Zabuza crouched on the Takahashi Inn's rooftop, his eyes narrowed as he watched the villagers of the Land of Waves emerge from their homes.
Each person held a lit candle, mirroring what he'd seen the Takahashi family do earlier.
People in black cloaks moved through the streets without a word. The only sound was the waves crashing against the rocks.
"Where are they going?" he muttered, his brow furrowed in confusion.
He couldn't understand why these people would come out at midnight, on a full moon night when the tide was at its highest. Their movements seemed random at first, like moths drawn to an invisible flame.
Curiosity got the better of him. With a few quick jumps, he landed on the roof of a nearby house in the fishing village.
He lay flat, his heart steady despite the growing tension. Years of ninja training had taught him to stay calm, even when things got weird.
As he watched, a pattern started to form. The villagers, despite their wobbly walking, were all heading towards the old house at the village entrance - where that red-robed priest lived.
Something about this whole thing felt off, beyond just being strange. As more people gathered near the old house, a creepy sound rose up - a mixture of whispers, heavy breathing, and animal-like growls.
None of it sounded like normal human speech.
The fishy smell that was always around in the Land of Waves got stronger, hitting his nose hard. Even from where he was, the smell was overwhelming, like rotting seaweed and decay.
"Ugh," Zabuza grunted in disgust, fighting the urge to cover his nose.
Suddenly, the door of the old house creaked open. He tensed up, his hand moving to his sword without thinking.
The red-robed priest came out, carrying not a candle, but a statue. It looked like the one the Takahashi family had carved, but bigger and creepily lifelike.
The moment Zabuza looked at it, he found he couldn't look away. The statue's ugly shape seemed to move in his mind, its tentacles reaching out, trying to grab his thoughts.
With great effort, he tore his eyes away, his shirt soaked with cold sweat.
"What... was that?" he gasped, shaken by how scared he felt. He'd never felt such terror before.
The red-robed priest's voice cut through the night, low and hypnotic. "Children of the waves, listen to the call of the deep!"
The villagers swayed together, their candles flickering in the dark. Zabuza found himself leaning forward, straining to hear every word.
"Our friend stirs beneath the waves," the priest went on. "Soon, we'll be rewarded for our loyalty. The land will shake, and the sea will rise!"
Zabuza's eyes narrowed. There was something familiar about that voice. It reminded him of someone, but the memory was just out of reach.
The priest lifted the statue high, its tentacles seeming to move in the moonlight. "Look upon the face of our savior! Let its gaze wash away your doubts and fears!"
As one, the villagers chanted in a language the Mist shinobi didn't know. The words seemed to slither through the air, making his skin crawl.
He found himself gripping the roof tiles tightly, fighting the urge to run away from this unnatural gathering.
"Listen well," the priest said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that somehow reached every ear. "I'll tell you a story of the deep, a tale of awakening and becoming more than human."
Zabuza leaned closer, his curiosity overcoming his unease.
"Long ago, when the world was young and the sea was vast and unknown, there was a village much like ours," the priest began.
"The people were simple folk, fishermen and traders, living their lives without knowing the great truths that lay beneath the waves."
The villagers stood still, swaying gently like seaweed in a current.
"One day, a huge storm came, churning the seas and darkening the skies. The villagers huddled in fear, thinking their end had come."
"But as the storm raged, something stirred in the depths. Something ancient."
"Something bigger than anything they could imagine."
Zabuza felt strange. The story touched something deep inside him.
"From the wild waters rose a single, massive tentacle, green as the deepest algae and strong enough to crush mountains."
"The villagers shook with fear, thinking it was their doom. But then, a child stepped forward, eyes wide with wonder instead of fear."
The priest's voice grew louder, filled with excitement. "The child reached out and touched the tentacle. And in that moment, a connection was made."
"The child's mind opened to truths beyond human understanding. And the great being from the deep... it saw the potential in these small, fragile creatures."
Zabuza's gaze turned skeptical.
Was this just a story, or something more? The Land of Waves had always been mysterious, its customs strange to outsiders.
Could there be truth in this tale?
"The storm calmed, and the tentacle went back to the depths. But the child was changed forever. As the years passed, the child grew to be a leader, guiding the village to embrace the wisdom of the deep."
"They learned to listen to the whispers of the waves, to read the patterns in the tides. And with each new generation, they grew closer to the great being that slept beneath."
The priest spread his arms wide, his voice full of passion. "We are the ones who carry on that child's wisdom!"
"We have heard the call of the deep!"
"The gold that flows from beneath the waves is just a small gift of the power that waits for us when we fully accept the truth!"
Zabuza found himself oddly moved by the story.
"Remember," the priest concluded, his voice softening, "like the child in the story, we must face the unknown not with fear, but with wonder."
"For it's in opening ourselves to the vast and incomprehensible that we find our true destiny."
With a gesture from the priest, the procession began to move. They filed out of the village, following a narrow mountain path. Zabuza hesitated for a moment, weighing his options.
His mission hadn't prepared him for anything like this. But his gut told him that this procession was key to understanding the mysteries of the Land of Waves.
Decision made, Zabuza began to follow, using every trick he knew to stay hidden. He jumped from shadow to shadow, his footsteps silent on the rocky path.
When the terrain didn't offer cover, he used transformation jutsu, briefly turning into a boulder or a twisted tree.
The journey was tough. The villagers' strange, sickly way of walking made the steep climb painfully slow. Yet they kept going.
As they marched, the priest's voice carried on the wind, bits and pieces of his sermon reaching Zabuza's ears.
"The surface world has forgotten us, but the depths remember!"
"Gold from the abyss will pave our way to glory!"
"When the stars align, He shall rise, and we shall be exalted!"
The words didn't make much sense to Zabuza, but he stored them away, sensing they were important.
Halfway up the mountain, disaster nearly struck. Zabuza, distracted by the priest's words, stepped on a loose rock.
It clattered down the path, the sound impossibly loud in the silence.
Several villagers turned, their candles lighting up their blank, fish-like eyes. He froze, pressing himself against the rocky cliff face. He held his breath, very aware of his heart pounding in his chest.
For a long, tense moment, the villagers stared in his direction. Then, as if pulled by invisible strings, they turned back to the path and continued their march.
He let out a small sigh.
That had been too close.
He needed to stay focused.
After what felt like hours, the procession finally stopped. From where he was, Zabuza saw the villagers entering a factory-like building one by one.
He recognized the massive chimney, visible even from the opposite shore. In the moonlight, it looked like a dragon flying into the sky.
"The center of the Land of Waves," he realized, surprised by how far they'd traveled. The nearby palace was dark, while the factory buzzed with activity.
He circled the building, looking for a way in. The main entrance was out of the question - too many eyes. But there, on the far side, a small ventilation shaft caught his attention.
He climbed the building in a flash. He paused at the shaft, listening carefully for any sign that he'd been spotted.
Hearing nothing but the distant murmur of the crowd inside, he carefully removed the grate and slipped into the darkness beyond.
The shaft was narrow, barely wide enough for him to squeeze through. The metal was cold against his skin, and the air grew warmer as he went down.
After several tense minutes of careful maneuvering, he reached another grate.
Looking through, he found himself staring down into a huge room. The front section had an enormous furnace, its contents glowing with an unmistakable golden light.
Zabuza's eyes widened at the sight of so much molten gold.
"A gold refinery," he whispered, connecting the dots to the Land of Waves' extravagant spending and money. "But where did Kojiro get all this?"
The sheer amount of gold was more than Zabuza had ever seen or heard of. Even the combined treasuries of the Five Great Nations would probably look small in comparison.
The villagers stood in neat rows, their candles now out. The red-robed priest stood in front of the furnace, the statue raised high above his head.
"Behold the gift of the deep!" the priest shouted. "This gold, pulled from the very veins of the earth by our benefactor, will fuel our rise to power!"
Zabuza's thoughts spun out of control as he recalled the old drunk's wild tale of underwater creatures doling out gold.
Could there really be any truth to such an outlandish story?
As a ninja, Zabuza understood the power of wealth. Tools, weapons, information - everything had a price.
With resources like this, the Land of Waves could become a major power, rivaling or even surpassing the established nations.
If Kojiro really controlled such vast wealth, along with whatever force drove these villagers' devotion, he was a far more dangerous figure than anyone realized.
"The time is coming," the priest intoned, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "Soon, the stars will align. The deep will rise, and with it, our destiny!"
The villagers responded with a wordless cry. It was a sound of devotion, of fanaticism - and of something not quite human.
As the night wore on, Zabuza remained hidden, watching the bizarre ritual unfold within the factory.
Suddenly, a commotion near the furnace caught his attention. Two villagers were dragging a third between them, a man who seemed to be struggling against their grip.
Unlike the others, his eyes were clear, filled with terror.
"Please, no!" the man cried out, his voice strained to be heard over the furnace's roar. "I don't want this! I don't want to change!"
The red-robed priest turned, his misshapen head cocked to one side. "Ah, Brother Akira. Still clinging to your old self? Fear not. The embrace of the deep will wash away all your doubts."
He raised the statue high. "Behold, the face of our benefactor! Let its gaze cleanse your mind and prepare your body for the glorious transformation!"
Akira screamed.
Then, abruptly, the scream cut off, replaced by a gurgling sound that was somehow even worse.
Zabuza watched in horror as the man's body began to change. His skin rippled and bulged, taking on a sickly greenish hue.
His eyes bulged, becoming glassy and fish-like. And from his mouth...
Zabuza looked away, his stomach churning. He'd seen many horrors in his life as a ninja, but nothing like this.
When he looked back, Akira was gone, replaced by a creature that barely resembled a human. It swayed in place, making soft, wet sounds that might have been attempts at speech.
The priest placed a hand on the creature's shoulder. "Welcome, brother, to your true form. Rejoice, for you are one step closer to the deep!"
The villagers let out a cheer, their voices a mix of screams, wails, and guttural growls that bounced off the factory walls