Captor

He was always there now.

Sometimes visible, sometimes just a presence they could sense – that terrible heaviness in the air that made it hard to breathe. Amarah had learned to recognize the signs: how Sakura's shoulders would tense first, how Sasuke's hand would twitch toward where his weapons pouch used to be, how Naruto's usually bright energy would dim to something more contained.

The masked man had taken to materializing during the most mundane moments. While they ate breakfast. During homework. Even their allotted gaming time wasn't sacred anymore – he would stand in the corner, watching through that single eye-hole, somehow making even Mario Kart feel dangerous.

"Your positioning is inefficient," he said now, making Amarah nearly drop the plate she was washing. She hadn't even heard him appear. "The boy's stance was better yesterday."

Sasuke, who had been practicing his chakra control by trying to stick leaves to his arm, stiffened but adjusted his position. The leaf trembled, fighting against whatever strange resistance this world's chakra offered, but held.

"Better." The masked man stepped closer, and Amarah had to force herself not to back away from the sink. Her broken arm, though healing, ached with remembered pain. "Though your chakra flow is still erratic. Show me again."

These... lessons, if they could be called that, had become more frequent. He would appear, criticize their form, occasionally demonstrate corrections with terrifying precision. The children never refused, though Amarah could see how it wore on them – especially Sasuke, whose dark eyes burned with helpless rage every time the masked man approached him.

"Sakura." His attention shifted suddenly, making the pink-haired girl freeze in the middle of her own exercise. "Your control is better suited to medical techniques. Practice those instead."

"I... I can't," Sakura admitted, voice barely a whisper. "The chakra here, it's too thick for medical ninjutsu. I tried, when..." She glanced at Amarah's arm, then quickly away.

"Tried and failed," he said coldly. "Like your attempt to heal Rin—"

He cut himself off sharply, but Amarah saw how the children exchanged quick, worried glances. Who was Rin? The name seemed to hang in the air like poison.

"Who's—" Naruto started to ask, but Sasuke elbowed him hard in the ribs.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Amarah's hands shook as she dried the dish she'd been washing, hyperaware of how the masked man had gone absolutely still.

"Tomorrow," he said finally, his voice carrying an edge that made them all flinch, "you will practice medical techniques until you succeed. Failure will have... consequences."

He spiraled away, but the oppressive feeling of his presence remained. As soon as they were sure he was gone, Sakura crumpled to her knees, shaking.

"I can't," she whispered. "The chakra here, it's not – I can't make it work right. Not for something that delicate."

"We'll figure it out," Naruto said immediately, moving to her side. "We always do, right? And you're the smartest person I know, Sakura-chan!"

But Amarah saw the fear in the girl's eyes. They'd all learned what "consequences" meant.

The rest of the day passed in tense silence. Even during their usual game time, no one could fully relax. Naruto kept glancing at Sakura, his usual competitive spirit subdued. Sasuke seemed lost in thought, probably trying to work out who Rin was and why the name had triggered such a reaction.

That night, after the kids had finally fallen into uneasy sleep, Amarah heard the now-familiar sound of space distorting. She kept her eyes closed, trying to maintain steady breathing, but her heart thundered in her chest.

"Your fear is obvious," his voice came from somewhere near her makeshift bed on the couch. "You should work on that."

She opened her eyes to find him standing over her, the moonlight catching on his orange mask. What was she supposed to say to that? Sorry for being terrified of the man who broke her arm and threatened children?

"Why are you here?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.

He was silent for so long she thought he wouldn't answer. Then: "This world... it changes things. Makes them clearer, perhaps. Or less clear." He turned slightly, looking toward the room where the children slept. "Reality is cruel. Dreams are kinder."

None of that made sense to Amarah, but she stayed very still, afraid any movement might break whatever strange mood had prompted this almost-conversation.

"The girl will need to succeed tomorrow," he said abruptly, attention snapping back to her. "For her own sake."

"She's trying," Amarah found herself defending Sakura despite her fear. "Whatever's different about this world's... chakra? It affects them all. Even you."

She regretted the words immediately as his posture shifted, killing intent flooding the room until she could barely breathe.

"Watch yourself," he said softly, dangerously. "Your usefulness has limits."

He vanished, but Amarah lay awake for hours, heart racing. When she finally drifted off, she dreamed of red eyes and spiraling darkness.

Morning brought new tensions. Sakura was pale and quiet as she attempted the medical techniques again and again. The chakra visibly gathered around her hands, glowing weakly green, but dissipated before she could maintain it.

The masked man watched silently from the corner, his presence growing heavier with each failure.

"Again," he commanded after her fifteenth attempt.

Sakura's hands were shaking. Sweat beaded on her forehead from chakra exhaustion. "I need... I need a break."

"Again."

She tried. The chakra flickered, sputtered, died.

"Please," Amarah interrupted, unable to watch anymore. "She's exhausted. Let her rest and try again later—"

The masked man moved faster than thought, grabbing her recently-healed arm and squeezing. Not enough to break it again, but enough to promise pain.

"No!" Sakura's voice cracked. "Please, I'll try again. I'll do better. Don't hurt her!"

The pressure increased slightly. "Then show me."

Tears streamed down Sakura's face as she gathered her chakra once more. This time, desperately, she managed to maintain the green glow for almost thirty seconds.

"Better," he said, releasing Amarah's arm. "But not good enough. Again."

This continued for hours. By the end, Sakura was barely conscious, but she had managed to hold the technique for almost two minutes. The masked man finally declared the training finished, though his cold "We'll continue tomorrow" promised no real reprieve.

Naruto and Sasuke, who had been forced to watch the entire ordeal, helped Sakura to bed. She was asleep before they even laid her down.

"Why?" Naruto demanded once they returned to the living room, his voice shaking with rage. "Why are you doing this? What do you want?"

"Want?" The masked man tilted his head. "I want you to be useful. To be prepared. This world may resist our chakra, but that only means we must work harder to overcome its limitations." He paused, then added almost thoughtfully, "Reality is cruel. Better to be prepared for it."

That night, Amarah heard the children whispering again.

"—have to get stronger," Sasuke was saying. "This world's resistance... maybe we can use it. Like weights in training."

"But why is he helping?" Naruto's voice was unusually serious. "The training, the corrections... he's making us stronger. Why would he do that if we're just prisoners?"

"Because we're not just prisoners," Sasuke replied grimly. "We're something else. I don't know what, but... did you see how he reacted to that name? Rin?"

"Shh!" Sakura hissed. "Don't... don't say it. Not when he might be listening."

They fell silent after that, but Amarah lay awake thinking about their words. The masked man's increased presence, his strange mix of cruelty and instruction, the way he watched them all with an intensity that went beyond mere surveillance...

Something was changing. Whether that change was dangerous or hopeful, she couldn't tell. But as she finally drifted off to sleep, she found herself remembering his words.

Reality is cruel. Dreams are kinder.

What did that mean for them, trapped here in this strange reality with a man who seemed to prefer dreams? And why did she have the terrible feeling that they were becoming part of whatever dream he was trying to build?

The next morning, he was there again, watching them eat breakfast. Always watching. Always present.

Their constant shadow, growing darker by the day.