The man was led into the room. He knew everyone inside - with the exception of one, he had trained them all.
The room was an enormous semicircle. Against the flat wall stood three titanic statues. The Kazekages. The greatest of the man's peers. He had always admired them. Now, though, he found his view challenged.
The other half of the room was filled with a high semi-circular table. Behind it sat five faces.
Four were ANBU Taichou, the leaders of small Black Ops teams and some of the most respected, if secretive, ninja of Sunagakure. None spoke. The desert village had long taught the value of a closed mouth.
Overhead, a ceiling fan slowly beat at the air, as if it too had been sapped of its strength by the sweltering desert heat. It's movements stirred the pale white hair on the man's neck. His hands twitched briefly to scratch the itching hair, but the steel bonds on his wrist prevented the movement.
Without a word, the two figures beside the man tightened their grips on his arms. Their faces were hidden behind white masks, but it did not matter. The man knew their faces as well as he did his own. He could hear the quickening of their breath. He could see the tightening of their eyes through the tiny holes in their masks. He could feel the pulsing of their fingers on his bare arms. He could smell their fear.
Like the four ANBU Taichou at the table, these two ANBU soldiers had also once been his students, and his subordinates. Now they were prepared to kill him - though they were not quite so capable of the act as they had let themselves believe.
The man in the center of the table stood to his feet. His white and blue robes resettled over his short, but powerful build. He was the only ninja the prisoner had not taught. They were peers; once, they might have been called brothers. But the blow of a forced hand had come, and now they faced each other down. Now, one was a prisoner, branded a murderer and a traitor; only one of the claims was true. The other man had become the Yondaime Kazekage, and like the three men who had come before, he was powerful. He held no fear for the bound man who was shoved bluntly beneath the fan overhead, into the light and the scrutiny of the five silent gazes.
One of the five figures at the table stood as well. He was younger than the rest; perhaps seventeen or eighteen years. Nevertheless, he commanded respect, and power. He had been the prisoner's favorite student, and perhaps his closest friend, if a traitor had such things. The boy spoke in a calm and collected tone, reading off a small black scroll, but his eyes betrayed his anger.
"You are accused of murdering the Sandaime Kazekage. At this time, Sunagakure has no reason to believe you regardless of whether you claim guilt or innocence. You will be executed here and now, in this very room. With your death, the last of your clan's blood will disappear. The names of your clansmen will be erased from our records - denied, abandoned, and without hope of redemption. Your name, however, will not be forgotten. It will be cast in darkness and blood, so that every ninja who ever walks the face of this world again shall know in exact detail the fate of those who cross Sunagakure." With slightly too fast a motion, the young man closed the scroll.
"I didn't kill him." The prisoner muttered, more to himself than to the council. Nevertheless, they heard.
"You didn't?" The boy's fist slammed down onto the top of the table. The polished marble surface cracked. His voice broke into a shout. "You've been an assassin. You've been a blackmailer. You've destroyed more lives than any of us cares to remember... but I thought you were at least loyal." He reached behind his chair and pulled out a katana with a blade no less than two meters in length. For a moment, it seemed to ripple as if made of water. Then a row of spikes emerged from the sides. "Yours will be a painful death."
As the figures on either side of him moved to grab his arms, the boy vaulted over the table and stood before the prisoner.
"Kensei!" The Kazekage bellowed, standing to his feet. The young man stopped and turned. "You will control yourself."
After a moment's silence, the young man answered. "Forgive me, Arashi-sama." The spikes faded back into the blade as the boy went back to his seat.
"Now... do you deny these charges?" The Kazekage questioned the man in chains before him. The man's voice was silent, as his piercing white eyes stared back at his leader. " Do you have any proof whatsoever to back your claims of innocence?"
"Kazekage-sama…" The man whispered, with obvious anger in his harsh tone. "You and I both know exactly who killed the Sandaime. You-"
"Silence! Sunagakure will be better off without you." The robed, red-headed figure turned to the ANBU who stood on either side of his prisoner. "Execute him."
The man sighed gently. Then, with a flick of his wrists, he popped off the steel rings holding his hands.
A pair of Naginata swung toward him. The prisoner wrapped his fingers just below the blade of one weapon and snapped the wooden handle just below it. The severed blade made an improvised knife, which the man rammed into the heart of the still-armed guard. Warm blood splashed onto his bare, calloused fingers. Even before the dying guard had time to fall to the ground, the prisoner spun to deliver a devastating kick to the throat of the other guard. Gasping for air, the surviving guard fell backwards, and the prisoner looked up at the table. Kensei, the young ANBU Taichou, leapt again toward the prisoner. Wasting no time, the man turned toward the doors. Moments before the fatal collision of skin and steel, he was suddenly gone. At the end of Kensei's enormous katana, a single white hair fluttered slowly to the ground.
The young man ran toward the door.
"No, Kensei." The Kazekage ordered from his seat. "You need not waste your effort. He has no supplies, no equipment. Soon, the desert will devour him." Arashi, the Yondaime Kazekage, rose slowly to his feet and walked toward the doors of the room. "You will learn something today, Kensei. You'll learn about destiny. My parents named me Sabaku no Arashi because of my nature. Like a desert storm, I destroy my foes. That is how he will die." The doors swung open for a moment, and then the Kazekage was gone.
Kensei was left standing alone, wondering what he felt about the death of his teacher.
Days passed quickly in the beating sun. Sand crunched under the bloody, cracked soles of the man's feet. Wind ripped through his tattered shirt, which he wore slung over his shoulders like a cloak, with the sleeves wrapped around his face. They did little to stop the burning, and the stinging of the sand in the storm. The storms were merciless. He knew they were Arashi's doing - the Kazekage hoped to bury his bloody secrets beneath the dunes. The man could barely see a meter ahead. The sun beat down through a veil of flying sand, a brutal master over the man. He clutched his side. bleeding from the scraping of the tiny grains as he stumbled across dune after dune. Behind him, a steady trail of blood left a clear path back to the place he had once thought of as home. Still, he dragged himself on, thinking of his future, and his past. He had the opprotunity for a new life, although that was not how he saw his predicament. The light seemed to burn through his skull, and in pain, he remembered his students.
The class waited patiently in their seats. Each stared at the front of the classroom, awaiting their instructor. A dull creak echoed from the back of the room as the rusty hinges of the classroom door opened. One by one, the children turned to face the entrance.
"Greetings." A man muttered as he walked to the front of the room. At once, every eye of every student was locked onto him.
"Where is the teacher?" One girl asked the combat-ready ANBU officer.
The man smiled, sliding the two belts off of his shoulders and setting them on his desk. His two small swords rattled slightly.
"I am your teacher." He responded, unzipping his hot, tan-colored tactical vest and setting it on his desk as well. Absentmindedly, he smoothed the folds from the white, martial-artist style shirt and robes that covered his body. With a quick yank on the black sash that wrapped around his waist, he finally looked up at the auditorium full of students. "Who knows my name?"
The man stumbled, his knee falling to the burning sand. His face contorted in pain as he pulled himself to his feet. The sand had slipped out from beneath his shoes, and the burning of the sand shattered his memory instantly. As he continued his forced march, he reached back into the pouch on his back that held his food. His hand searched around, and he counted his supplies. He had only a single cake of smashed rice and two vials of water. Sighing, he continued on the little strength that still remained. He wanted the food now, but he would need it later. To take his mind off his need, he turned his thoughts back to his students.
"Don't you know?" The class stared at him, as if his request were ludicrous. "You want to be ninja, but you can't get this trivial bit of information? Doesn't anyone know?" The man pinched his brow in mock annoyance when he got now answer. "Very well. Perhaps I will give you a hint." The man's right hand slipped into the left half of his robe-like shirt. When it came out, he held a porcelain mask. It was black as night, smooth and unmarked. Without word, he placed it over his mouth. It covered his jaw and the base of his nose, but nothing more. One by one, the student's jaws dropped in awe.
"You…"
"You're our Sensei?"
"No way!"
Finally, the man saw his salvation. In the distance, he could see a glimmer of light. A few more steps, and storm suddenly ended. In the distance, he saw a figure in a black cloak. Normally, the cold calculations of the prisoner would have questioned the figure's motives, wearing such a garment in the desert heat. In desperation, all the man thought of was a chance, however slim, at rescue. He tried to shout out at the figure in the distance, but his voice had long since left him. Then, in an instant, his fate turned for the worse. His vision began to speckle with black dots and his knees failed. To him, his fall to the sand seemed to go by in slow motion
If only I could see the students once more. He thought to himself. Then the darkness engulfed him.