Eyes Awakened

Barlow and Mila walked out of the woods one after the other, then stopped at the same time.

Roy stood beside the water vat behind the house, washing his hands.

His sleeves were rolled up past his forearms, and his hands were submerged in the water. The water running from between his fingers was a pale red.

There was blood on his collar as well, streaking diagonally down from his neckline as though something had splashed onto him.

But it was not the blood that made Barlow and Mila stop.

It was his eyes.

Hearing their footsteps, Roy looked up.

His pupils had turned blood-red, with two black Tomoe floating on each iris.

Barlow's pupils constricted.

Instinctively, he glanced behind Roy. No one had followed him. There were no bloodstains, no signs of anything being dragged.

His gaze lingered on the path behind the house for half a second before he withdrew it, only after confirming there was nothing unusual.

Mila took two steps forward and stared into Roy's eyes.

"Did you kill someone?"

Roy pulled his hands from the water vat and wiped them on his pants. The wet stains spread over the dark fabric, blending with the blood already there.

"Yeah."

His voice was lower than usual.

"How many?"

"More than ten, I think."

Barlow walked over to the water vat and looked down at the water inside.

The surface had already been dyed pale red, reflecting the last streak of sunset at the horizon. Red upon red. He reached out and brushed aside a leaf floating on the water.

"Start from the beginning."

Roy lowered his sleeves. His movements were slower than usual, as though he were making sure his hands still obeyed him.

He had trained in the woods all afternoon.

Just as he had every afternoon for the past year. First refining chakra, then practicing swordsmanship.

Then, as usual, he went to the shore.

Because he trained in the woods until evening every day, he no longer took the longer route to the beach he usually visited. Instead, he followed the small path behind the house, passed through a patch of White Wax Forest, and went to a gravel beach on the other side of the island.

That beach was difficult to walk on. The sand was coarse, the stones were plentiful, and hardly anyone wanted to go there, but it was close.

When he reached Gravel Beach today, he saw a ship.

It was not large, with a single mast and several holes in its sail. One side of the hull bore obvious cannon damage, and the keel was likely badly damaged as well. Its waterline sat noticeably higher than normal.

A flag hung from the bow. It had a black background and a symbol he did not recognize: a skull, crossed bones, and a crooked crown.

A pirate flag.

Barlow had taught him that merchant ships flew merchant flags, the Marines flew seagull flags, and pirates flew skull flags.

Barlow had also said that if he saw a skull flag, he should leave. Do not look back. Do not get curious.

Roy hid behind a reef.

Seven or eight people disembarked from the ship, followed by several more. There were more than ten in total.

They lit a fire on the beach and carried down the few remaining barrels of fresh water and dry provisions from the ship.

Some of them cursed, saying that Marine colonel's warship had far too much firepower. Three ships had been sunk, and only this one had escaped.

Others said the captain was dead, as was the first mate, and only this dozen or so people remained.

Someone said they should rest and recover on this island for two days, then...

"Then we loot this island."

The speaker was a One-Eyed Dragon, with a curved saber hanging at his waist. More than half the lacquer on its sheath had worn away.

He sat beside the fire, poking at the burning wood with the tip of his blade.

"An island this small probably doesn't even have a garrison. We'll loot it once—food, fresh water, Beli, take everything we can. Once the ship is repaired, we leave."

Someone beside him asked, "What about the people?"

One-Eyed Dragon glanced at him.

"What people?"

"The people on the island."

One-Eyed Dragon said nothing and continued poking at the firewood.

Another person beside him answered in his place, with the same tone one might use to discuss dinner.

"Kill the ones who get in the way. Keep the ones who don't to carry things. Don't touch the women until after we've finished looting."

People around the fire laughed.

Roy crouched behind the reef.

The sea breeze carried their words to his ears, one sentence at a time.

He heard every word clearly. His heartbeat began to accelerate from its normal rhythm. It was not fear, but something more primal, something rising from the depths of his body.

He thought of the people in town.

To be honest, the townspeople had treated him well. The dockworkers always shared some snacks with him whenever they saw him, and the grocery store owner always gave him a little extra change, saying Marcus's child had it hard.

But even if one of them were to die someday, Roy would only sigh and say it was a pity. They had been a good person.

Then he thought of his father, Damian, Barlow, and Mila.

What if they died?

Roy did not dare think about it.

He looked at those people and reached into his pocket.

He had two shuriken in there, carved by hand from white wax wood.

He stood up and stepped out from behind the reef.

No one noticed him. The people around the fire were still talking, still laughing.

Just like during practice. Just like every afternoon for the past year.

Roy threw the shuriken.

The two wooden hidden weapons traced nearly parallel arcs through the air. There was no sound, only the faint hiss of sea wind being cut apart.

One struck the back of a pirate's neck as he faced away from Roy. The pirate did not even make a sound. His body tilted forward slightly before he fell face-first onto the sand.

The other struck the side of a second pirate's neck.

The angle was slightly off. It did not sever the artery, but it cut open his windpipe.

The man clutched his neck and fell to his knees. Air leaked from his throat, while blood poured through the gaps between his fingers.

The laughter around the fire stopped.

Roy had already charged forward.

He drew the short blade from his waist, its surface reflecting the last glimmer of the setting sun.

The third pirate stood and turned around. Before his hand could reach the hilt of his weapon, Roy's blade had already stabbed diagonally upward beneath his left ribs, its tip piercing out near his right shoulder blade.

When Roy pulled out the knife, blood sprayed out with the blade, splattering all over him.

From his collar to the front of his clothes.

As the third man fell, Roy raised his head.

He felt something crack inside his eyes.

Something deeper, as though it were being torn apart from within.

Scorching heat surged up from the depths of his eyeballs, spreading back along his optic nerves, and then the whole world changed.

He could see every person's breathing.

One-Eyed Dragon was drawing his saber. The muscles in his right arm were contracting, his wrist was turning, and the blade was sliding out of its sheath inch by inch. Every detail of every movement had slowed down, broken apart, and become as clear as frame after frame of a picture.

The pirate standing to the left of the fire was backing away. His weight rested on his left foot, his right heel had lifted off the ground, and his body leaned slightly back. His next move was probably to turn and run.

Everything.

Poured into him at once.

Then that voice spoke.

It was exactly the same as the one he had heard in his dream. It did not enter through his ears. It appeared directly in the depths of his mind.

Low and slow, like a stone sinking into deep water.

"Go. Show them the power of the Uchiha."