Time quietly passed in the hazy cycle of an infant eating, sleeping, then eating again.
Shaye's consciousness drifted between wakefulness and unconsciousness, wrapped most of the time in intense weakness and drowsiness. He could clearly feel that this premature body was like a battered little boat, struggling not to sink amid the storms of life. Every breath carried a faint rasp, and his hands and feet were often cold, requiring his father, Shaliu, to repeatedly wrap and rub them with warm cloth.
Most of the time, he lay in a crude cradle. Through the gaps in the door curtain, he could see the yellow-brown world outside and hear the ever-present howling of the wind and sand. Shaliu took good care of him. Though the man was still drowning in immense grief, his eyes often vacant and his movements somewhat sluggish from exhaustion and sorrow, he never neglected Shaye's feeding or care. Even across the thirty-year gap between their souls, Shaye could still feel that silent, clumsy fatherly love.
That day, Shaye remained awake for an unusually long time. He was trying hard to control his tiny hand, attempting to grab a simple ornament hanging from the side of his cradle—something Shaliu had fashioned from discarded puppet parts.
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the village seemed to change.
An invisible tension spread through the air. In the distance came the faint sound of more urgent bells, along with dense, hurried footsteps unlike usual. Even the howling wind outside the window seemed unable to suppress the oppressive feeling of an approaching storm.
Shaliu was sitting by the table, polishing something that looked like a puppet arm component. It was odd work he had brought back from the Logistics Unit, enough to earn a meager subsidy without interfering with caring for his child. His movements suddenly stopped. He tilted his head to listen, his brows tightly furrowed.
Then a rapid set of footsteps stopped outside the door.
"Shaliu! Is Squad Leader Shaliu here?" a young, anxious voice called.
Shaliu immediately rose and opened the door. Outside stood a teenage ninja, a Sunagakure forehead protector on his brow, his face flushed from running and carrying a trace of barely concealed nervousness.
"What is it, Liang Ma?" Shaliu recognized him as the Genin who often delivered messages.
"An emergency mobilization order!" Liang Ma spoke at a breakneck pace. "The situation in the Land of Rain has suddenly changed! That bastard Hanzō has declared war on the Lands of Fire, Wind, and Earth at the same time! The war has fully erupted! Lord Kazekage has ordered all available combat personnel to enter the highest state of readiness immediately. Some squads have already begun marching toward the Land of Rain border!"
Shaliu's heart sank. Though he had transferred to logistics, his ninja instincts remained. The Second Shinobi World War had begun long ago, but until now it had mostly consisted of localized conflicts and probing attacks. A forceful declaration of war from Salamander Hanzo, the leader of Amegakure, undoubtedly meant that the flames of war would escalate on every front and grow even more brutal.
"I understand," Shaliu said, his voice somewhat hoarse. "What about the Logistics Unit's Maintenance Unit?"
"The elders have ordered every logistics division to operate at full capacity and ensure the supply of frontline puppets and materials! You may receive more specific orders very soon!" Liang Ma quickly finished speaking and gave a salute. "The message has been delivered. I need to go to the next house!"
The boy turned and sprinted away, leaving Shaliu standing silently in the doorway for a long while, staring at the village shrouded in wind and sand, yet somehow filled with a grim, murderous air.
Shaye listened quietly from his cradle. Although he could not understand the specific ninja orders, the anxious tone and his father's heavy reaction made him realize that something major had happened.
War... he sighed inwardly. As someone from a peaceful era, he had only an abstract understanding of the word. But in this world—especially in this seemingly desolate ninja village—he scarcely dared imagine what war truly meant. With this frail body of his, he probably was not even qualified to serve as cannon fodder.
Over the following days, the atmosphere in the village grew increasingly tense. More and more ninja squads departed, while those who remained hurried about with purpose. Shaliu spent noticeably more time at the Logistics Unit. Whenever he returned, he carried the scent of exhaustion and machine oil, and his brows were drawn tighter than before.
Occasionally, wounded ninja were sent back to the village. Even from far away, their miserable appearances and muffled groans could be faintly heard, casting an even deeper shadow over the village.
From fragmentary conversations between Shaliu and Elder Chiyo, who occasionally came to visit, Shaye also picked up scraps of information. He heard Shaliu mention a name in a heavy voice touched by fear—"Konoha's White Fang." It seemed that a terrifying Konoha ninja named Hatake Sakumo was repeatedly devastating Sunagakure's forces like a sharp blade.
One day, Shaliu returned especially late. His face was frighteningly pale, and he even forgot to feed Shaye. He simply sat blankly in the darkness.
Only when Elder Chiyo appeared at the doorway once more did he stir. Her expression was colder and darker than ever before.
"...The mission failed." Chiyo's voice held no fluctuation, yet carried a deathly stillness. "They... encountered the White Fang."
Shaliu abruptly raised his head. His lips trembled, but no sound came out.
"To create an opportunity for their companions to retreat, they... died in battle." Chiyo closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. "They were heroes of the village."
Shaye understood. Among those who had died were likely people Shaliu knew, perhaps even respected. The cruelty of war had struck this sorrow-filled little home in the most direct way.
Later, Shaye pieced together a fuller picture from the villagers' scattered, hate-filled discussions. To break the deadlock, the Third Kazekage had opened a new battlefield and sent out the village's highly anticipated genius puppet master couple—Sasori's parents—to carry out a top-secret mission to ambush Konoha. However, at the border of the Land of Rivers, they encountered that demon-like Konoha's White Fang and ultimately both perished.
It was said that the surviving companion who brought back the news was still drowning in overwhelming guilt and terror.
Shaye also learned that the fallen couple had left behind a five-year-old son—Sasori. The Sasori of the Red Sands who would one day become renowned throughout the Ninja World.
Sasori's parents... so this was when they died. Shaye lay in his cradle, staring at the dim ceiling as ripples stirred in his heart. He knew this part of the story, but he had not expected so much to happen in the very year he was born. War, death, the seeds of hatred... all of it had occurred in the same year as his birth.
He did not yet know that, in the same year, several names who would one day shake the world had also just been born in distant Konoha: Might Guy, Obito Uchiha, Kakashi, Rin Nohara... as well as Mei Terumi and Zabuza Momochi of Kirigakure.
They had been born in the first year of war. From this moment onward, the gears of fate had already begun to turn slowly, grinding toward a predetermined path filled with gunpowder smoke, blood, and tears.
Compared to them, he, a premature infant of Sunagakure, seemed like an insignificant grain of sand caught in a raging gale. Where would the future carry him?
Shaye felt an even deeper sense of helplessness. Along with the instinctive weakness of his body, he sank into another deep sleep.
Outside the window, the wind and sand of Sunagakure in the Land of Wind continued to rage, but they seemed to carry the rusty scent of blood.
Year 37 of Konoha. The Second Shinobi World War erupted.
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