he Kaminari Clan compound was quiet in the early mornings. Fog clung to the high ridges like old memory, curling around the stone paths and gathering at the feet of carved shrines that had seen generations rise and fall.
Zuberi sat cross-legged in the central courtyard, staff across his lap, breathing slow.
He felt it again — that hum under his skin. That ever-present buzz of lightning, barely held back. His chakra responded quickly, maybe too quickly. It surged and crackled when he didn't ask for it, always trying to escape through his fingertips like a restless storm.
He was growing stronger.
But strength wasn't the only thing he needed.
That morning, his aunt Kemi approached, holding something wrapped in cloth.
"You've been training hard," she said, sitting beside him. "But lightning alone doesn't make a shinobi. We rely on balance."
Zuberi glanced over. "More control exercises?"
"Something more important."
She unwrapped the cloth and revealed a small, folded strip of pale paper.
It looked ordinary, but Zuberi knew what it was.
Chakra paper.
His breath caught.
"You think I'm ready?"
Kemi gave a quiet smile. "You've been ready. But knowing your nature isn't just about power. It's about purpose."
Zuberi took the paper with both hands.
It was light. Fragile, almost. But it hummed faintly against his skin, like it knew.
He took a deep breath and pushed chakra into it — not all at once, not with lightning's usual force. Just enough to let the paper feel him.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then — crackle.
Half of the paper crinkled and crackled at the edges, splitting jaggedly down the side.
Zuberi nodded.
Lightning. As expected.
But then something else happened.
The other half of the paper crumpled inward, folding in on itself, becoming heavy and rough in his hands.
Zuberi's eyes widened.
Earth.
Kemi raised an eyebrow. "Now that's rare."
Zuberi stared at the paper. "I have two?"
"Most shinobi do, eventually," she said. "But to have Earth and Lightning... that's a powerful contrast."
He frowned slightly. "They don't exactly go together."
"No," she said. "They don't. Lightning cuts. Earth endures. One is speed. The other, stillness. You'll have to learn to reconcile them."
Zuberi looked down at his hands. They didn't feel different. But the discovery settled something inside him — like he'd been leaning too far in one direction without realizing it.
Maybe now, he could stand straighter.
"Do we have Earth Release users in the clan?"
Kemi shook her head. "A few distant ones in the past, but most Kaminari blood runs with thunder. You'll have to carve this path yourself."
Zuberi smiled at that.
"Sounds familiar."
That evening, he stayed late at the outer garden, where the rocks were heavier, the ground more wild and uneven. He knelt in the dirt, placed both palms flat on the earth, and closed his eyes.
He didn't try to force it.
He listened.
Beneath the hum of lightning in his core, beneath the nervous chakra that always ran too fast — there was something else.
Weight.
Stillness.
It didn't roar like lightning. It waited. Anchored. Solid.
When he reached for it, it didn't spark — it pulled.
His fingers twitched. The soil beneath his palms shifted slightly, like something deep underground had stirred.
Not much.
But enough.
He opened his eyes and whispered, "I see you."
That Night
His father was waiting in the training hall when Zuberi returned, mud on his arms and dirt under his nails.
"You've been out late."
Zuberi nodded. "Earth Release."
Daisuke didn't look surprised. He set down the scroll he was reading and stood, cracking his knuckles.
"Then tomorrow," he said, "we train your foundation."
"Another spar?"
"No," Daisuke said. "You already know how to move. Now you learn how to stand."