Forged Beyond

Warning and loss

The birds outside were asleep. The ever-restless shinobi world was silent. Peaceful—or more like the calm before the storm.

This calmness didn't last long.

Shikamaru's eyes flew open, sharp despite the drowsiness clinging to his mind. He blinked at the darkness of his room, then turned his head toward the bedside table. His alarm was exactly one minute away from ringing.

He groaned.

"What a drag."

The phrase left his lips naturally, his mantra, spoken at every inconvenience, every mission, every morning where sleep was far more appealing than duty.

He reached over and turned the alarm off manually before it could break the silence. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, stretching his stiff muscles. The air felt heavy. The weather was awfully gloomy—gray clouds hung in the sky, promising rain.

Shikamaru sighed as he stood up and walked toward his closet. He pulled out his ninja uniform, the same one he had worn countless times before. A routine. Just another mission. He dressed quickly, adjusting his forehead protector on his arm. As he stood before the mirror, he applied his usual eyeliner—a habit he didn't put much thought into anymore.

Then, he stepped out of his room.

Warm candlelight flickered in the main room, casting a soft glow over his father, Shikaku, who sat reading a book. The room was cozy, almost inviting enough to make Shikamaru second-guess leaving. He would have loved to sleep in.

Shikaku barely glanced up as he turned a page. "Awake already?"

Shikamaru exhaled. "Yeah. Mission."

His father nodded, not needing to ask further. But after a pause, he added, "Important?"

Shikamaru tied the last strap of his ninja sandals. "Very."

Shikaku hummed in acknowledgment. "Then don't die."

Shikamaru smirked faintly, shaking his head. "I'll try."

With that, he turned toward the door. "I'm heading out."

The door slid shut behind him, and the cold morning air greeted him instantly.

Shikamaru took a deep breath and leapt onto the nearest rooftop, his movements fluid despite the sluggishness of early morning. The village below was quiet, the streets nearly empty. The warmth of Konoha, the familiarity of home, felt distant as he moved swiftly across the rooftops.

The mission loomed over him.

Akatsuki.

Even though they were supposedly tracking only two members, it was still Akatsuki. Dangerous, unpredictable, and far above the level of any ordinary shinobi.

Something about this mission felt... wrong.

He couldn't explain it, but his gut told him that this wasn't just another mission. It was a feeling he had learned to trust—a foreboding sense that weighed heavier than logic.

He reached Konoha's gates, where the rest of the team was already waiting.

Asuma stood leaning against the village gates, lighting a cigarette. The faint glow of the embers briefly illuminated his tired features. Izumo and Kotetsu stood nearby, already geared up and alert despite the early hour.

Shikamaru landed beside them, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"You're early," Asuma noted, exhaling a puff of smoke.

Shikamaru sighed. "Didn't feel like sleeping in."

Izumo smirked. "What happened to you always calling things a drag?"