Main World.
Summer, Year 30 of Konoha.
At the edge of an unremarkable oasis on Rōran's border.
A few tents stood scattered across the sand, their dull gray color almost blending into the surrounding earth. Their fabric was badly worn, with several spots along the edges patched in rough stitches, uneven and sewn with mismatched thread. A few garments washed pale hung outside the tents, drying completely with a gust of wind. Sand settled on them, but a quick dusting left them ready to wear again. The cooking smoke was faint, as thin as a grayish-white thread, torn apart by the wind before it rose very far.
This was one of the places where the Uzumaki clanspeople had taken temporary shelter. After fleeing the Land of Whirlpools, they had avoided the main roads, choosing instead to stop along deserted edges of the desert, in remote mountains, and among the ruins of abandoned villages. They traveled for a while, then rested for a while, with no clear destination. Some said they should go to the Land of Fire, others to the Land of Lightning, and others out to sea. Those who traveled had scattered; those still alive kept walking.
When Toyotomi Ryukōshi stepped into the camp, his clothes were clean and his pace unhurried, but he was noticed the moment he set foot there. It was not because of his chakra fluctuations, but because his bearing did not fit anything around him. His clothes were made of fine fabric, smooth and free of patches or wear. Everything here, by contrast, was old, torn, and mended.
Several Uzumaki clanspeople rose warily, their hands resting on their weapons, neither drawing them nor lowering their hands. They had never seen this child before, but they recognized the fabric and workmanship of his clothes-neither was