Menma Uzumaki

The vendor, known by most as Old man Rōjin, watched the masked stranger depart, his eye narrowed in thought. He'd seen a lot of strange things in his years in this village.

"

He scooped up the ryo, the weight of the bills a comforting feeling in his calloused hand. It was more money than he'd made in a week, enough to buy a few extra blankets, maybe even some medicine for his ailing joints.

Shaking his head as he collected the empty bowl.

'Snake meat isn't cheap,' he mused, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. He glanced at the remaining skewers, their charred scales glistening under the dim light. He'd have to thank Lord Orochimaru for the supply, though the thought of the man sent a familiar shiver down his spine.

He turned back to his stall, wiping down the counter with a rag that had seen better days. The village was quiet today, the usual murmur of voices replaced by an unsettling stillness. Even the shadows seemed to cling tighter to the buildings, as if afraid of something.

"Old man!"

Rōjin turned to see a young girl, no older than fourteen, standing at the entrance of the stall. Her hair was a vibrant shade of violet, pulled back in a messy bun, and her eyes, the color of charcoal, were narrowed in annoyance. She was small for her age, but there was a sharpness to her features, a hardness in her gaze, that made her seem older. She wore a simple, patched-up kimono, and her bare feet were covered in dust.

"What is it, brat?" he grunted, though there was a fondness in his voice that he tried to hide.

She was one of the few in the village who still held a spark of defiance, a refusal to completely submit to the oppressive atmosphere. It was in the way she held herself, the way she met his gaze without flinching. "Heard you had a visitor," she said, her voice soft but firm. She gestured with her chin towards the direction a person had gone. "The masked one."

"Just a hungry traveler," Rōjin replied, his tone noncommittal. "Paid well, too."

She raised an eyebrow, a skeptical look on her face. "In this place? Nobody just 'passes through.'"

"He seemed harmless enough," Rōjin said, though he knew it wasn't entirely true. There was nothing harmless about the power that radiated from that masked man.

"Harmless?" She scoffed, leaning against the counter. "He carries the scent of the Lair, Old Man. Like he's been steeped in it."

She paused, Her gaze lingered on the Serpent's Shrine, its eerie green eye casting long, watchful shadows across the village, before she turned back to Rōjin. "Did he say what he wanted?"

"Food," Rōjin replied simply. "And he paid for it. More than he owed, even." He patted the pouch at his side, the ryo a reassuring weight.

She was silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on some distant point. Then, she turned back to him, her eyes narrowed. "Be careful, Old Man," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Things are changing in the village. Something's coming."

Before he could question her further, she pushed herself off the counter and darted away, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as she had come.

Rōjin watched her go, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach. He'd heard those rumors too, whispers of strange experiments, of new arrivals in the Lair, of Orochimaru's growing ambition. He tried to dismiss them as idle gossip, but the girl's words, and the look in her eyes, had struck a chord of fear within him.

He sighed, turning back to his stall. He had stew to keep warm, and a snake to finish selling. He couldn't afford to worry about rumors, not when survival was a daily struggle.

He glanced in the direction the masked stranger had gone. The Man shrugged and went back to work.

"

"

"

Menma wandered through the village, his dark cloak swaying slightly as he moved.

The village was quiet, but not in the peaceful way. It was the kind of silence that came with watchful eyes, whispers behind closed doors. Menma's mask made him blend in to some degree, most villagers took one look and assumed he was just another shinobi from the Lair.

He moved between the crude stalls and small shops, keeping his ears open as he listened to the hushed conversations around him.

"...another one went missing," a woman whispered to her companion, her hands trembling as she clutched a small bundle of herbs. "akuma said it happened near the northern edge of the forest. No one saw anything, Natosan wife just… gone."

Her companion, a hunched man with a nervous twitch, shook his head. "You know better than to ask questions. If the Lair took them, there's nothing we can do. Best to keep your head down."

Menma slowed his steps, pretending to inspect a nearby stall while straining to hear more. 'The Lair,' he thought. 'Orochimaru's domain. Looks like people vanish pretty regularly around here.'

Further down the path, he overheard a pair of shinobi talking in low tones. Their black cloaks bore faint symbols of Otogakure, and their weapons were strapped tightly to their backs.

"Lord Orochimaru's been in a good mood lately," one said, his voice gruff.

"Yeah," the other replied. "Probably because of the upcoming Chunin Exa—"

The shinobi stopped abruptly, noticing Menma. They exchanged a suspicious glance.

Menma pretended to be examining a nearby rock, feigning casual interest in its details. He kept his back mostly turned to them.

The two ninja, still eyeing him with suspicion, resumed their conversation in hushed tones for a moment before moving on.

Once they were out of earshot, Menma thought, 'The Chunin Exams? That gives me a solid reference point. If Orochimaru is preparing for the exams, then he hasn't made his move on Konoha yet.'

After wandering for hours, Menma finally found a small inn nestled near the edge of the village. The building looked just as run-down as the rest of the place, with crooked walls and faintly flickering lanterns that barely illuminated the entrance.

He stepped inside, the wooden floor creaking under his feet. The innkeeper, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and gray streaks in her hair, glanced up from behind the counter.

"You need a room?" she asked, her tone weary but polite.

Menma nodded, pulling a small handful of ryo from his pouch. "Yeah. Just for the night."

The woman took the money, her eyes lingering on his mask for a moment before handing him a key. "Second floor, third door on the right. Don't make trouble."

"Sure," Menma replied, his voice neutral.

The room was small and sparsely furnished, a single bed with a threadbare blanket, a wooden table, and a mirror mounted on the wall. Menma locked the door behind him, leaning his back against it with a sigh.

He dropped his mask onto the table and collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The events of the day played over in his mind.

'What year is it?,' he wondered, running a hand through his hair. His memories of the Naruto timeline were clear, but fragmented, especially when it came to dates and months.

If Orochimaru's planning for the exams, then Sasuke and Naruto should still be Genin, he reasoned. 'The Land of Waves arc... is that still happening? Or did I miss it? Haku and Zabuza could still be out there.'

The thought made him sit up, his mind racing. If the Land of Waves arc was still ongoing, then he wasn't far from one of the most pivotal moments in the timeline. But if it had already passed…

'I need more information,' he thought to himself. 'If I can figure out where I am in the story, I can start planning. Right now, I'm blind.' A moment of silence stretched, broken only by the sound of his own breathing. His eyes drifted to the mask on the table. Land of Waves... The name echoed in his mind. 'Is it still happening?' The dark chakra within him pulsed faintly, a silent response to his question.

If the Land of Waves arc was still happening, maybe he could find a way to confirm it.