Chapter 45: Forty-Five
Chapter Text
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE:
The night before Sansa was due to leave for Kiri, she stood before the heart-tree in her mindscape, the seal that bound Kurama an ugly, bold mess before her as Mito hovered at her shoulder. Her palm was pressed against the thick black ink as she fed her chakra into it, letting it trace out the lines for her to memorise.
Closing her eyes, Sansa pushed her chakra further, reaching deeper, feeling for the heart of the seal. Around her, the weirwoods towered, their crimson faces weeping, the foxfire flared bright, almost blinding, and the Kotoamatsukami burned, turning the sky into a sea of flame and abyss.
Sansa could feel the chakra in the ink. There were two very distinct sets; one stronger than the other. The stronger chakra felt similar to Naruto, but less like a storm, more like a whirlwind. The other... the other was heartachingly familiar.
Kushina.
Opening her eyes, Sansa exhaled as she withdrew her chakra from the seal, the black ink now lit up a blazing gold.
"I think I can remove it," she said, slightly breathless from the effort she had expended. "It's not an Uzushio seal, created from pure chakra; it was drawn with ink, it will naturally weaken over time, and I can... speed that process along."
"But there's a catch," Kurama rumbled, fire-bright eyes narrowed despite the sudden flare of hope she could see.
"But there's a catch," Sansa agreed softly. "To use brute force in such a manner... even if channelling that much chakra failed to kill me, your release from the seal would rip me apart."
"Unacceptable," Mito said sharply, spinning around to glare at Kurama, her lips pulled back in a snarl of her own, her blunt teeth not detracting from the danger of her expression. "That is unacceptable, Sansa!" She repeated, a dark warning in her stormy eyes as she glared up at Kurama.
"...are there any other options?" Kurama asked after a brief pause, and Sansa wasn't ashamed to say tears blurred her vision.
"There are," she said, trying discretely wiping them even as her heart warmed at the notion that Kurama would choose continued captivity over her death. How far they had come, from the hatred and loathing that had once coloured Kurama's interactions with her. "I can weaken it over time," she explained to them, "it would be a slower process, but only by a few years. And in that time, I'm sure that between us we can come up with a solution to the actual extraction problem. The other option– well, I thought it was important to bring it up. In case... in case things go wrong in Kiri. If I'm going to die, I don't want to take you with me, Kurama."
Kurama looked... well, it was difficult to put to words their expression, but the wave of crimson-edged chakra that brushed against Sansa was gentle, for all that it burned, and that spoke more than any words could.
"Humans," they murmured. But the word was fond and Sansa reached back with her own chakra, letting it mingle with Kurama's, her oceans singing with power where they met Kurama's fire.
~
It was well before dawn when Sansa woke the morning she was due to leave for Kiri, but falling back asleep was a lost cause. Naruto was curled up in her arms, her chin tucked over his golden head, and she held him tight, wishing she never had to let go of him; her brother, her pack, her little wolf-cub.
Naruto woke as the sun's first rays started to peek through the edges of the curtains and he instantly squirmed around, burrowing his face into the curve of her neck and whimpering. "Shh," she murmured, holding him close, "shh, I'm here."
"You're leaving," he whined, and Sansa could feel his claws piercing her skin as he gripped her as tight as he could.
"I know," Sansa murmured back wretchedly. "I know, my love, my little prince, I know."
"I don't want you too!" Naruto wailed, the tears coming thick and fast now and Sansa could feel her own tears coming on as she held Naruto tight. He cried for what felt like a small eternity and there was nothing Sansa could truly say to comfort him. There were no true promises she could give him. She could die. The odds were against her. All she could do, all she could vow, was that she would do her best to return to him.
When his tears slowed to hiccups, they finally separated, her arms unwinding from their tight hold around him as he released his grip on her. "Hush," Sansa scolded gently as Naruto looked guiltily at the small streaks of blood from where his claws had pierced her skin. "Don't be sorry, my little wolf; we were born in the wild, we carry it in our veins– never apologise for who you are."
They lay there together for as long as they could before eventually they had to get up, if they wanted to visit the shrine before Sansa left. They dressed in silence, Sansa pulling on her new gear for the first time and taking great care in painting her face, going past her usual palate for a different choice of colours.
When she and Naruto stepped out of their apartment, everyone who saw them, saw her, stopped dead and Sansa almost wanted to smile, sharp and vicious. Instead she swept by them all, head raised high; regal as the queen she was, in name and in truth.
At her side, Naruto was appropriately solemn. He may not understand the significance of her manner of dress, but he did understand that something significant was happening and for once he wasn't skipping or bouncing ahead, instead walking by her side with no smile on his small face.
When they reached their shrine, Sansa knelt beside her brother, her hand never leaving his, her chakra intertwined so close with his own that she could practically feel the beating of his heart, could taste his fear.
Let me come back to him, she prayed; desperate and fierce, a plea and a demand. Don't take me from him. Don't let him lose me too.
Behind her eyelids, foxfire flashed; bright and glowing.
Suzuki Tama was waiting for them outside the shrine. The older girl's face was hard, but her dark eyes, Nara eyes, softened slightly at the sight of Naruto. "I'll take our little Komorebi-kun from here," she murmured and Sansa's grip on Naruto tightened for a moment before relaxing.
"Thank you," she murmured, the added weight to those words conveying more than just her gratitude for sparing Naruto from having to be there in person to see her leave the village, for having to be alone today.
Tama nodded and Sansa turned to Naruto, cradling his face in her small hands. "My little prince," she said, her heart aching. "No matter what happens, I want you to know that I love you. I love you more than anything in this world. You are my world, Naruto."
"I love you too," Naruto whispered and Sansa leaned forwards, pressing her forehead against his.
"Goodbye, my darling," she whispered, before letting go, letting Tama step forwards and take the already-sobbing Naruto into her arms, her heart feeling as if it were breaking in her chest.
She ached to reach back for her brother, to hold him to her, but she forced herself to turn, to leave, hating herself for every step she took away from Naruto's sobs.
The village had woken while she and Naruto prayed in the shrine and Sansa was very aware of the silence that fell around her as she walked through it and it satisfied the viciously angry part of her that wanted to lash out, that wanted those around her to hurt for the pain she felt in her heart.
Nobody dared to jeer at her this morning.
Nobody dared try to chase her away.
She met Jiraiya and her temporary team at the gates of Konoha. They weren't the only ones there. Sansa was surprised to see Haruno Ayaka standing in her many layers of kimonos, hair as elaborate as ever, jewels glittering at her throat. She was less surprised to see Tama had sent a presence; a swell of street kids from the Yūkaku, Konoha's unwanted and forgotten children, today all wearing red stripes on their cheeks.
In Kabuki theatre performances, red stripes painted on the actors' faces represented courage, strength– and justice.
Oh, Tama was a clever, clever girl.
Everyone all fell silent as Sansa approached, just as all those she had passed earlier had. Sansa's focus was on Jiraiya, however, and she held out her arms, her sleeves fluttering, and smiled at him, baring her sharp wolf's teeth.
"Well?" she asked him. "What do you think?"
Sansa had draped herself in the colours of mourning, the colours of death*; from her tunic-dress, to the tight-fitting leggings, to the calf-hugging boots, to the band of cloth the hitai-ate was sewn on– which she had chosen to wear around her neck, symbolic of the noose that it was– everything she wore was white as fresh-fallen snow.
Her jewel-bright hair was tied atop her head in a shining knot, held in place by the kanzashi Inari-sama had given her, the kanzashi once worn by Uzushio's Empress, several long strands spilling over her shoulders, like trails of blood against the pure white.
When it came time to painting her face, her Uzushio spiral was done in its now customary blood-red slashed across her forehead where a hitai-ate traditionally sat in the style of arterial spray; she had even added small streaks and droplets to make it look more like blood splatter. Her cheeks she had lined the same bold, rich purple of Shion– the purple of nobles, of royalty.
There was no mistaking her intentions. No chance of anyone mistaking her for anything but who and what she was; an Uzumaki of Uzushio, a Princess of the lost Whirlpools.
"Oh Fuyuko," Jiraiya breathed, and there was something about his face that she couldn't interpret. It wasn't quite the horror she'd been expecting– in fact, there was something bewilderingly close to nostalgic in the twist of his chakra as he took her in.
Yamanaka Eri and Hirai Chiyoko looked pale in their shock, a far more satisfying reaction, while there was a glimmer on interest in Kabuto's eyes as he took in her choice. Ayaka looked pleased and barely tried to hide that fact while Tama's people looked on with sharp eyes and sharper smiles.
"When this all inevitably goes up in flames–" Jiraiya started to say, having finally pulled himself together, but Sansa interrupted him.
"I'll be the last one standing," she said as she swept past him towards the gate, her chin held high. She shot him a sharp-toothed smile over her shoulder. "I always am– just ask Danzo."
"That might be hard," Jiraiya said dryly. "Considering the state of him right now."
Sansa's smile widened, pretty and predatory.
"Exactly."
~
It took them three days to reach Kiri. Sansa was impatient the entire time, her unease translating to short, snappish moods, her tongue cutting down Eri and Chiyoko whenever the two tried to include her in their conversation. Jiraiya and Kabuto seemed to know better than to try.
The day before they were due to arrive at Kiri, Jiraiya briefed them as to the political situation. "Kiri," he told them, "is a mess. The Water Daimyō went... well, he went mad, basically, about three years ago and had his closest family and advisors executed, convinced they were plotting against him. There was a massive political power vacuum and all the nobles were scrambling, trying to figure out what to do– all of them wanted more power, of course, but none of them wanted to end up the next lot of victims to a mad Daimyō.
"While all this was happening, there was nobody to really take notice of the fact that the Mizukage had started a bloodline purge. Any other time, the Daimyō would have stepped in– of course they would have, bloodline clans are powerful, they're a mark of a village's strength. It's madness to think of anyone, let alone a Kage, turning against such strength. But the Mizukage did, and there are always enough shinobi jealous and afraid of those with bloodlines that he had enough support in his campaigns.
"It shook the entire Elemental Nations," Jiraiya admitted, and he felt shaken, his chakra twisting in unease. "The Shogun stepped in, sent his samurai to depose the Water Daimyō and had him replaced with a cousin of the Daimyō who survived the initial executions due to being a guest at the Shogun's court at the time. As for Kiri... well, there's a reason it's known as Chigiri no Sato– Village of the Bloody Mist. Thousands of their own died at the hands of their own forces."
"I don't know why such atrocities could possibly have surprised anyone," Sansa said, her tone cold enough to freeze over the oceans. "This is the same village that committed genocide against Uzushio, out of fear for their strength. Why wouldn't they commit genocide against their own people, out of that same fear?"
A strained silence followed her words.
"Yes," Jiraiya said quietly, "well, that's the current situation in Kiri. There's a reason why Konoha has only sent one team– and why they've sent me to accompany you. It's a dangerous, unstable situation and you're going to have to be on your guard the entire time and obey every order I give. I don't know how many other villages will be sending representation– I'm guessing only the other major villages, because not sending a team would show too much weakness. That means you'll mainly be facing Kiri teams and you need to understand this; Kiri is not like Konoha, they are not going to have any mercy and they will not hold back. You are going to have to kill in these Exams, if you want to survive. Do you understand?"
Chiyoko looked pale but Kabuto looked expressionless as they all nodded. For Sansa, whose hands were already soaked with blood, this wasn't new information to her. She already knew she wasn't going to be leaving Kiri alive without a fight.
~
They arrived at Kiri on the afternoon of the third day.
~
The stone wall that acted as a border around the Hidden Village of the Mist rose up before them, seeming to rise taller and taller as they approached. Ninja patrolled along the top of the wall, flashing by too fast for Sansa to track, and as they approached the large gateway she could see four shinobi standing there, waiting.
Sansa could feel the moment the Kiri nin saw her. It wasn't as obvious on any of their faces; they were too well-trained for that. But they couldn't hide their chakra, not from her, and Sansa could feel how it twisted into shock-shock-anger-disgust-fear.
Jiraiya shifted, looming at her back as one of them moved his hand to his hip, where a weapons pouch sat, and the man froze at whatever expression Jiraiya must be wearing. Sansa carefully did not smile, despite the temptation. She kept her expression ice-cold, instead; it could be difficult, to appear entirely above someone when she was half their size, but that was the image Sansa intended to project.
"Konoha," one of the gate guards finally greeted them, his voice uneasy.
"We're here for the Chūnin Exams," Eri said, her voice impressively firm considering their welcome so far, the atmosphere so tense Sansa honestly wouldn't be surprised if it was about to break out into violence. "We're expected."
"...Egawa," one of the gate guards said finally, and one of the four shinobi split away, moving over to press a hand against the stone. Sansa's insides went molten with rage when a seal lit up golden under his palm and with a rumble of stone an archway opened. Jiraiya actually had to reach down and grip onto her shoulder, a warning not to react.
She had known, that Kiri and Iwa wouldn't have merely seen fit to destroy Uzushio and massacre her people. She had known that they would have stripped it of all of value, that they would have stolen anything they could find, including all knowledge of seals they could get their hands on. But to be so brazen, and right in front of her!
She met the eyes of the shinobi who had used the gate seal, Egawa, and she didn't know what expression she wore, but the way his chakra twisted in fear told her he knew her fury.
One of the gate guards darted off ahead while Egawa led them through the streets of Kirigakure, Sansa wrestling with her molten rage, her face a blank mask as she did so. Focusing on her surroundings did help to distract her somewhat as she took in the differences between Kiri and Konoha.
Kiri reminded her of the Iron Islands. Its rocky shores led out to a dark, churning ocean, over which hovered its namesake, a mist so thick Sansa couldn't see two yards past the shoreline, let alone the distant horizon. The mist had rolled down from the mountains that overlooked the village, their distant, jagged peaks dark and forbidding.
The village itself had a grim atmosphere to it. The streets were empty of people and the marketplace was hushed as they walked through it; the merchants didn't call out as they did in Konoha, merely watched the procession of shinobi file past with blank faces and hard eyes– eyes that caught on Sansa, on her hair, on the symbol she wore on her forehead, and followed her long after she'd passed.
Another key difference from Konoha that Sansa noted was that the buildings were made from stone, in place of the wood that a majority of Konoha's buildings were constructed from. They were hardier, tougher, like the people they housed. She couldn't see any street children around, but she knew they'd be somewhere. There always were, especially in places as dark and broken as this, where violence had cut families down and left survivors wandering lost and the blood had sunk deep into the stone on which they walked.
There were stains on the ground. Dark stains, the sort that refused to come out no matter how hard they were scrubbed.
Sansa knew those stains. She'd seen them before.
The Bloody Mist indeed.
Their small party was led to a large, round stone tower in the centre of the village, built tall and heavy. It was well-guarded, Sansa could tell from the number of chakra signatures, but one in particular stood out. It was near the top of the tower and it felt... familiar. Corrosive, yet it didn't burn; it reminded her of the ocean; or rather, it reminded her of the agony of salt water poured in fresh, weeping wounds and the memory made her want to shudder, to flinch away from the oppressive presence. Through sheer force of will alone, she stood her ground, keeping her face blank.
A man came out of the tower to meet them. He was tall, almost as tall as Jiraiya, and shirtless, with bandages wrapped around the lower half of his face. He carried on his back a sword bigger than he was– and had she mentioned he was shirtless?
"Compensating much?" Jiraiya muttered.
"I'm compensating for nothing, old man," the man jeered, before turning his gaze unnervingly down at Sansa. "So you're the one they're pissing themselves over," he snorted, his disdain a thick, heavy thing. "You're, what, five?"
"Thereabouts," Sansa agreed, baring sharp teeth at him in a smile. She could feel when he pressed his chakra against hers, could feel the dark twist to it that Jiraiya called 'Killing Intent' and Sayomi called 'Asserting Will', and didn't flinch, instead letting her oceans rise up within her, its hungry maws swallowing down the pressure of the man's chakra as she met his gaze evenly.
"Huh," he said, letting the pressure ease off. He looked thoughtful now. "Maybe you won't end up fish food, after all."
"Are you going to show us to where we're staying or not, Momochi?" Jiraiya interrupted, actually sounding angry now, a thread of something dangerously threatening in his chakra.
The man– Momochi– rolled his eyes. "Sure, sure," he said. "I'll get to see what she's made of, soon enough," he looked down at her, and Sansa could tell that behind those bandages, he was grinning. "Maybe even literally."
"Careful," Jiraiya warned, and now there was no mistaking the threat in his voice at all. Momochi met and held his hard-eyed gaze for a moment then huffed.
"No need to be so precious," he sneered, before jerking his head. "I'll show you to your quarters," his eyes swept over Eri, Chiyoko and Kabuto and his chakra twisted in an amused sort of contempt, "however temporary they might be." He added. She could tell he was grinning again as he added, "welcome to Kiri."
*from what research has told me, in modern Japanese culture black is the colour of mourning. However, white used to be the colour worn during funerals and mourning and it wasn't until the opening of the country during the Meiji period (1868-1912) that, under Western influence, the Japanese started wearing white clothes in everyday life and the mourning colour changed to black. Considering the feudal culture of the Elemntal Nations, I'm using white as their colour of mourning/symbolic of death.
A/N: Obviously, Zabuza hasn't defected yet, for the people who were wondering about the timeline- and Yagura is still Mizukage.
The Chūnin Exams have finally begun! xx