Menma Uzumaki

The girl's hands trembled as she balanced the tray of food, careful not to let the bowl of steaming rice and vegetables slide off. She was no more than eight, her frame slight and wiry, her brown hair tied into a loose braid. She kept her eyes down as she walked through the dimly lit corridors of Otogakure, her soft footsteps barely echoing against the stone floors.

The tray held a simple meal steaming rice, a small portion of vegetables, and a cup of water. It wasn't much, but it was more than she usually carried. This food was meant for someone important. Someone new.

Her bare feet made soft, barely audible taps on the stone floor. She kept her head down as she navigated the twisting tunnels, her braid swaying with each step. The dim light from the torches cast long, dancing shadows that made the walls seem alive. She hated the shadows. She hated the lair.

But most of all, she hated the silence.

She had seen him briefly the day before, his dark cloak and sharp gaze making him stand out from the usual faces in the village. His presence felt... unsettling. It wasn't fear, exactly, but an awareness of something dangerous, like standing too close to a knife.

The kitchen staff whispered about him, of course. "A new recruit," they said. "Brought here personally by Lord Orochimaru." That alone was enough to make him a curiosity. Orochimaru didn't waste time on people who weren't exceptional or useful.

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She stopped in front of a wooden door, her heart beating faster. This was the room of the newcomer. She didn't know much about him, only that he was strong. Strong enough that Lord Orochimaru himself had taken an interest. That was all she needed to know to be afraid.

She paused outside the door, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Then, she announced, "food."

The door creaked open, and she craned her neck to look up at the man who stood before her. He was tall, with dark blue eyes that were sharp and piercing. His expression was unreadable, but his presence felt heavy, like a storm cloud ready to break.

She averted her gaze, staring at the tray in her hands.

"Thanks," he said curtly, taking the tray.

She nodded, then turned and hurried away, her small feet pattering against the stone floor. She didn't look back. She never did.

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The girl's name was Akari, though few in Otogakure ever bothered to use it. Names weren't important here, not really. Most people called her "girl" or "kid" or didn't call her anything at all. She wasn't a shinobi, just one of the many "helpers" recruited to keep the village running. She delivered food, cleaned quarters, and fetched supplies from the storage rooms. Akari mind wandered. She had lived here for as long as she could remember, but it never felt like home.

"

As she walked, the narrow hallways of Otogakure seemed to stretch endlessly before her, twisting and turning like the coils of a snake. The flickering torches cast long, shifting shadows, and the occasional muffled sound from behind a closed door made her shiver.

Akira passed a group of shinobi in black cloaks, their faces obscured by masks. They paid her no mind as they moved with purpose, their whispered conversation unintelligible. She quickened her pace, keeping her head down.

Akari knew the layout of the lair better than most, having spent years running errands, delivering food, and cleaning rooms throughout Otogakure.

Though she wasn't allowed in the restricted areas, she had heard enough whispers to piece together the purpose of each part. Her days were simple: wake up, help in the kitchens, clean up the messes, and deliver food. Some of the shinobi treated her like a ghost, barely noticing her existence as she went about her tasks. Others weren't so kind, snapping at her if she was too slow or if their meal wasn't exactly right.

"

She entered the common area where others like her, non-shinobi residents, gathered to eat or rest. The space was sparse, with crude wooden tables and benches arranged in uneven rows. A few people sat huddled together, speaking in hushed tones.

She didn't stop. Akira avoided the common area when she could. It was a place where people whispered rumors, their voices low and fearful. She didn't like the way the adults talked, like they were always waiting for something terrible to happen.

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The training grounds were a vast, open chamber where Lord Orochimaru's shinobi trained. Akari passed the entrance often, though she never lingered. The sounds of combat echoed through the halls: the clash of metal, the thud of fists striking flesh, the occasional shout of pain.

She had peeked inside once, just for a moment. The walls were scorched and cracked, the floor pockmarked with craters. Shinobi moved like shadows, their strikes brutal and precise. Akari remembered seeing Sakon, one of the Sound Four, practicing against a younger shinobi. He had smiled as he knocked the boy to the ground. It wasn't a kind smile.

Akari least favorite part of Otogakure was the southern wing, where the laboratories were located. The air there was colder, the walls slick with condensation. She hated the sharp, acrid smell of chemicals that hung in the air, and the strange sounds that came from behind the heavy doors, muffled screams, guttural growls, and sometimes, worse.

She once saw a woman being dragged into one of the laboratories, her face pale and her eyes wide with terror. She had begged for mercy, her voice breaking, but the shinobi dragging her didn't even flinch. Akari had hidden behind a pillar, her small hands covering her ears. Her heart raced, and she pressed herself against the wall, willing herself to become invisible. The scream was followed by a low, guttural moan, then silence.

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The door opened suddenly, and she shrank back as a figure emerged. It was a shinobi in a long white coat, his hands stained with something dark. He didn't notice her as he walked briskly down the hall, muttering under his breath.

Akira swallowed hard and hurried away, her footsteps light and quick. She didn't want to know what happened in those rooms. She never did.

"

The living quarters, Akari room was small and bare, just like all the rooms in the lower levels of Otogakure. A single cot with a thin blanket, a wooden shelf that held a few trinkets, and a bucket of water for washing. It wasn't much, but it was hers.

The higher-ranking shinobi had better quarters larger rooms with more furnishings. But Akari had never been inside them. She wasn't allowed.

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Akari had learned to listen carefully. The adults thought she wasn't paying attention, but she always was. She knew that Otogakure wasn't a real village. It wasn't like the places she had heard about in stories, with bustling streets and friendly neighbors.

Otogakure was a tool. A hidden stronghold where Orochimaru could carry out his experiments and further his goals.

Mercenary Missions: Shinobi from Otogakure took on dangerous missions, gathering funds and resources for Orochimaru's work. They always left quietly and returned even quieter.

Experiments: The laboratories were the heart of Otogakure. Orochimaru's experiments required live subjects, rare ingredients, and specialized tools. Everything in the village revolved around supporting those experiments.

Secrecy and Defense: Otogakure's location was a closely guarded secret. The tunnels were filled with traps and seals, and shinobi patrolled constantly. Akira had heard that no one who found Otogakure by accident ever left alive, until today.

"

When Akari finally reached her room, she sat on the edge of her cot, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Every day in Otogakure felt like walking a tightrope. One wrong move, one mistake, and she could end up as another experiment. She had seen it happen before people who questioned orders or failed their tasks were taken away, never to be seen again.

As she stared at her hands, she thought of the newcomer. His presence was unsettling, but there was something about him that felt... different. Not like Lord Orochimaru or the others. He didn't seem cruel.

"Maybe he's not like them," she whispered to herself. "Or maybe he's worse."

The thought sent a chill down her spine, and she pulled the thin blanket over her shoulders. Sleep wouldn't come easily, but in Otogakure, it never did.