Sand District

[LucianRedgrave]

The Sand District, vast and unyielding, stretched endlessly beneath the unforgiving sun. The dunes rolled on in soft, fluid waves, their golden slopes shimmering with the heat that radiated from the earth. The air was thick with the weight of the desert—dry, stifling, and ever-present, carrying the distant scent of salt and dust. Yet, in the heart of this barren expanse, a disturbance rippled through the natural rhythm of the land. Here, the desert's endless stretch faltered, and the earth seemed to breathe differently.


A vast basin marred the landscape—a jagged scar carved deep into the sands. It was as though some ancient beast had dragged its clawed fingers across the land, leaving a deep, gaping wound that refused to heal. The edges of this basin were not soft or curved like the rest of the desert, but sharp and angular, as if they had been torn open by a force far greater than nature itself. Sand, ever-shifting and elusive, gathered unevenly along the walls, drawn toward the depression as though it feared to stay away. Above, the sky was a harsh, cloudless blue that felt almost too wide, too oppressive, as if it, too, were aware of the unsettling secrets that lay below. The ruins of a once-proud research station lay within the basin, half-swallowed by the relentless desert. Its crumbled stone walls stood like broken teeth, jagged and twisted, leaking out a history of failure and despair. What had once been a hub of scientific advancement, dedicated to healing and progress, was now a hollowed shell, abandoned and forgotten. Only the ruins remained, bearing the scars of time and neglect. The steel hatch at the center—its edges rusted and battered—gaped open like a wound left to fester. The smell of stale air and rotting metal clung to the space around it, a stark contrast to the purity of the desert.


At the edges of the compound, strange symbols were etched into the stone, curling and intertwining like ancient serpents, faint traces of chakra still lingering in the cracks. A peculiar aura lingered here—thick, oppressive, as though something had been twisted beyond recognition, yet was still trying to hold on to its former self. The wind, though persistent throughout the desert, seemed to hesitate at the basin's rim, swirling and bowing but never quite crossing into the broken fortress of steel and stone. Whatever force lingered within these walls seemed to command the air itself. The sand had a peculiar texture here, too, as though it was afraid to settle. In pockets, fragments of old equipment—scalpel handles, cracked observation pods, remnants of restraining devices—lay scattered, as though abandoned mid-task. Scales, enormous and glistening, partially buried in the sand, caught the light at odd angles, casting ghostly reflections on the edges of the darkened structures. The air was thick with the remnants of long-dead experiments, their failures now trapped in the ruins, a testament to ambition gone astray.


From deep beneath the earth, there was the faintest echo—a groan, a creak—as if the very foundation of the compound was shifting and twisting, reawakening to the chaos below. There was something still alive in the depths, something that pulsed with wild, unchecked chakra—something once human, now no longer. A legacy of madness. This place, tainted by the shadows of cursed research, was no longer just a site of scientific inquiry—it had become a mausoleum of hubris, its very air thick with the stench of betrayal and ambition. And now, it waited—silent, patient—as though it knew that the next chapter of its twisted history was about to be written. The ground, still and breathless, held its secrets tightly, its thirst for blood unquenched. It was ready. And all that remained was the arrival of those who would uncover its dark heart.​

 

[Jeriah]

Satsujo's concentration shattered instantly, her newfound trust in Hariku quickly overshadowed by a wave of dread as she felt something monstrous rising beneath the sands. The underground research facility they'd intended to breach had opened prematurely, releasing something enormous—something sinister—that now lurked just beyond sight, hidden beneath layers of shifting sand. With every movement it made, the very earth trembled, shifting like restless tectonic plates as though the terrain itself sought to flee from its presence. Satsujo could only imagine its scale; its enormity was conveyed by the ripples and distortions in the sands, a force of nature set loose beneath their feet.

She realized, bitterly, that she'd underestimated the enemy's cunning. "They anticipated this all along," Satsujo hissed angrily, her fists tightening around the hilts of her twin Jian swords, frustration evident in her hardened expression. "I walked us right into this like a damned puppet," she cursed herself softly, furious at her naivety and vulnerability. The mad doctor, her lifelong adversary, had planned for every contingency—including her stubborn persistence.

But determination quickly replaced her self-admonishment. Her gaze shifted resolutely to Hariku, who stood by with Iron Sand poised, ready for battle. "Hariku," Satsujo's voice was firm and clear, the authority of a commander returning, "we bring down that monster and we're one step closer to him." Her voice trembled slightly, not from fear, but from barely contained rage. "If you can draw it above ground, I'll cut it apart with my wind."

Without waiting for confirmation, Satsujo swung her blades gracefully, channeling her chakra into the wind around her. Each fluid motion of her Jian swords altered the currents of the air, pushing away obstructive clouds of sand and clearing her line of sight. The wind, now sharpened and deadly with her chakra, danced around her, slicing and dispersing the gritty sands effortlessly. Her eye scope zeroed in on the trail and the pathway of subterranean entity, carefully tracking its location through the cascading waves it sent through the desert’s surface. Testing its response, Satsujo sent a powerful gust forward, a sharp, chakra-infused blade of air surging directly into the sands where the beast moved. Her gaze snapped momentarily to Hariku, intense and unwavering as she nodded firmly—a silent signal that the battle had begun, and their moment to strike was now.

Location: Suna Peninsula
Posting Order: Satsujo -> Hariku ->Oboro -> Story (Yaju)
Post Time Limit (PTI): 3 Days
Skip Points: ll​

 

[Yozu]

Hariku, Angel of Hell
Listen while you read

The second the earth buckled beneath them, Hariku’s body went rigid, her senses screaming like a blade scraped raw. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. She simply moved.

With Oboro now present she had no chance to respond to his question


The shift was subtle no blast of chakra, no thunderous explosion just a ripple in the fabric of the terrain that only someone like her would notice. But to Hariku, it might as well have been a siren.


Every instinct honed by years in battle told her the rhythm of the desert had shifted. The wind was too still. The sand too restless, shifting with a pulse that didn’t belong to the world. This wasn’t a natural quake. It was a warning. Something unnatural, something buried deep, was clawing its way toward the surface.


And it was close.


She inhaled slowly, anchoring her mind. The air around her felt thick, laced with chakra so heavy it pressed down on her lungs. Her iron sand always attuned to her chakra, stirred at her feet before she even commanded it. Not from obedience. From something else. The signature below the sand was massive, volatile, unnatural.


Something old. Something twisted.


Her jaw clenched, tension running from her temples to her shoulders.


Then Satsujo’s voice cut through the tension like lightning splitting a storm.


“We bring down that monster and we’re one step closer to him.”


Hariku didn’t reply. Not because she disagreed. But because her mind had already moved into combat rhythm, into that cold, clear state where emotion dulled and instinct sharpened. Still, something in Satsujo’s tone struck her, that fury. That need for justice twisted into vengeance. It reminded Hariku of herself when the war was fresh and her losses still bled. When every enemy felt like a stand-in for the ones who had taken everything from her.


She understood it. It was too familiar.

But empathy had no place on this battlefield.


Only precision.


She raised both arms, fingers fluid through a rapid series of seals. Her chakra pulsed outward in tight, controlled waves. The black dust at her feet surged upward in response, swirling around her like the eye of a storm. Iron sand coiled tighter and tighter, controlled not by brute strength, but by sheer will.


In seconds, she shaped it into six spears, slender, wickedly sharp, floating in perfect symmetry around her. They vibrated faintly, humming with suppressed energy. Each one could punch through steel. Or worse.

"Oboro, I'll explain everything after we deal with.. this thing"

Her gaze swept the dunes, narrowed behind her visor. She could see Satsujo’s wind jutsu already carving through the sand ahead, clean arcs, slicing patterns meant not to damage, but to reveal.


Smart. She’s trying to flush it out.


But still, the enemy hadn’t surfaced. That meant it was waiting. Watching. Learning.


She hated intelligent monsters.


With a sharp flick of her fingers, the six spears shot forward, piercing into the dunes with surgical precision. They buried themselves at angles across the area where the chakra below warped the sand’s natural flow. And then she pushed.


More chakra poured through the links, refined, needlepoint focus, and the desert convulsed.


The sand bulged unnaturally, and then it erupted.


Hariku raised one arm to shield her face as a pillar of dust and sand exploded skyward. Heat and pressure rolled off the blast, choking and dry. The sun vanished for a heartbeat behind the swirling cloud.


She had seen what Suna’s worst researchers could do. Abominations made in labs, grown in tanks. But this thing…


This thing was worse.


It wasn’t just a weapon. It was a message.


You can’t stop us.


Wrong.


Hariku’s arms snapped outward. The spears that had sunk into the earth moments before burst from the sand and reformed in mid-air, chaining together in jagged arcs. With another push of her chakra, they slammed down again, harder, this time, targeting where the sand rippled from the beast’s movements.


Clamp. Bind. Tear.


The iron sand coiled around the creature's limbs and joints like black vines, locking onto the seams between metal and muscle. She didn’t need to see where it was weak, she could feel it. Her sand burrowed into crevices, seeking out leverage points. Crushing, grinding.


“Now, Satsujo!” Hariku shouted. Her voice didn’t tremble, but her fingers did. Not from fear. From effort. Every ounce of her chakra was flowing through the sand, reinforcing the bindings. Every muscle in her arms burned from the intensity of control.


The tendrils lashed wildly. One cracked the earth ten feet away, spraying rock and dust. Another slammed into a dune and caved it inward.


Her eyes narrowed to slits.

“You’re not going anywhere.”


That was the plan, she held the beast still, Satsujo would cut it down.


And when it fell, when its blood soaked the sand and its body stopped twitching, they would be one step closer to the real monster behind all this, together.

Location: Suna Peninsula
Posting Order: Satsujo -> Hariku ->Oboro -> Story (Yaju)
Post Time Limit (PTI): 3 Days
Skip Points: ll​

 

[Mellow]

Oboro stood firmly beside Hariku, his cloak rustling lightly in the heated breeze, his eyes narrowed as he studied the unusual ripples coursing across the desert’s surface. The ground pulsed in shallow tremors—brief, subtle, but undoubtedly real. His gaze didn’t shift from the dunes before them, even as the air around the trio began to thrum with chakra. Oboro tilted his head as his eyes scanned for the slightest flicker of movement. He remained still, letting the two speak. He wasn’t a sensor-type by any means—but his instincts were an entirely different story, then suddenly, Satsujo took action. Once she did her attack, the red-haired shinobi pushed off the ground with a light leap, flipping backward through the air before landing a few meters behind. His arms were crossed calmly across his chest as he took up a position to observe. He wasn’t retreating though; he was watching for the moment. And then came Hariku's attack, Oboro’s eyes locked on her hands as she commanded her attack in a variety of ways in order to ensure the beast they were after was going to be dealt with and he remained vigilant as the sandstorm of dust and debris rushed toward him.

He was impressed by the coordination between Satsujo’s wind assault and Hariku’s precision strikes, creating a synchronized dance of suppression and pinpoint aggression. Their movements, their decisions—they weren’t just attacking blindly. They were aiming to control and force whatever else was hiding out to rid it of its advantage.​

Oboro's Mind: They have good coordination, and yet i've never seen the one Hariku's fighting with until now. She seemed experienced nonetheless, I'll simply wait for the real threat and jump in once i find an opening.​

 

[LucianRedgrave]

They were all so eager to secure their prize. That was something about the shinobi world that hadn’t changed in the slightest. Even amongst their most elite shinobi the cookie still crumbled the same as they reached their desired location within the shifting sands. Satsujo’s hopes of prying the beast free from its sandy depths was met with folly as the only thing that followed from her actions were explosions of sand revealing more of the facility they had hoped to enter as well as driving the beast deeper within. Its scaled form slinking deeper into the depths with a low growl. The sands shifted with an otherworldly presence as it sunk deeper within soon leaving nothing to the imagination besides the games the mind played on itself. In exchange for their efforts both Satsujo and Hariku would find that the facility seemed to be nothing more than a subterranean entrance even amongst the sand peninsula. The low groan and growl of the beast only echoing from within the chambers of the place in question. Had they chosen to enter its sandy depths they would find darkness and death waiting for them. Experiments long since decayed, some even fed upon like a midnight snack. Whatever had been lurking within the depths of this abandoned facility wasn’t just feeding on the old experiments it had become something new.

Broken scales from battles long sense fought decorated the facilities corridors as claw marks painted a deadly scene. The metal walls, once a sterile work environment, were stained in rust and blood. The deep gouges torn through them as if the creature the shinobi in question had been hunting had raged through in search of prey or freedom alike. The heavy air leaden with its toxic chakra and something fouler, decay clinging to every breath like an ethereal hand curling around the throat. While the sun was once high in the sky, its descent was quick and rapid trailing towards the horizon. Even as they stood on the outside on the precipice of the facility they could see the dancing burn of lights from within, a sign these lights were being powered by a technology from the old world perhaps a chakra based battery or something more mundane. The lights within illuminated just enough to give a taste of the horrors that once unfolded here, not enough to grant comfort.

The deeper one traveled, the clearer it became: this place had not simply been abandoned. It had been torn apart its secrets either unleashed or buried beneath the sands in haste. Bio-containment doors remained half-sealed or fused entirely shut, warning glyphs etched into them, worn but still visible spoke to quarantine measures now broken. Desiccated bodies in lab coats littered some of the side rooms, their corpses frozen in silent screams. Others had clearly not died alone. Blood trails smeared against the floor and walls told of struggle and pursuit, dragged ends suggesting something far more primal than science had come to claim them. Yet it wasn’t all mindless destruction. Some of the inner laboratories remained eerily preserved, their glass tanks still pulsing faintly with a sickly green light. Within them floated remnants limbs, tails, scales, and twitching nerve bundles suspended in nutrient fluid long past viability. Notes pinned to boards and the researchers that formerly worked on them were reduced to ash due to time. Once the shinobi that hoped to hunt the beast made their way within they would find both scraps of futility and history alike awaiting them but perhaps even something more.

 

[Jeriah]

Satsujo’s breath slowed as she narrowed her gaze through the scope of her wind-sensor lens, carefully tracking every movement of the beast. She followed it with precision, watching the way it shifted beneath the terrain and paused—just long enough for her to strike. With full confidence in her calculations, she unleashed a slicing gust of wind toward the location the creature had last surfaced. Sand exploded upward in the aftermath of the collision, and for a moment, Satsujo was certain her attack had found its mark.

Beside her, she could feel Hariku's presence, their coordination seamless, honed from countless battles. They didn’t need to speak to move in unison, but when they did, it was with perfect clarity. Hariku’s voice rang out through the chaos as her iron sand surged forward like coiling black serpents. The sand wrapped around the creature’s limbs, slithering into the gaps between its metal plating and muscle, tightening like a vice. Satsujo didn’t need to see its vulnerabilities—Hariku’s chakra told her exactly where they were. The iron sand drilled into crevices, searching for leverage, grinding and locking with brutal intent. Though Hariku’s voice remained steady, Satsujo noticed the tremble in her fingers. It wasn’t fear—it was the cost of channeling that much chakra with that much precision. Tendrils lashed out around them, one cracking the earth ten feet away, another caving in a nearby dune.

Recognizing the strain on her comrade, Satsujo acted without hesitation. Channeling a sharp, controlled stream of chakra into her twin blades, she crossed them into an X-shape, then swung them outward in a swift, violent motion. From that strike, two massive wind blades roared toward the restrained beast. She felt certain this would be the end. But just before the blades could connect, the sand beneath the creature gave way, swallowing it whole. It slipped down into the earth as though diving into a hidden ocean. Only then did Satsujo realize the truth—the sandy terrain was more than desert. It masked a vast, subterranean water network, one the beast had used to escape.

The wind blades sliced into empty dunes, stirring silence in their wake. From beneath the surface came a low groan, the beast’s growl echoing through the newly formed cavern. Despite the frustration welling up inside her, Satsujo’s sharp eyes caught something else amidst the sand’s disruption: the edge of a metallic structure—an entrance. Partially buried and long hidden, the outline of a facility revealed itself, rising from the chaos like a half-sunken ruin. Even with the beast gone, their efforts had not been in vain. They had uncovered something far more valuable.

"Oboro, Hariku," she called out, urgency seeping into her voice, "This may be our only opportunity to explore the laboratory." Without waiting for a reply, she summoned wind beneath her feet, lifting herself into the air. Her body floated forward, riding the current with grace and precision, her long scarf fluttering behind her as she glided toward the exposed entry. Beneath her, the beast's distant growl rumbled through the earth, but Satsujo felt no fear. She had waited too long for this moment. The darkened lab awaited—filled with secrets, danger, and the enemy she had long sought. And this time, she was going to confront it head-on.

Location: Suna Peninsula
Posting Order: Satsujo -> Hariku ->Oboro -> Story (Yaju)
Post Time Limit (PTI): 3 Days
Skip Points: ll​

 

[Yozu]

Hariku, Angel of Hell
Listen while you read

Hariku stood motionless as the beast's last growl echoed through the desert, fading into the depths like a warning retreating into silence. But it wasn’t silence that followed. It was something heavier. Something waiting.


Around her, the disturbed air trembled with the residue of battle. Her iron sand hovered briefly in the atmosphere, each particle shimmering with lingering chakra before slowly drawing back toward her. It did not return to a container or storage unit. Instead, it threaded directly into her body, vanishing beneath her skin in a fine black mist. The sensation was familiar, but it never stopped feeling invasive. Necessary. Intimate. Like reabsorbing a piece of herself she had cast violently outward.


She closed her eyes for a moment as the last of it sank beneath her skin. Her muscles twitched from the strain. Not from fatigue, but from how much chakra she had forced through the iron. It responded to her blood, her thought, her anger. But it had limits, and so did she.

Sand still shifted beneath her feet, unsettled by the creature’s retreat. It was not gone. It had not fled. It had only moved. Burrowed deeper, like a wound festering beneath the surface. She could feel it. Her sand had touched its plating, its flesh, its strange layered composition. It had felt wrong. Spliced. Assembled rather than born.


She turned her head slightly as Satsujo’s voice rang out across the field. Hariku did not answer, but her eyes moved to where the entrance had been revealed. The earth, torn open by their attacks, had offered up a secret. Twisted metal beams framed a subterranean entryway. Lights flickered weakly inside, their glow pale and artificial against the natural sun. It looked like a carcass, half-buried in the sand. Like a maw.


Beside her, the air shifted.


She didn’t need to look to know it was Oboro who had approached. His presence was steady, his chakra calm. Observing. Patient. She allowed a moment of silence between them, reading the space as she had been trained to. Measuring what kind of shinobi he was not by his words, but by what he chose not to say, then, her voice cut the stillness.


"It’s not hiding. It’s gone home."

Her tone was neutral, but there was an undercurrent of certainty beneath it. This place wasn’t a trap. It was a nest.


She turned to face him more directly, the shifting sands whispering against her boots. Her eyes, partially hidden behind her visor, locked onto his. She studied his posture, the way he held himself even now with arms crossed, weight balanced, as if ready to strike but unhurried.


"If we’re going in," she said, voice low, "stay ahead of your fear. Whatever built that thing didn’t build it to be killed easily. It’s not just a weapon. It’s an experiment that survived its creators."


The desert wind pushed lightly against her cloak, now quiet again, no longer screaming through the dunes. It was the kind of quiet that begged for violence.


Her hand lifted, fingers flexing slightly as if she could still feel the residue of the sand writhing in her grip.


"If you see it, do not hesitate. Strike. Aim for joints, under the plating. If it adapts, we don't wait for a second chance."


Then she looked toward the entrance again. Satsujo had already begun moving, gliding forward on controlled wind currents. She was focused, sharp. Hariku respected that. No hesitation. No wasted time.


"She moves like someone with unfinished business," Hariku murmured, mostly to herself. Then louder, without looking back, "Let’s not let her face it alone."


With that, Hariku stepped forward. The light grew dimmer as she approached the torn metal threshold. The walls were scarred, scraped with long, uneven gashes, some burned, others gouged as if something with claws and rage had torn through. The air was heavier now. Not just with dust and decay, but with chakra. Old. Sick. Saturated.


Hariku didn’t flinch.


The moment her boot crossed the threshold into the half-lit corridor, her chakra shifted with her. Iron threads beneath her skin stirred like muscles ready to lash out. The battle might have ended above the sand, but below?


It had only begun.

Location: Suna Peninsula
Posting Order: Satsujo -> Hariku ->Oboro -> Story (Yaju)
Post Time Limit (PTI): 3 Days
Skip Points: ll​

 

[Mellow]

The storm of sand and chakra began to settle, leaving faintly shimmering spears still embedded in the dunes and deep, jagged cuts where Satsujo's wind chakra had split the desert wide open. The once-pulsing dunes were eerily still now and whatever had shifted below had retreated into silence. No more movement, no more tremors. His dark eyes scanned the area and only after a few seconds of no activity did he ease slightly. Then his attention turned toward Satsujo as she broke the silence. Oboro’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully to what she was saying, and he knew the Sand had secrets buried beneath its dunes, but this was different. If that thing had indeed retreated home, then whatever they were about to step into wasn’t just a normal lab… it was history, weaponry, and failure all stitched into something else entirely. Before he could respond however, Hariku approached him, stepping closer to him.

Oboro's breath was suddenly caught in his throat, but not from her words. She was closer to him than usual, enough for him to see the small flecks of sand caught in her lashes. Despite his calm expression, a faint blush crept across his cheeks. Hidden beneath his stoic gaze, the warmth flared before he blinked it away, his posture remained composed, and he didn’t look away from her.
​

Oboro Mind: My Fear? What?​

His only fear was if something happened to her, but she wasn't yet aware of it and that was clear with the look in his eyes now. He continued to listen, every word absorbed into his mind and she was right. Though, he wasn't someone who threw himself into a situation without understanding the nature of his opponent. Recklessness got you killed, but then again so did being overly cautious. Now, stepping forward; His gloved hand reached out, resting gently on her shoulder before sliding down the length of her arm, fingers curling until they found hers.
​

Oboro: You should know by now, once I deem you as an enemy I don't hesitate. I couldn't see what you two were attack though, and my power mainly lies in my physical strength.​

After speaking, Oboro turned and released her hand then took a step forward. With a swift, fluid motion, his fingers formed the tiger seal. Following the seal, A shadow clone formed in a quiet puff of smoke beside him, identical and armed. Oboro nodded to it, and the clone moved ahead toward the laboratory entrance with its steps light and careful as to not set off any traps. Meanwhile, Oboro himself followed a few feet behind it and waved towards Satsujo and Hariku to follow him until he was sure there was nothing for them to worry about.
​

Oboro: Alright, I have't had the pleasure to normally meeting you like Hariku has. So tell me, who exactly are you?​

Location: Suna Peninsula
Posting Order: Satsujo -> Hariku ->Oboro -> Story (Yaju)
Post Time Limit (PTI): 3 Days
Skip Points: ll​

 

[Jeriah]

Satsujo stood at the threshold of the abandoned laboratory, the wind at her back carrying the scent of scorched sand and old decay. Her sharp eyes scanned the cracked walls and rusted framework that framed the entrance—this place had long been forgotten by most, but not by her. Her heart beat steady, but beneath it roared a storm of intention. She wasn’t here for exploration. She wasn’t here for preservation. She was here to end it.

Her mind burned with purpose: destroy everything tied to her long-time rival. His research, his twisted legacy, his very memory—none of it would survive. If he was dead, then so be it. But if there was even a shred of him left hidden in the notes, in the experiments, in the vile echoes of his ambition, then she would reduce it all to ash.

Just behind her, Hariku and Oboro followed with disciplined silence. Before any of them could speak further, Satsujo turned with a sudden grace and offered Oboro a smile that felt dissonant in the shadow of the looming structure.

"Where are my manners?" she said, voice calm but edged with wind. "My name is Satsujo."

Though she had been away from the village for a decade, her name still held weight in the windswept canyons of Sunagakure. She had earned the moniker Cyclone Sentinel—a title not given lightly. With her mastery of Wind Release, she could conjure towering tornadoes at will, even disperse or overpower cyclones crafted by nature or jutsu alike. She was the embodiment of the storm.

As they approached the rusting doorframe, she suddenly extended her right arm, halting both of her companions with a firm gesture. Her expression sharpened.

“Wait.”

With practiced efficiency, she drew her twin swords and crossed them together. A burst of wind erupted from the blades, spiraling down the dark corridor ahead. It wasn’t strong enough to shatter bone, but it would be more than enough to disturb hidden traps—loose wires, pressure plates, seals woven into the dust. She waited, eyes focused, listening for the faint click of a trigger or the whir of mechanical movement.

If anything had been set, she would allow it to spring, watching from a safe distance. If the wind passed without response, she still would not rush in. Slowly, cautiously, she stepped forward, her every movement calculated. She never fully committed until she knew the danger had passed.

The darkness inside swallowed the light from the outside world. With a soft exhale, she raised her left hand—her puppet arm—the metallic prosthetic hissing faintly as the internal gears adjusted. At the palm, thin tubes ran along the fingers, each lined with scorched residue. She turned the small brass knob at the wrist exactly half an inch.

A narrow stream of flame burst forth—gentle, but bright. It crackled against the damp air and flickered across the stone walls, revealing fractured tiles, splintered support beams, and smeared writing that had long since faded into unreadable chaos. The flame did not scorch, not yet, but its presence was a promise. Whatever secrets this lab held, Satsujo had no intention of letting them leave intact.

Location: Suna Peninsula
Posting Order: Satsujo -> Hariku ->Oboro -> Story (Yaju)
Post Time Limit (PTI): 3 Days
Skip Points: ll​

 

[Baldhead]

One Week Later

The room at the hospital was still, except for the soft whisper of wind weaving through the half-opened window. Golden rays of sunlight spilled gently across the sheets, painting warmth across pale tiles and sterile white walls. Outside, the desert whispered softly ,grain by grain and beneath the hush of a village waiting for its heart to beat again. Then… his fingers moved, a slow twitch, a sign of life. The monitors beside the bed flickered gently. The puppet master, the Kazekage, Shishiō Shirogane… opened his eyes to the ceiling above. For a moment, there was only silence. The steady beep of the heart monitor. The quiet thrum of life returning to his limbs and the weight of time lost.

For a moment, his mind was quiet, still caught between dream and waking. His breath came slowly, the dry air catching in his throat like dust. Muscles ached from stillness. His body felt far away, like a tool that hadn’t been used in days, but it was his once more. Shishiō blinked once, then twice, and finally stirred. He sat up, one slow movement at a time, arms trembling beneath his own weight. The blankets slid from his shoulders, revealing the faint scars along his collarbone, the price of both battle and survival. Then the door opened just as he shifted and a young nurse stepped in, clipboard in hand, expecting routine. But the moment she saw him, her breath hitched. The clipboard slipped from her hands and clattered onto the floor with a sharp echo.
“Kazekage-sama…?” She gasped, her voice trembling. Their eyes met, Shishiō gave her a faint gentle smile, worn, but undeniably alive.
‘’Thank you” He said, voice hoarse like wind over an old stone. “For watching over me.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, tears brimming in her eyes, not from sorrow, but overwhelming relief. She bowed deeply, unable to stop her hands from shaking, then rushed from the room to alert the village.

Sunagakure – A Few Hours Later

The double doors of the hospital opened with a whisper. The air outside was dry and brisk, laced with the warmth of the rising sun and the ever-present hush of desert wind sweeping through the sandstone streets. It had been a long week since the feet of the Kazekage had last touched the soil of Sunagakure. Whispers had spread through Sunagakure like wildfire, their Kazekage had collapsed, the puppeteer king had fallen, no word, no sign of when or if he would return. Shishiō stepped into the sunlight like a ghost returned to the world. He was draped in his formal white and green Kazekage outfit, though it hung looser on him now, his body thinner from a week of dehydration and unconsciousness.

At each side, masked ANBU operatives flanked his steps like silent shadows. One wore the Oni mask, the other, a Hannya mask. Both had been stationed at the hospital around the clock. Now they walked with him, not as escorts, but as silent confirmation to the village. The courtyard outside the hospital, once quiet, slowly came to life. First, the medic-nin stopped what they were doing, glancing, gasping. Then, civilians paused mid-step. Conversations died mid-sentence. From across rooftops, shinobi on patrol turned their heads. Children fell silent, kunai clattering to the ground. In the distance, a jonin stumbled off a ledge and had to catch himself mid-jump—eyes wide with disbelief and then the whisper started.

"Shishiō-sama..."
"The Kazekage..."
"He's awake..."
"He’s walking…"

Some bowed in stunned respect. Others placed hands on their hearts. No cheers erupted, not yet. It was as if the entire village held its collective breath, watching to be sure it was real. That this wasn’t just a puppet mimicking their leader. Each step was deliberate, not with the slow burden of weakness, but with the quiet confidence of a man who didn’t need to declare his presence. The Oni-masked ANBU finally spoke beside him, voice calm but low.

“There were meetings in your absence. The council attempted to call a vote. We stalled them.”

“We reinforced the narrative that your condition was temporary” Said the Hannya -mask. “A necessary recovery after what happened.”

Shishiō didn’t speak at first, his eyes were scanning around him, not just the buildings or the people, but the feeling of chakra signatures, the movement, the subtle shifts in loyalty and attention. His mind moved like gears in a watch, measuring far more than what appeared on the surface. When he passed by the hospital gate, he could feel it, the shift in the air. The moment when awe began to solidify into belief. When hope turned from a whisper into weight. The people weren’t just watching anymore. They were following now instead, the trail he left behind was paved in silence, but the emotion was thunderous. For a man known for puppetry, this felt like he’d stepped back into the threads of fate and seized them with his own hands.

“Continue” Shishiō said at last, his voice quiet, but no less commanding. “What else did I miss?”

The ANBU began listing strategic movements, letters received from other nations, tensions at the Wind-Fire border. But their words faded behind the growing sound of sandals rushing across rooftops. Shinobi were gathering but not in defense, not in aggression but to bear witness.

When Shishiō finally reached the towering black-glass skyscraper that served as the heart of the village, his design, his project and the entire front of the building stood framed against the midday sun. Its windows reflected the golden sky. Its entrance, lined with iron and sandstone, stood open like the gates of a temple. And there, waiting silently, were two dozen shinobi of various ranks, chuunin, special jonin, and a few of the old guard. Not commanded or summoned. They simply came to witness his return. Shishiō paused just before the final steps, lifting his gaze to the massive etched symbol of the Kazekage engraved above the doors. Then, slowly, he turned to glance over his shoulder. The village was alive and safe and for the first time in a while it had its puppet master and Kazekage once more. Then he turned back to the tower and stepped inside.

Location: Sunagakure Hostpital - Kazekage building
Posting Order: Shishiō-> ???
Post Time Limit (PTI): 3 Days
Skip Points: ll

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