They said her father was a legend, one of the few Chasers who faced Tsukuyomi and survived. They called him the Spirit Hammer, the Sun-Haired Immortal, the Vessel of God. But all Shinobu saw was a man who disappeared, leaving her mother a crumpled mess. And in this unkind world, the slightest sign of weakness would take a life.

Her mother died when Shinobu was six years old, young enough to still have childish fantasies to break, but old enough to understand that he wasn’t coming. Hiding underneath the bed, too scared to breathe, all she could do was hide as her mother gave up her life. She hid, she remembered, and she hated.

Another family picked her up, seeing her as an extra mouth to feed, but an extra pair of hands to help. Though still a child, Shinobu worked hard at what she could do. She salvaged usable items from other destroyed homes, her slight frame working to her advantage. She never complained about the chores heaped onto her small shoulders. She never gave in, constantly encouraged by the voice of her mother ringing in the back of her mind.

Life on the outskirts was hard, but in a way, it was also rewarding. Through brushes with death, she became close with other scrap heap kiddos in the community, grouping up with them and always on the lookout for more things that could be used, recycled, sold, or eaten. She can still remember their names and their voices to this day.

She can still remember their faces as their bodies bent in odd ways, becoming little snacks for hungry monsters.

If she could have helped them, she would have, but Shinobu had been eleven years old, stick-thin and pale as bone. All she could do was cower, covering her ears and still failing to block out the sounds. Hating the almighty father that forsaken her mother, herself, and now, her friends. A hero? No, just a coward. She wanted him to die a thousand times over, to feel the heart-wrenching agony and the gut-crushingly helplessness. But he was not there, and she?

If it wasn’t for a Chaser coming in and slaying the beast, she would have eventually died too, wouldn’t she?

That Chaser took her in, assuming that she was an orphan. It took time for Shinobu to learn to speak normally again. It took longer for her to sleep and not have nightmares. And, when the shock and fear was gone, all she could do was mourn, to cry the tears that she hadn’t shed since she was six.

Then, after grief came hatred. The familiar anger at herself and at her deadbeat coward of a father.

It took time, of course, to reach a level in which she could barely gain admittance to Akatsuki Academy. But unlike immortals, Shinobu knew she had little time, and despite the inadequacies of her body, pushed herself over that hurdle.

The first step that she took required five years of harsh training.

And even then, the child knew that it wasn’t enough.