Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, only my OCs and this story

Chapter 1

"Remember tonight... for it is the beginning of always"
― Dante Alighieri

Memory is a repressive cloak upon me, diaphanous and incubating.

Its resolution is ever changing, and perhaps sentient and separate to our minds in its own right.

When a life in all its short or fulfilled glory comes to an end, the beginning of the next signals the time where Memory must let go and fade.

Its age and familiarity with its vessel are meaningless, because once your very Being departs, Memory has no choice but to either follow or be left behind in an incomprehensible history.

But sometimes, a rare phenomena occurs.

In one occurrence, Memory was stubborn enough to demand never to be forgotten. The idea was far too terrifying, the nearing embrace of being alone enough for Memory to clasp onto Being's hand and not let go.

Memory decides vividly that it will never succumb to that fate.

It refused to be forgotten.

And it places its burden on me,

To never forget.

Being has chosen the next vessel. It coaxes Memory into viewing it as well, unsure of how to approach this. Being has never had to share this decision with anything before; on that note, Being's never travelled in between vessels with company before either.

It's a strange sensation, one that Memory gleefully holds onto and stores away. Memory is far more vibrant that the others, Being muses. Memory is like a live wire, electricity dancing out of it's shredded tips. It is a good thing that Memory is strong – it will have to be to retain so much.

Eventually, Memory turns back to Being, pouting and leading them away. It doesn't like this vessel, too exposed to harm.

'Don't you ever listen when I remember for us?' Memory chides Being. 'The toxins in that vessel's carrier are bad. No wonder our last was so easy to offline, if you didn't pay attention to such details.'

Being grumbles, miffed at the criticism. 'How would I have known? It's not like I could get a second opinion.'

Memory nudges Being fondly. 'Well now you've got me, and I'm not going anywhere.'

They brace their cores together, sighing. In unison, they agree. 'We are as one.'

Later, Being is restless again. It does not like staying in the existence in between vessels for very long. 'When will you be satisfied? Choose!'

'I will not settle,' Memory insists. 'I want to look in another universe. Perhaps our search will be fruitful there.'

Being is too impatient to point out how unorthodox that is.

Finally, Memory cries out in triumph, and in excitement presses Being towards its choice. Being snorts at the choice. 'Really? Couldn't let go of the past, could you?'

Memory beams. 'Never.'

Together, they make their journey to fill the chosen vessel. While Memory squeezes itself into the organic material already forming, Being allows itself to be absorbed, dormant and ready to take on control when the time comes. Being watches Memory with amusement alter the transcriptions of proteins in the new vessel, moulding it into what it knows and holds dear.

Being sighs and lets go of its anxiety, ignoring the fact that it's Being's job to deal with the alterations Memory's mere presence has made.

A heavy throb in Being's core reminds him. 'The energy is here now. But its…quite early.'

'Why not now?'

'It usually comes later, but must have sensed both of us and felt greater pull.'

'Lets do it now then.' Says Memory, impatient to move on as ever. 'It feels strange!'

'Of course it would. Every world has it's own energy.' Being reminds Memory, who has never experienced Spirit energy other than that of the vessel they left behind.

'Shall we merge with it then?' Memory asks.

Being pauses, but then decides that change is inevitable now anyway. 'Yes.'

And so they combine with the new foreign energy, which is so young and buzzes around frantically. Spirit is the white hot scalding of a flame; it is the spark that ignites a consciousness, and opinions, and hopes, losses and dreams. Spirit is hard to calm down, like a screaming child, unsure and new to everything. But Spirit is also their leader, and Being and Memory must show it that they will follow willingly, to where ever they are led.

This Spirit is hard to tame, fuelled by this chakra energy that both Being and Memory are unfamiliar with. They now know it hurts like hell to take the full brunt of it, and are encouraged that their leader is so strong. Spirit will need to be. But once Being gets a good grasp on Spirit, Memory attaches on quickly as well, and with the same voracity that stars are made of, a life begins.

"Touch has a memory."
― John Keats

By the time Being, Memory and Spirit combine, their vessel has been forming for 9 weeks. If set in the palm of what would be its full grown form, their vessel could roll around with room to spare. The vessel is floating in fluid, and is twitching its limbs curiously. The cranium is heavy, veins would be visible if not for the blackness of the womb and cartilage is starting to strengthen.

And then suddenly, It has its first full formed thought. Memory shows their old vessel, running under the night sky that they have never seen in this life. The air is freezing, and yet a wild feeling of happiness overcomes before the consciousness takes over.

It is warm, an individual Nirvana in here. Constantly floating, waves like a soothing ocean lapping at my hypersensitive skin. I can do nothing but twitch, flail my limbs sideways and roll in my natural curled ball. All I can do is feel, and remember.

Month 3.

My carrier is moving. She always seems to be, the vibrations from her hips swaying with every step. Often a heavy warmth will cover one side of me, and I know she is touching her nearest surface, hoping to feel me.

I spiral my fingers in circles. My toes are slower to copy the motion, though do obey.

I dream endlessly.

Of a tall man with thick curls of dark hair, cold eyes and a smile was as warm as I felt.

He would always be moving, climbing, running, even dancing.

But most of all, he fought.

In a huge crowded room where the ceiling was too illuminated to look at directly, within a large platform with thick plastic robes tied together along the edge. So many faces watched from all sides, screaming, cheering, even crying. This man would enter that stage, and fight any man that stepped in with him to face him.

The way he moved was quick, like an unstoppable projectile that could redirect itself on a whim. He seemed to fly sometimes, then duck so low as to become the ground.

At these dreams I became excitable, thrashing more than usual to mimic this dance.

Month 5.

She's singing, and God, it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. I spiral around as a crashing and flying feeling of love fills me. I love her warmth, her voice, everything.

I don't understand what she says, but the language of my memories is easily comprehensible. I try to sing lyrics I know back to her, yet they come out as gurgles.

When she stops, I often gently nudge her to continue.

Month 8.

There is barely any fluid left, and little room to move, let I continue to persevere. The dreams are more vivid, and somehow I know that they are my memories, and that once I moved and fought like that. The realisation is thrilling and yet makes me baulk.

Because along with that thought is the understanding that I should not know this. I know where I am. I know what I am. Someone else should be in this womb, ready to leave soon to begin life again, whereas I should be swirling around the bones of my old body.

I'm going to be reborn.

The idea is terrifying.

I'd never given birth before. You know, in the er...past life.

Not because I didn't find the right guy or anything, but because, well...

I am a guy. Was, at least. Unless this is some birth defect that someone with hopefully -please, dear god- fix once I'm out.

I've seen many hollywood censored and dramatised births on TV, and with all the screaming and stuff, I figured it would hurt. And of course I had to be right about that.

I felt a little guilty that she,...my mother seemed to have picked the short straw here, but hell it was nasty for me as well!

First there was the feeling of moving at an odd downwards angle, and then the constant suction of the constricting channel. Half way through a gust of air from the outside hit my head, and fuck that was cold hell no! But of course she just kept pushing and screaming while I refused to budged and was also screaming.

Real bonding moment, I can tell you.

Eventually, the damned woman managed to win and suddenly I was feeling an entirely new set of hands holding me, wiping away the aggulating remains of fluid as I screamed my outrage. Who ever was holding me kept moving from his position of blocking the stinging midday sun, and I was occupied with that torture until I felt a sharp pain that reminded me of glass that had once been deeply embedded in my arm at a bar fight.

Of course, they had just cut my umbilical cord.

A few hours later I was in the back of a drawn cart, with a thick blanket wrapping me into the chest of my birth mother, while who I assumed was my father was holding the reins to the cattle, with a small child next to him. 2 other women rode with them, fussing over us. I tried to batt one away and growl, as I had been very good at those in my last life, but it came out as a girlish, horribly cute whine.

Everyone cooed. My mother hugged me closer and sang with her beautifully tired voice.

Could be worse.

"People have an annoying habit of remembering things they shouldn't."
― Christopher Paolini, Eragon

2 months old.

It is extremely, incredibly entirely frustrating to be a baby with the memories of a fully grown man.

Not only can I not talk, but any sort of travelling movement is out of the window. I can't even lift my head!

And I don't even want to think about the new nether regions.

I'll give it another year or so to get over that trauma.

10 months old.

Apparently I'm very clever, according to Mum, or rather Okaa-san.

Yeah you guess it. The reason I couldn't understand her singing was because its in fricking Japanese. You know, in a completely different continent to Poland!?

Grr.

Another thing, I'm still not down with the whole sex change thing. Believe me, I've never had a problem with homosexuals, trans-, pan-, whatever, but I wasn't planning the op for myself ok!?

At least I like the food. I mean, the baby food isn't amazing, just mashed rice and fruits and milk, but I can smell the normal food all the time and my fucking god it's smells amazing.

I think my Dad is a chef or whatever.

Anyway, so the rentals think I'm some sort of genius, garbling syllables like a parrot and crawling around already. Perhaps I should have been more cautious, but really, who's gonna look at me and guess I'm a reincarnation? Honestly people.

2 years.

You know what, I think I've got this whole language barrier thing sorted now. It's kinda cool being bilingual, even if I'm pretty sure that I'm in feudal Japan, so I can't expect ask for the next bullet train to the airport.

I suppose I could always go on a pilgrimage and visit my ancestors in Poland.

And get this, my Otou san isn't just a chef, he owns a ramen stand, how cool is that?!

I think I've accepted the whole being a girl thing. It's kinda hard not to when you're constantly called 'daughter' and 'little girl' all the time. Not to mention the fact that Okaa san is constantly dressing me in floral baby dresses.

I literally have lost all meaning of the words 'balls' now.

From what I could see, I looked pretty similar to my old baby photos from '82. Same dark hair that was curling and growing quickly, with blue eyes. Familiar, oversized lips, wide temples and strong nose. My Otou san was called Teuchi Kurosawa, with similar features to me but for his dark eyes and leathery tan. Okaa san's real name was Hotaru Kurosawa and always had her brown hair up in two buns, her hazel eyes wide and almond shaped. I had no idea where the blue eyes came from, but I guessed that was a reincarnation thing.

And finally there was my older sister Ayame, who (you guessed it) had brown hair and eyes. She was almost 6 and had a habit of treating me like a pet, constantly playing with my hair and hugging me until I lost my temper and bit her.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Coach would be laughing his ass off if he saw me now.

I wasn't particularly sure where in Japan we were. As a 2 year old with over protective parents and the inability to out run tanning cats in the sun, all I really knew were that we lived in a village, the ramen stand always had a rush of people at meal times so that Okaa san had to take me inside so she could confine to my own snuggly cage of despair and boredom (i.e. my cradle) and that it was hot all the time.

As a born and bred Polish (ex-) citizen, I was used to comfortable breezy summers and harsh, cold winters. I was not ready for hell's cooking pot. Jesus, no wonder everybody wore sandals. Those toes needed as much breeze as they could get.

It was strange, having a family in general, not just a new one. In my previous...time on Earth (thank god that's still true), I was a foster kid, lived a fairly boring and domestically comfortable life with the foster parents until I could leave and barely kept in touch. I suppose you could say I wasn't a very sentimental guy.

I blame Okaa san's singing, and Otou san's cooking, and Onee san's hugs.

And the whole oestrogen thing.

Of course, I couldn't live in bliss forever. Whatever high forces that had sent me here just couldn't leave it at that, oh no.

One day, after successfully rocking my cradle back and forth enough for it to fall over, sending my tumbling out of the room, I managed to waddle outside to the stand again. I wasn't allowed in the kitchen area that was directly attached to our house's entrance, so I wasn't too surprised when i heard my father's voice sound out above me. "Musume, what are you doing here? Come, come with chichi now!" I grumbled and tried to stumble away, but to no avail. Soon I was lifted and sat upon his hip, his brilliant 'omg-I'm-a-dad' smile meeting my grumpy 'I'm-a-30-year-old-dude-in-a-little-girl's-body' glare. Of course he just laughed and kissed my forehead. "Off on another adventure? Not now I'm afraid, it's time for beddie byes Tora-chan!" He cooed.

Dear lord.

"Hey Teuchi-san, this your kid?" One of the customers asked.

"Sure is!" Otou san puffed up with pride and his 'look-at-this-kid-I-made-her-isn't-she-so-cute' grin.

"Cute kid." Another said. "What's her name?"

At this point I took to opportunity to try to wrestle out of Otou san's grip with my own high pitched howls and lisped 'Let me down, let me down!"

My father chuckled, now using one had to flip over the food in the pan. "We named her Tora, after my wife's mother. Apparently she had quite the temper as well."

One of the darkly dressed young men leaned over to waggle a finger in front of me. With a defiant glare, I grabbed it with a tight grip. "Wow, strong child you got there!"

Otou san shook his head quickly "I wouldn't-"

I stared right into the man's eyes and pushed his finger in between my new molars, biting down hard. His scream was sadistically pleasing.

Eventually I was pried off the customer and chastised while the man's friends howled with laughter. Huffing at the telling off, I peered over my father's back and blew a loud raspberry at the scowling man. It was quite gratifying to see his eye twitch even more.

"That's the other reason we call her Tora." Otou san cheerily said as he served the fresh bowls of ramen. "Tora-chaaan, apologise!"

I glared at him, arms crossed as I sat on the counter. "No. N O spells NO! No no no no-" I began to sang, until I noticed one of the men adjusting a wide headband on his forehead, the rectangular metal displaying a familiar looking leaf symbol. And much to everybody's horror, I uttered my first curse word. "Kuso!"

Okaa san - mother

Otou san - father

Onee san - elder sister

Tora - tiger

Hey there folks, thanks for reading this story so far!

I know, I know, it's the dreaded SI fic, there are far too many around, I just could help my self (eep ^_^) but I'm hoping you guys will stick around for the spin I'm adding.

I will say now this is going to have a pairing, but at the moment, it's not confirmed.

Please tell me your thoughts!

Love,

Renzin xo