponytail swayed gently in the wind, like two small snakes that had temporarily ceased their battle.
Ling followed three steps behind, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the strip of cloth on the hilt of her sword—it was a piece of cloth she had torn off when she was 11 years old and was cut by an enemy's kunai during her first mission. She had used it to temporarily wrap herself after washing it many times, and the cloth had become brittle.
The dark blue cloth ribbon she used to tie her ponytail was also made of the same material, polished to a shine, but tied very tightly to ensure that no threads would get in the way when she was cutting.
She looked at the small, hopping figure in front of her, its golden hair shimmering in the sunlight like a small, burning flame.
Her gaze was as calm as a deep pool, only her tightly tied ponytail betrayed her constantly tense nerves.
The patriarch said that Orm is a pure bloodline that appears only once in a century and must be carefully protected. As for those predecessors she "took away"... most of them hadn't received proper training and couldn't even withstand this little trick.
Ling let out a soft breath, suppressing those irrelevant thoughts.
When performing a task, there is no need to think about "why," only "doing it."
This was a lesson she learned through countless scrapes and scars during those days filled with only training and missions.
Her gaze fell on Orm's swaying blonde hair, as if staring at a target that had to be protected, her expression utterly calm.
The ice needles that had been quietly forming between Orm's fingers were ultimately not thrown out. She simply dropped them on the ground as she turned away, watching them being crushed into dust by the girl's shoe.
"Boring," she muttered to herself, then turned and ran into the shade of the trees deep within the training field.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a long shadow behind her, followed closely by another, slightly taller shadow. Her black ponytail swayed gently in the shadows as it disappeared into the darkness.
Hidden deep in the shadows of the trees is a dilapidated wooden swing, left behind by my mother before she passed away. Now the iron chains are stiff with rust, and the wooden planks are missing corners.
Orm stared at the swing for a moment, her fingertips unconsciously curling up – the year her mother passed away, she had also gripped the swing chain like this, watching her father cover the plaque of the mourning hall with a black cloth, the sound of the cloth rubbing against each other overlapping with the creaking of the iron chains now.
She tugged at the chain twice, moving very gently, as if afraid of disturbing something.
The footsteps behind her stopped three steps away. Ling's gaze fell on her tense shoulders, and the dark blue hair ribbon swayed gently in the shadows without making a sound.
"Why are you following me? The swing won't explode." Orm's voice was a little muffled, and he didn't turn around.
Ling didn't say anything, but moved half a step to the side, standing in a place where the sun couldn't reach her.
The wind blew through the treetops, bringing down a few withered leaves, one of which landed right on Orm's blond hair.
Just as she was about to raise her hand to brush it away, she saw Ling's fingertips pause in front of her eyes, and in the end, she simply tilted her chin towards the top of her head and said in a very soft voice, "Ye Zi."
Orm paused, then reached out and touched the withered leaf, turning it halfway around in his hand.
The coolness on her fingertips reminded her of the ice needles that had just been crushed, and she felt inexplicably uneasy.
She threw the leaf on the ground and deliberately crushed it with the tip of her shoe: "Mind your own business."
Despite saying that, he didn't get off the swing; he just sat leaning against the chains, slowly swinging his legs.
By the time the swing had swung thirtieth time, the sunlight was already slanting across the sandy ground of the training field.
Orm's eyelids grew heavier and heavier. He had secretly practiced his magic until midnight last night, and now sleepiness was washing over him like a tide.
She shrank back onto the swing, her head against the chain, her golden hair falling down to cover half her face, and her breathing gradually softened.
The creaking of the chains gradually slowed down and finally stopped completely.
Ling's gaze fell on Orm's relaxed brows and eyes. After looking at her for a moment, she took off her dusty gray coat and gently draped it over Orm's shoulder.
The jacket smelled of dust from the training ground, but it was surprisingly clean, with some white cotton lint showing through the frayed cuffs.
Her ponytail drooped down to her chest as she lowered her head, the dark blue hairband brushing against Orm's hair tips, as if afraid of waking something, so lightly it was almost silent.
When Orm opened his eyes again, dusk had already fallen over the courtyard wall.
"Awake? It's time to go back." Ling's voice was very soft, just falling into her ear.
Orm blinked, and as he prepared to get up, he felt a heavy weight on his shoulder—it was a coat.
She looked up at the girl three steps away. The girl was wearing thin training clothes, and the scars on her forearms were faintly visible in the twilight.
It's obvious whose it is.
Orm frowned, ripped off his coat, and tossed it toward Ling: "Who wants to wear your tattered clothes?"
The coat traced a shallow arc in the air. Ling caught it with her hand, her fingertips pinching the worn cuff, without saying a word.
Orm stumbled as she stood up—her leg was numb. She steadied herself by holding onto the swing set and saw a withered leaf on the swing board, the one she had just run over.
"I'm leaving." She walked out of the courtyard without looking back, and didn't try to quicken her pace.
The footsteps behind me followed at a moderate distance, until we reached the courtyard gate, and then no further words were spoken.
...
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~ Naruto: Reborn in the Sand Village as a Magnet Release Puppeteer ~
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(End of Chapter)