His home lay in shambles, plumes of smoke rising in front of his eyes, floating away from buildings razed to dust and ash. His heart thumped one time in his chest, the muscles in his legs twitched as he moved forward jumping into the crater before his thoughts could register what his eyes had seen. He moved faster than he had ever moved before. He saw bodies, limbs discarded and stained grey. The boy had seen death before, dealing it himself on numerous occasions. Such is the life of a Shinobi. But he never thought his village...the child let out a strained cry as he vaulted over debris piecing together the routes in his head. His clan's estate was in the far stretches of the village as it was also where the village's headquarters and main office were stationed making it less likely that whatever had reduced the inner village to shambles would have gotten there. He prayed, in some deep recess of his consciousness behind the panic and anxiety that grew with every passing moment he was praying to find someone -anyone- just one survivor...and he was finding none. Just the empty eyes of so many familiar faces...his family.
His village was large, the size of a small city. The head Clan the Kitsune had long opened their borders beyond solely their own clan, they offered shelter and refuge to all in need, no matter the clan or heritage. It was noticed within the Shinobi world as a haven. The most peaceful of villages in the Land of Ember.
So why?
His crystal eyes locked onto the estate, mostly intact, a recent battle had been fought...Akiro could smell fresh blood. He rushed through the gates into the courtyard forcing himself to not look at the bodies around him. He forced himself to prioritize. He saw a door open causing him to slide to a stop mid-stride, he looked up, the stranger wasn't facing him, he donned a long black cloak that spread past his legs and billowed in the wind. A mandala was stitched on the back, showing nine different circles. Nine different paths.
As Akiro began to get a better look he saw crimson staining the black.
He instantly reached in his pack and sent a volley of kunai sailing to the intruder's exposed back.No movements were made but his projectiles never hit their target, halting in movement inches before they would have struck flesh.
A head turned showing part of a mask, he saw no eye yet he could feel one staring at him. The masked man turned fully towards Akiro now. He wore a Kitsune mask on his face obscuring his face from view. His gaze hurt, almost as if he was boring holes into Akiro's head.
He took a step forward and his head tilted as he sized up the young shinobi in front of him. His cloak began to drift over his head, a powerful chakra emanating around him stirring up dirt and the rusty smell of blood. He spoke, his voice unreal, deep and yet high, gruff like sandpaper but somehow as sleek as silk and smooth as an unrippled pool of water. It sent shivers of fear down his spine.
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