Naruto: The Viking Thorfin Becomes a Inuzuka In The World of Shinobi

The day began with a heavy mist surrounding the compound. The air was thick with the anticipation of what was to come. The children, exhausted from the previous day's training, stood in formation, their faces hard as stone. Today was the day of their first real test, the one that would determine their worth in Root. This wasn't just a simple training exercise—it was designed to push them to their limits and beyond, to expose any weakness that might exist within them.

The instructors were silent, their eyes scanning the children, looking for even the slightest sign of uncertainty. The goal was clear: only the strongest, most adaptable would survive the trials. Those who failed would be cast aside without a second thought.

"Today," one of the instructors began, stepping forward with an air of finality, "you will undergo the Root Trials. It is a test of skill, endurance, and wit. You will be pushed to your absolute limits, and you will be expected to perform regardless of the circumstances. This is not a test of mere strength—it is a test of your ability to think and react as ninjas, to adapt, and to survive."

Thorfin stood with his back straight, his eyes narrowed. He could feel the weight of the test bearing down on him, but there was no fear in him—only a sharp, focused determination.

The instructor continued, his voice cold as steel.

"The trials will consist of several stages. You will face physical, tactical, and mental challenges. You will be pushed to your limits, and only those who excel in all aspects will continue to the next phase of training. Do not expect mercy. Do not expect leniency. If you fail...you will not leave this place."

With that, the children were divided into groups, each group consisting of pairs. Thorfin and Taro were assigned together once again. They exchanged a brief glance, both aware of what was at stake, but neither spoke a word. The instructors led them into a large, open training area—an expanse of barren land littered with obstacles, broken structures, and large patches of dense forest.

The first stage of the Root Trials began. They were ordered to navigate the obstacle course, which was filled with traps, hazards, and various challenges designed to test their physical agility and endurance. The children had to jump over pits, climb walls, and maneuver around hidden spikes and explosive traps. It was like a gauntlet, a test not just of strength, but of agility, quick thinking, and the ability to stay calm under pressure.

Thorfin led the way, his body moving with the precision and speed of someone who had been trained in battle for years. As he sprinted over a set of logs suspended high above the ground, he heard the whoosh of arrows shooting from hidden mechanisms, aimed directly at him. Without missing a beat, he twisted his body mid-air, dodging the arrows with ease, and landed on the other side with his chakra flowing to soften the impact.

Taro was right behind him, struggling more with the complex jumps and sharp turns. His breathing was labored, and his movements lacked the fluidity Thorfin had developed. But still, he pressed on, pushing through the obstacles with determination.

They reached a dense section of the course, where they were required to navigate a labyrinth of trees, all while avoiding sensors and traps set up by the instructors. Hidden in the shadows were agents, watching from the tree branches, ready to spring into action at any sign of weakness or failure. Thorfin felt the presence of their eyes, but he also felt something else—an unsettling calm.

They moved quickly, using the trees as cover and leaping from one to the next. Thorfin had no time to waste—his mind was already thinking ahead, considering the best ways to avoid detection and reach the checkpoint. But as he and Taro reached the center of the labyrinth, the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed through the trees.

It was a trap.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them erupted, sending spikes shooting up from the earth. Thorfin instinctively threw his body into a roll, narrowly avoiding the deadly points. He glanced to Taro, who was struggling to keep up, his foot caught in one of the traps. The instructor's voice echoed through the air.

"Decide quickly," the instructor called out, "will you help your partner or continue without him?"

Thorfin's heart beat steadily in his chest. This was the moment where most would falter. But in Root, there was no room for hesitation. He knew that helping Taro could cost him precious time, but there was something else—something that made him hesitate for just a fraction of a second. Taro wasn't just a partner; he was a symbol of the bond forged through shared hardship.

With a swift motion, Thorfin grabbed Taro's hand, pulling him free from the trap and helping him to his feet. They wasted no time. Thorfin pushed forward, knowing full well that if they did not reach the checkpoint in time, the consequences would be dire. The instructors were watching, and the agents were waiting.

The second stage of the trials was no less grueling. It was a mental test—an exam of strategy, deception, and tactical thinking. The children were split into groups and given a simulated mission scenario. They were tasked with infiltrating a heavily guarded enemy compound and retrieving a "vital objective." However, there was a catch—the enemy compound was filled with decoys, false intel, and traps designed to mislead the children. They had to determine which information was true and which was false, all while dealing with the pressure of their time limit.

Thorfin's mind worked quickly, analyzing the details of the simulation. He was no stranger to deception, to playing the game of misdirection. His past life wasn't filled with political intrigue and strategy, but he was an exceptional liar, a man who had the silver tongue of the devil. In this moment, the skills he had honed in that world served him well. He made his decisions with ease, guiding his group through the maze of false information, each choice leading them closer to the objective.

But Taro, once again, was struggling. His choices were cautious, hesitant. He second-guessed every move, worried about making the wrong decision. Thorfin understood the fear, but there was no time for it. Every second counted.

"Keep moving," Thorfin urged, his voice low but firm. "Think fast, and don't look back."

As the group reached the simulated compound, they were met with a new challenge. Agents posing as enemies flooded the area, and the children had to engage in combat, using their ninjutsu and physical skills to neutralize them. It was a real fight, and Thorfin could feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through him.

With a swift hand-seal, he summoned a burst of wind to send enemies flying.

"Wind Release: Great Breakthrough!"

His movements were precise, a mixture of swift strikes and calculated attacks. He saw Taro beside him, hesitating once more before unleashing a hesitant fireball toward the enemy. The flame was weak, barely strong enough to incapacitate one of the agents.

But Thorfin didn't have time to wait. He dispatched the agents around him, moving like a shadow, his attacks seamless and efficient.

One to the neck, then a knee to the jaw, even a two finger eye poke for good measure. 

When the mission finally came to a close, he stood victorious, his body exhausted but his mind sharp.

The instructors were silent as they tallied the results, their eyes cold and calculating.

"Well done," one of the instructors finally said, his voice lacking praise but tinged with a note of approval. "But this is only the beginning. You have much more to prove."

The children stood, their bodies battered and bruised, but their resolve unwavering. The Trials had tested them—pushed them to their limits—but it was only the first step. Root had no mercy, and they would be molded into weapons.

----------------------------

The training had finally ended, but the exhaustion clung to them like a second skin. The children marched in silence, their bodies bruised, scraped, and sore from the trials. There was no celebration, no sigh of relief—only the rhythmic sound of their footsteps as they entered the shower room.

It was a vast, sterile space—white-tiled walls, a high ceiling, and rows of exposed showerheads lining both sides. There were no stalls, no dividers. Boys and girls stood together, stripped of anything that might separate them. In Root, there were no genders. No shame. No desire. Only function.

The water burst from the pipes in sharp, freezing streams, slamming against their skin like needles of ice. The cold stole the breath from their lungs, but no one reacted. No shivers. No complaints. To show discomfort was to show weakness.

Thorfin stepped under the water, his body rigid as the cold seeped into his bones. He barely noticed it. After living under this treatment for so long, this was nothing. Beside him, Taro did the same, though his fists clenched for just a moment before he forced them to relax.

They waited. Root had trained them to endure, not to enjoy. The water was meant to cleanse, not comfort.

Taro leaned in slightly, his voice barely a whisper over the sound of rushing water.

"You hesitated today."

Thorfin didn't react immediately. He let the words sit between them, like the cold mist that rose from their skin.

"For a second," Taro continued. "You thought about leaving me."

Thorfin finally turned his head, his eyes sharp but unreadable. "I didn't."

Taro let out a slow breath, barely audible. "You could have made it faster without me."

Thorfin rolled his shoulders under the water, feeling the numbness settle in. "Maybe."

Silence stretched between them again. Around them, the other children stood under the icy streams, motionless, their faces blank. The water ran down their battered bodies, washing away the blood, the sweat—but not the weight of what they had done, of what they still had to do.

Taro spoke again, quieter this time. "Do you ever wonder what it's like? To not be here?"

Thorfin didn't answer. He had no need to. Saying that out loud was dangerous, the instructors killed for less. 

Taro exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "Never mind."

The water continued to fall, cold and relentless.

Thorfin lay on his cot, his body stiff from the trials, his mind silent. The barracks were quiet, filled with the steady, shallow breathing of the other children. The cold night seeped into his bones, but he did not shiver. He welcomed it.

Then, the world shifted.

The sharp, sterile walls of the barracks faded, replaced by something different—something old, yet familiar. A deeper kind of cold wrapped around him, not from mist-hidden training grounds, but from a land of ice and sea.

He knew this place.

A village rested along the jagged coast, small wooden homes buried in snowdrifts, their rooftops blanketed in white. The air smelled of salt and frozen earth, the wind howling through the fjords like a restless spirit. The sky above was gray, the sun a pale ghost behind thick winter clouds.

Thorfin stood at the edge of the village, his feet buried in the snow. He was smaller now—just a boy, bundled in thick furs that barely kept out the cold.

"Thorfin! Come inside, it's too cold to be standing out there!"

A woman's voice, warm like the hearth that burned inside their home. He turned to see his mother, Helga, standing in the doorway, her face lined with worry. Behind her, a smaller figure peeked out—his sister, Ylva, her breath visible in the frozen air as she pouted at him.

"Father's coming back today!" she announced, grinning despite the cold.

Thorfin's chest swelled at the words. Father. Thors. The greatest warrior. The strongest man in the world.

Without another word, he ran past them into the warmth of their home. The fire crackled, casting golden light against the wooden walls. The scent of stew filled the air, rich and hearty.

Helga sighed as she pulled off his fur cloak, brushing the frost from his hair. "You'll get sick if you keep running outside like that, my love."

"I won't," Thorfin said stubbornly, though his nose was already red from the cold.

"You always say that," Ylva teased, sticking out her tongue.

Before he could respond, a heavy knock sounded at the door.

Then, his father stepped inside.

Thors was a giant of a man, his presence filling the room before he even spoke. Snow clung to his broad shoulders, his fur cloak heavy with frost. But when he smiled, it was not the smile of a warrior—it was the gentle, tired smile of a father returning home.

"I'm back," he said simply.

Thorfin ran to him without hesitation, crashing into his father's legs. Thors chuckled, ruffling his hair with a large, calloused hand.

"Were you good while I was gone?"

"I was strong," Thorfin said, puffing out his chest.

Thors' smile faltered just slightly. "Good. But strength isn't everything, Thorfin."

He didn't understand those words then. He only knew that he wanted to be like his father—to be strong, to be a warrior.

The warmth of the memory wrapped around him, filling him with something he hadn't felt in a long time.

Then, like ice cracking beneath his feet, it all shattered.

The fire vanished. The home dissolved into mist. The warmth disappeared.

And Thorfin woke in the barracks.

The cold of Root was waiting for him.