3 A New Start
"Young master!" The piercing scream reverberated through the young man's head, merging with a distant and feeble voice. The explosive blast had claimed his life, yet here he stood, ensconced within a void of impenetrable darkness.
"Young master!" The call reached his ears, accompanied by the searing agony of his burns. The melding of pain and anguished cries twisted his senses, casting him into a disorienting whirlpool of sensations.
"Young master!" The voice surged, growing in intensity, and the young man's heavy eyelids fluttered open. He gasped for air, his chest heaving with the weight of confusion, his surroundings quivering within an unfamiliar room.
"You're finally awake," a middle-aged man with cropped black hair and striking green eyes spoke, his face etched with concern as he gazed upon the young man.
Bewildered, the young man's gaze dropped to his own form, clad in an alien garb—a snug scarlet trench coat overlaid with a vibrant emerald vest.
His own eyes, too, defied convention, their verdant hue bearing an otherworldly allure. Pupils, shaped like curved triangles adorned with three graceful slashes, danced in their sockets, captivating his attention as they swirled with a hypnotic rhythm.
"What has befallen you? Do you no longer recognize your own father, Murata?" the middle-aged man's words lashed out. Arms crossed, he loomed above, his gaze piercing through the young man.
The mention of Murata caused the young man's pupils to dilate, his wide-eyed survey revealing a room filled with denizens clad in antiquated attire.
Murata? What sorcery is this? I am no Japanese, he pondered, his thoughts spinning amidst the tumult of his mind.
Abruptly, a searing pain throbbed within his skull, forcing him to clutch his head with both hands, igniting panic in those surrounding him.
"Murata! Swiftly, tend to him!" the middle-aged man barked, urgency seeping into his voice. The young man observed a figure among the onlookers gesturing in an arcane manner. A vivid green radiance engulfed the man's outstretched hand, which he then pressed upon the young man's temple.
A deluge of memories cascaded through his consciousness. A young lad, perhaps ten summers old, his locks as white as snow, cavorted and shouted with unbridled delight amidst a forest's embrace.
Despite his tender age, the boy possessed an extraordinary handsomeness. The memories showcased the boy's parents, their smiles brimming with affection as they watched their progeny.
Notably, the boy shared the same mesmerizing emerald eyes as his kin. Recognition flickered within the recesses of the young man's mind—he had seen the middle-aged man earlier; he was one of them.
Standing beside the exuberant lad, his mother emanated an air of concern. Her countenance exuded a mature allure that could rend men weak at the knees.
Long, silken tresses of alabaster cascaded down to caress her curvaceous form, a few strands artfully bound. Her eyes mirrored the family's emerald hue, their gaze filled with a haunting familiarity.
Transmigration? The young man's thoughts whirled amidst the influx of memories, trying to untangle the enigma laid before him.
In this realm, the law of the jungle reigned supreme, a merciless hierarchy where the weak became prey for the strong.
Though firearms existed, the true pinnacle of power lay not within their metallic barrels but within an enigmatic blade known as the 'Kunai.'
He witnessed a man commanding the earth to rise skyward with a series of intricate hand movements, while another conjured forth colossal waves and unleashed tempestuous storms upon the ocean's expanse.
Such extraordinary abilities! His mind struggled to assimilate the myriad information flooding his consciousness.
