The Sand Guardian

A 7-year-old boy walked through the streets of Suna, dragging his feet across the hot sand. He had short, deep-blue hair and pronounced dark circles under his eyes. Dressed entirely in black with ninja sandals suited for his age, his black gaze swept over the passersby, showing no emotion, only a deep void.

Swish

The boy suddenly stopped, lifting his head toward the sound.

"Ninja…" he murmured before resuming his slow pace.

After a few minutes, he arrived in front of a large building. He studied it for a moment, his eyes scanning its details, then turned toward a group of children running joyfully toward the Ninja Academy.

"So, it finally begins…" he said softly, continuing to observe his surroundings.

"Are you joining the Academy too, Enma Kurosawa?"

Enma turned to the voice calling him. It was a boy with short red hair and gray eyes. His gaze, filled with a gentle melancholy, contrasted with the white scarf he wore, adding a touch of light to his black outfit and ninja sandals.

"Yes… It's been a while, Sasori," Enma replied, glancing briefly at him before resuming his walk toward the Academy. Sasori joined him, walking silently at his side.

Inside the classroom, Enma made his way to the back, followed closely by Sasori. Once seated, Enma noticed several students staring at Sasori with admiration, while their gazes toward him were filled with disgust or suspicion.

"I see you have admirers, Sasori," Enma said in a monotone voice.

"Yes," Sasori replied simply, indifferent to the stares.

The teacher then entered the classroom, immediately drawing the students' attention.

"Quiet, everyone. My name is Toroshi, and I'll be your instructor this year," he announced authoritatively.

He scanned the classroom, briefly pausing on each student, as though trying to gauge their abilities or secrets.

"Let's start with introductions. State your name and why you want to become a ninja."

The students stood one by one to introduce themselves. Some were shy, speaking in low tones, while others spoke with enthusiasm and pride.

When it was Sasori's turn, he stood calmly.

"Sasori Akasuna," he said, his composed voice and somber gaze captivating the class's attention. "I want to become a ninja to protect those who matter to me."

A murmur of admiration spread through the room. Enma averted his gaze, staring at some indeterminate point.

When his turn came, Enma rose slowly. An unusual silence fell over the class, but it wasn't out of respect. The stares fixed on him were tinged with suspicion, some even with hostility.

"Enma Kurosawa," he said in a neutral tone. "I want to become a ninja… because it's what's expected of me."

Some students exchanged puzzled looks. A girl with long black hair, sitting near the window, whispered to her neighbor: "He seems strange, doesn't he?"

Enma sat back down, ignoring the murmurs. Sasori glanced briefly at him but said nothing.

The instructor, Toroshi, clapped his hands to refocus the class.

"Good. Now that we know who you are, it's time to see what you're capable of. Everyone, outside! We'll begin with a sparring exercise."

The students stood eagerly, excited by the announcement. Some joked with each other, while others were already sizing up potential opponents.

Enma and Sasori followed the group in silence. Outside, Toroshi led them to a sandy training ground marked with several white chalk circles.

"You'll face each other in duels. The goal is simple: disarm your opponent or push them out of the circle. Names will be drawn at random," Toroshi explained.

He consulted a list and began calling pairs. Enma, distracted, paid little attention until his name was called.

"Enma Kurosawa versus… Taro Shigenami."

A robust boy with short brown hair and a cocky grin stepped forward.

"Ready to lose, weirdo?" Taro taunted as he entered the circle.

Enma didn't respond, stepping in with measured precision, his black eyes fixed coldly on his opponent.

Toroshi raised a hand, then brought it down sharply.

"Begin!"

Taro charged immediately, hoping to catch Enma off guard. But Enma dodged with uncanny agility, sidestepping effortlessly. Taro, thrown off balance, turned back, visibly irritated.

"Stop dodging and fight!" Taro shouted, charging again.

This time, Enma countered. With calculated precision, he grabbed Taro's wrist and used his momentum to throw him to the ground. The impact raised a cloud of dust, leaving the class speechless.

"Enma Kurosawa, winner," Toroshi announced in a neutral tone, though his eyes betrayed a hint of admiration.

Sasori, observing from the sidelines, allowed a small smile to form.

"Not bad," he murmured to himself.

Enma left the circle without a word, ignoring the stares fixed on him. Some were surprised, others more wary. He returned to his place, ready for whatever came next. To him, this was just one step on a much longer and harder path.

As the duels continued, the day passed in an atmosphere of excitement and rivalry. Enma watched silently as the other students fought, though his mind seemed elsewhere. Each movement, each strike felt mechanical to him, devoid of real purpose.

When the exercises were over, Toroshi gathered the students in a circle.

"Well done, everyone. Some performances were promising, but remember: this was just a warm-up. The path to becoming a ninja is long and filled with challenges. Tomorrow, we'll work on discipline and basic techniques. You're dismissed."

The students quickly dispersed, discussing their matches and laughing nervously. Enma rose without a word, leaving the training ground without waiting for Sasori.

"Enma," a voice called behind him.

It was Sasori. He approached quietly, his expression thoughtful.

"You're good, but you seem… distant. Like none of this matters to you."

Enma looked at him briefly, then averted his gaze.

"Maybe it doesn't," he replied simply before walking away.

This time, Sasori didn't follow. He stood still, watching his friend disappear into Suna's alleys.

As Enma wandered the empty streets, hands in his pockets, the flickering lanterns cast trembling shadows on the stone walls. He walked at a measured pace, lost in thought.

He soon reached a large plaza. At its center stood the imposing Kazekage's building, a structure carved from stone, symbolizing power and authority in the village. Guards stood watch, but one of them stepped aside slightly, nodding in recognition.

"The Kazekage is expecting you," he said plainly.

Enma entered the building without hesitation. Inside, silence reigned, broken only by the faint sound of his footsteps on the stone floor.

He walked down a long corridor before arriving at a large circular chamber. A massive table occupied its center, around which sat the village elders and, at the far end, the Kazekage himself.

The Kazekage, an older man with a weathered face and an imposing aura, fixed Enma with piercing eyes. The elders, silent, turned their attention to the boy as he entered.

"Enma Kurosawa," the Kazekage began in a deep voice, placing his joined hands on the table. "You're here to discuss your future… and your true purpose."

Enma stopped before them, his face as impassive as ever.

"I'm ready," he replied simply, his voice echoing in the quiet chamber.

All eyes were fixed on Enma, but he did not flinch. His expression remained unchanged, though he could feel a strange tension weighing upon him. The Kazekage took a deep breath, then rose, his imposing stature dominating the room.

"Enma Kurosawa," he began, his voice resonating through the chamber like a deep drum, "it is time for you to learn the truth about your nature... and the role you are destined to play in this village."

Enma remained motionless, his black eyes calmly fixed on the Kazekage.

"You are Suna's jinchūriki," the Kazekage declared firmly, his words falling like a stone into a still lake.

A murmur rippled through the elders, but none contested the revelation.

"The One-Tailed Beast, Shukaku, has resided within you since your birth," the Kazekage continued. "We made this choice to protect the village but also to prepare you to bear a burden that few can understand. Your very existence is a weapon, Enma."

Enma lowered his gaze slightly, absorbing the information without a flicker of emotion crossing his face.

"And that's not all," the Kazekage added, his voice hardening. "Like me, you possess the ability to manipulate magnetism. This is a rare hereditary ability, passed down through those connected to my lineage. It will allow you to wield iron sand—a formidable technique."

The silence in the room was deafening. The elders watched Enma with heightened attention, searching for any reaction from the boy.

"Why tell me this now?" Enma asked at last, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, almost indifferent.

"Because the time has come for you to begin your true training," the Kazekage replied. "You have demonstrated remarkable abilities, but they are insufficient. You must learn to control Shukaku and master magnetism. If you fail... this village could pay the price."

Enma nodded slowly. He did not ask unnecessary questions. Somewhere deep down, he had always felt different, but he had never sought to understand why.

"When does this training begin?" he asked simply.

"Tomorrow," the Kazekage declared. "You will be placed under the supervision of several instructors, but I will personally oversee your training in magnetism. At the same time, we will prepare you to face the challenges posed by Shukaku."

One of the elders, an elderly woman with gray hair and a stern face, suddenly spoke up:

"You must understand, boy, that your life is no longer solely your own. You are a pillar of this village—a weapon and a shield. Do not falter."

Enma did not respond, his gaze drifting momentarily into the void.

"You are dismissed," the Kazekage concluded, his tone signaling the end of the discussion.

Enma gave a slight nod of respect before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

As he walked through the dark streets of Suna, the Kazekage's words echoed in his mind. The hot desert wind brushed against his face, but he paid it no attention.

He stopped on a dune just outside the village, gazing at the stars. For the first time in a long while, he felt a flicker of emotion pierce through his mask of indifference—a mixture of curiosity, worry, and perhaps even excitement.

Suddenly, a deep voice resonated in his head, like a distant whisper from the depths:

"So, little one, they finally told you the truth? Interesting... I wonder if you're ready to bear all that this entails."

Enma froze.

"Shukaku?" he murmured, aware that he was addressing the beast within him directly.

"Yes, it's me. I've been watching you all this time... you're just a pathetic child. But maybe... maybe you have potential. We'll see. Brace yourself, because what lies ahead won't be easy."

The voice faded, leaving Enma alone with his thoughts.

The next day, Enma arrived at the training grounds before the first light of dawn. The vast expanse of desert stretched out around him, the morning air cool and still. Waiting for him were the Kazekage, a masked man clad in light armor, and a woman in a flowing robe marked with intricate sealing symbols.

"You're punctual," the Kazekage remarked, his voice devoid of praise but with a hint of approval. He stepped forward, his commanding presence radiating authority. "Today, you begin the process of mastering your magnetic abilities. Pay close attention."

He extended his hand, palm upward, and the black sand at his feet began to stir. With a fluid motion, the sand coalesced into a sphere, hovering above his hand. The sphere then unraveled into sharp, needle-like projections that floated ominously in the air.

"This power is not just a tool. It is an extension of your will. To control it, you must maintain absolute focus. Any lapse in concentration, any hesitation, and the power will turn against you."

Enma nodded silently, his black eyes locked on the sand. He took a step forward, kneeling to scoop a handful of the coarse grains into his palm. The Kazekage watched him intently.

"Close your eyes," the Kazekage instructed. "Feel the sand. It is not lifeless—it resonates with the energy of the earth. Connect with it."

Enma did as he was told, shutting out the world around him. His breathing slowed, his senses sharpening. He could feel the weight of the sand, the texture of each grain. Slowly, he extended his chakra into the sand, willing it to move. At first, nothing happened. Then, with a faint tremor, the grains began to stir, rising from his palm like a hesitant breath.

"Good," the Kazekage said, his tone measured. "But don't stop there. Shape it. Control it."

The grains formed a small, uneven clump that hovered shakily in the air. Sweat beaded on Enma's forehead as he struggled to maintain his focus. The clump wobbled, threatening to collapse, but he gritted his teeth and held on. Slowly, it began to take on a smoother, more defined shape.

"Enough," the Kazekage said, and the sand dropped back into Enma's hand. The boy opened his eyes, breathing heavily.

"You have potential," the Kazekage admitted, his sharp gaze softening just slightly. "But potential is worthless without discipline. Tomorrow, we will push you further."

The masked man stepped forward, his voice low but firm. "Before we end, you need to understand the nature of your dual burden. Shukaku is not a passive force. Its influence will grow stronger as your power does. If you cannot suppress it, it will consume you."

The woman in the robe added, "This is why your training includes seals. You will learn to reinforce the barriers that keep Shukaku in check. But no seal is absolute. In the end, it is your willpower that will decide the outcome."

Enma nodded again, his expression unreadable. He had no intention of being consumed by Shukaku—or by anything else.

As the sun rose higher, marking the end of the session, the Kazekage dismissed him. Enma walked back toward the village, his thoughts a storm of determination and uncertainty.

Later that night, Enma found himself once again on the outskirts of Suna, sitting atop a lonely dune. The wind carried the scent of the desert, cool and calming. He stared at the stars, their light sharp and distant, and felt a strange kinship with their isolation.

"You think you're making progress?" came a deep, mocking voice in his head. It was Shukaku, the One-Tailed Beast bound to him.

Enma didn't flinch. He was growing used to the demon's voice, though it still unsettled him. "It's none of your concern," he replied, his tone flat.

Shukaku laughed, a rumbling, eerie sound. "Oh, but it is. Your weakness is my weakness. If you fail, I get dragged down with you. Not that I care about this pathetic village or its so-called Kazekage."

Enma's jaw tightened. "Then stay out of my way."

"Bold words, little one," Shukaku sneered. "But remember this: power without control is nothing. You're playing with forces far beyond your understanding. I'll be watching... and waiting."

The voice faded, leaving Enma alone once more. He clenched his fists, staring at the horizon where the first hints of dawn were beginning to appear. Whatever it took, he would master this power—not just for the village, but for himself.

The days turned into weeks, and Enma's training intensified. He spent hours honing his magnetic abilities under the Kazekage's watchful eye, shaping and controlling the iron sand with increasing precision. He also endured grueling physical conditioning and mental exercises designed to strengthen his focus and resolve.

Shukaku's presence loomed constantly in the background, a dark and volatile force that tested Enma's limits. There were moments when the demon's chakra threatened to overwhelm him, when the rage and power surging within him felt impossible to contain. But each time, he fought back, refusing to yield.

Sasori, his silent observer, occasionally joined him during their breaks. Though their conversations were sparse, Sasori's quiet support was a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of Enma's life.

"You don't talk about it," Sasori said one evening, sitting beside him on the training ground. "But I can see it in your eyes. Whatever you're going through... it's heavy."

Enma looked at him, his expression unreadable. "It's nothing I can't handle."

Sasori nodded, though his gaze remained thoughtful. "Just don't forget. You're not alone in this."

Enma didn't respond, but a flicker of gratitude crossed his features before he turned away.

As the weeks wore on, Enma's control over his abilities grew stronger. His mastery of the iron sand became fluid and precise, and his understanding of Shukaku's influence deepened. But the path ahead remained treacherous, and the true test of his strength had yet to come.

In the distance, the winds of the desert whispered of challenges yet unseen, and Enma knew that his journey was far from over.