The halls of the Shinobi Academy were quiet and empty this late in the afternoon; motes of dust dancing in the orange glow of early sunset the only motion, their actions erratic and free in the deafening silence. Distant quiet steps seemed to make them pause for a moment mid flight, almost as if they recognized the slow even-paced steps as a beat to direct their aimless dance. A figure approached, his form briefly illuminated as it traveled from doorway to sundrenched doorway, then quickly shrouded again in grey shadow. The gentle change in the wind direction as the boy passed through each set of motes sent them arching and spinning in his leisurely wake, their pirouettes seemingly in time with his gait. The motes danced, wheels within wheels in a spiral array, a pattern so grand and complex.
The boy stopped in the light of the last doorway, the light streaming down in a bright unbroken beam, illuminating his features as he turned. His hazel colored eyes gazed into the striated lighting of the hall as he ran the fingers of his left hand through his messy brown hair, combing it back as best he could. At first glance, he seemed very average. Average height, weight and build for an eleven year-old, his features neither strikingly handsome nor hideously disfigured. Even his attire was very “normal.” Black leather steel-toed boots, denim blue jeans, and a plain black t-shirt covered by a tan suede jacket; none of which made him stand out very much. Even his voice, a clear and confident pre-pubescent tenor, sounded very standard as he spoke, perhaps to nothing and no one.
”Hello? Is anyone there?”
The boy stopped in the light of the last doorway, the light streaming down in a bright unbroken beam, illuminating his features as he turned. His hazel colored eyes gazed into the striated lighting of the hall as he ran the fingers of his left hand through his messy brown hair, combing it back as best he could. At first glance, he seemed very average. Average height, weight and build for an eleven year-old, his features neither strikingly handsome nor hideously disfigured. Even his attire was very “normal.” Black leather steel-toed boots, denim blue jeans, and a plain black t-shirt covered by a tan suede jacket; none of which made him stand out very much. Even his voice, a clear and confident pre-pubescent tenor, sounded very standard as he spoke, perhaps to nothing and no one.
”Hello? Is anyone there?”