Years went by. The boy slowly grew. But strange events kept happening all around him.
It all started with a whisper-the water from his cup rose and hovered mid-air, a light frost slowly spread across it.
The other orphans gasped, then laughed, and it suddenly rained down on him. "Naruto's new demon friend!" one shouted. But Naruto didn't laugh. He stared, wide-eyed, at Shorai.
They were both outcasts. Naruto, the Jinchuriki, ignored and spat upon. Shorai, the quiet boy with unusual turquoise eyes and brown hair streaked with white, watched too closely by Matrons who didn't understand his slips in reality—how toys reappeared, how bullies suddenly tripped with no one near them.
Day after day, they endured the orphanage—lessons, cold meals, silence—until the crucial moment to finally leave it behind. At night, Shorai sat by the window, mind empty as he played, fingers tracing the air, bending light into shapes only Naruto saw. "Is that… real?" Naruto whispered once, watching a floating moon replica made of shimmering distortion. "Feels real," Shorai replied.
The Matrons feared what they couldn't control. Reports went to the Third's office. ANBU shadows lingered at the edge of the yard. But no one came to take him. At least, not yet.
At five years old, Shorai finally awoke to a world only he could see. That night, memories surged back-of a shadowed figure, neither kind nor cruel, who had offered him a choice before birth.
"You may have your wish, your inherent body, your time, your world. But power demands balance. What will you risk?"
He asked for Lightning, Wind, and Water to flow through his blood. His destination—Konoha, born at the same time as Naruto, to follow closely. And for power beyond nature, he wished for Aether, a solidified force capable of altering and reshaping reality itself—until deactivated.
This figure agreed to several conditions: first, the remaining five stones would be cast into the world, dormant, scattered across the lands, hidden in places, sealed in relics. They couldn't be sensed, unless interacted, and they would only come to life when Shorai's power awakened. Second, until then, he would remember nothing. Third, any mention or discovery of his past life through him would trigger the immediate loss of Aether, the erasure of his memory. Fourth, Reality can bring hidden consequences-unknown even to him.
Now, risen from a dream, he sat on the bed, sweating, the air flickering around him. An invisible wave pulsed outward. Walls breathed. Time stuttered.
Naruto woke up from a sudden disturbance, rubbing his sleepy eyes in disbelief. "W-wha-a-t was that?" Naruto stammered, blinking. "Did… did you do that?"
Shorai didn't turn. A faint smile touched his lips. He immediately focused inward, shutting down the power.
Lights flickered, shadows bent slightly, and the calmness returned to the dorm, as if nothing had happened.
"S-sho.."
"You're talking in your sleep again, Naruto. It was just your dream."
"Eh?"
Ignoring the puzzled orphan, Shorai slowly slid back into a lying position, eyes closed, mind already turning inward. The Aether pulsed beneath his ribs—a quiet storm, caged but awake. He focused on its presence, learning its patterns. Each breath steadied it. An ingot now silent, waiting only for his will. Then, softer, barely a whisper: "But it is a reality to me."
Outside, lightning split the sky. Rain began to fall. The seal had broken. The stones would soon stir.
Since that night, and each one following, he practiced: a flicker of distortion in the air, then suppression. A whisper of warped sound, then silence. No tremor. No light. No trace.
The Matrons noticed less with each passing day. Strange noises? Just the wind. A mirror showing something off? Reflections played tricks. The mind, they said, sees what it fears.
By dawn, Shorai was already moving—silent laps around the yard, fists clenched. He mimicked the older orphans, calling it "endurance drills." At night, he sat cross-legged, or lay still when Matrons passed, not in sleep, but in meditation—breathing deep, stomach rising. Some whispered, "Self-taught, eh?" To anyone watching, it looked like stillness. Discipline. Nothing more.
As time passed, his control over the Aether was not through chakra, but will—a silent command from mind to stone. At first, activation brought tremors: flickering lights, warped air, surreal distortions. He learned to dampen the surge, to pull the power like a breath held deep, releasing it in invisible pulses. No flash. No sound. Only a shift in the air, gone before it was noticed.
He began to sense chakra—not as a shinobi, but as a current beneath his skin. He focused on its flow, imagining it like rain spreading through soil. He practiced guiding it: to his hands and then just to fingers, his feet and then just to toes, his eyes—learning its weight, its rhythm. Leaf Concentration Practice became his secret method: a leaf on his forehead, not to stick, but to feel—to direct chakra without movement, without strain.
The Matrons noticed nothing. Naruto saw something else. But neither could name it.
A year passed. Now a week after Shorai turned six, he was handed a key—small, rusted, stamped with a floor and apartment number. No ceremony. No farewell. Just a nudge toward the Orphan Apartments, where children lived alone but never unwatched.
He stepped into his new room—a single space with a bed, desk, and window facing the training yard. No shared dorm. No curious eyes. Just silence.
On the floor below, a retired veteran shinobi—the Floor Caretaker—kept silent watch. He oversaw ten orphans, ensuring they were fed, safe, and learning. For Academy-bound kids like Shorai, he taught basic chakra control, weapon handling, and life skills—everything clan-born children learned at home.
But Shorai was no longer in the open. Here, he could breathe.
Finally. Perfect.
He spent time refining the Aether's activation: a thought, a breath, and the stone answered—no tremor, no light. He bent reality in slivers: shifting shadows, delaying sound, warping a drop of water mid-fall. Then sealed it, flawlessly.
Chakra flowed easier now. He guided it through his limbs, testing balance, endurance. Leaf exercises evolved—holding chakra in his palms, then feet, then eyes, mimicking sensory training. He practiced falling slowly, as if gravity hesitated.
The caretaker showed mild interest, noticing the boy's early morning routine. "Kid's got focus," he muttered. "Not prodigy-level. Just… disciplined."
Naruto visited sometimes, bouncing through the halls. "Hey! come out and play! Huh, you're still doing that weird quiet thing?"
Shorai smiled and gave a lazy wave. "Just training. No time to play."