chapter one

Her first seal was the hardest.

Every morning, Mito had calligraphy practice with Great-Aunt Sakae in the dusty old library room, where she bent over the scrolls and tried, to no avail, to match the shining example of dexterity of the seal master whose hands never wavered or smudged or inked an inch out of line. She inevitably left those sessions fascinated and frustrated by turns.

Always, Great-Aunt would lay a wrinkled hand on her shoulder, and remind her for the umpteenth time that Mito's mother had once been her brightest student, and that she expected great things from Mito herself. It certainly never sounded like she did, though. She would stare sternly over the brim of her teacup, pursing her lips, and pronounce her a failure.

"It's crooked."

"Blotchy."

"Is that supposed to be a kanji?"

"Unacceptable."

"Substandard."

"Lopsided."

Until, one day, she snatched the scroll away from Mito in a blink, turned it over in her hands, narrowed her eyes at it, and declared, at length, with a disdainful raise of her eyebrows, "Passable."

Then she promptly ripped the paper in half.

Mito almost choked on her tea in her barely repressed outrage. She'd finally – finally! – done it right after years of tutoring –

Great-Aunt threw the pieces at her, smiling faintly. "Now, you must stick them together."

The girl blinked slowly, frowning. She held the shreds together in her hands.

That earned her a scoff. "With chakra, child, with chakra! You think sealing is a matter of ink and paper? Any fool can write lines. If you can't channel your chakra into the paper, you will never seal anything in your life. Now bring me this paper whole next lesson." And with that, Sakae delicately downed her teacup and rose, ushering Mito out of the room.

"Wait – how am I supposed to find my chakra –"

"Meditate."

The door shut in her face. Mito, turning over the shreds in her hands with a sigh, realized she had until tomorrow. Her stomach flipped unpleasantly. Naturally, she turned to Hayato first. She ambushed him near the training grounds as he practiced his shuriken aim, throwing her hands up on his shoulders in a silent request for a piggyback ride. He never denied her, despite his half-hearted complaints about how heavy she was getting.

"Brother," she ventured, resting her chin softly on his shoulder, "What does chakra feel like?"

There was a hitch in his steps as he pondered the question. "Eh? Well, ah, to me it feels like a jolt, you know! Like when you drink too much coffee. Or when you're kind of falling asleep and then you start at a loud noise, and suddenly you're wide awake and everything is just... clearer. And you want to get up and move. You know?"

Mito shook her head slowly. "I don't think I do. I'm supposed to meditate on it."

Hayato made a soft noise of disgust in the back of his throat. "Ew. Boring."

She muffled a smile against his shoulder. "Take me home, please?" She closed her eyes. It was a lovely summer day, the sunshine warm on the back of her neck. "Wait – don't run. I wanna meditate."

He frowned doubtfully. "Aren't you supposed to meditate… like… sitting down… near a pond… somewhere… with like… monks?"

"I don't think so. You're just supposed to find what makes you feel peaceful."

"Ah."

Mito gazed out into the green fields, the tall blades of grass swaying, still wet with morning dew. Her eyes falling shut, she felt the quiet rhythm of his steps and the sunshine on her face, the gentle breeze rustling her hair. They were almost home when she spoke. There was a coldness seeping into her stomach, something intangible and floating. "It feels like I'm a leaf. Drifting in the wind."

Weightless. Spiraling.

"That's weird." Hayato smiled a little. "I guess it feels different for everyone, huh?"

It was surprisingly difficult to grasp that weightlessness in her belly, to take the unseen force at her core that carried her away like a strong gust pulling at her hair, sweeping her clear off her feet, and channel it through her fingertips into the paper. It felt like trying to hold the wind in her hands. She couldn't catch it. It was the current keeping her afloat. She wasn't its master. She was merely a conduit.

She thought of windmills in a summer day, spinning high in the clean blue air. She thought of birds and the breeze beneath their wings. She thought of a boat at sea unfurling its sails, picking up speed.

She clenched the pieces of the torn scroll in her hands, feeling a soft flutter dance across her fingertips.

When she presented it to Great-Aunt Sakae, with a beaming smile so wide it nearly broke her face in half, Mito laid the paper out on the low table with a flourish. It was whole, triumphantly whole, small faded creases running through its middle.

The elder inspected it at length, pinching the edges between her fingers as she pulled them in opposite directions. It held together. She smoothed out the creases with a stern finger, frowning. "Hmm."

Then she slapped it unceremoniously on Mito's forehead and told her to hold it there. She strictly forbid the use of hands.

Then she had Mito walking up the walls for weeks on end. Then she had her hang upside down from the ceiling by her feet, like some sort of deranged bat, while still keeping the paper attached to her forehead. And Great-Aunt Sakae sat there, calmly sipping her tea, without a care in the world, airily criticizing Mito's balance whenever she fell. While still keeping up their usual calligraphy practice every day. While giving Mito a pile of scrolls on seal theory as tall as her waist to read through.

It was hell on earth, and Mito could only grit her teeth and bear it, because she wanted to make seals, and this woman would teach her, eventually, though she had begun to hallucinate that perhaps Great-Aunt merely enjoyed giving tasks to see her suffer, and had no intention of actually ever taking her as an apprentice.

Just as she felt about to boil over with indignant rage, Mito decided she would ask.

At that, Great-Aunt's lips curled in amusement. "Of course. I was only waiting for your initiative," she said, innocently.

Mito's eye twitched.

Her first seal was humble and neat. A simple storage seal that consisted of three kanji, two sets of parallel lines around them, in a solid square shape, and required a distribution of physical energy to spiritual energy of about three quarters to one for efficient activation.

引運 押

Pull, carry, push.

It was simple. It was wonderful. It felt like she had grown wings.

Normally, all seals crafted by Uzumaki seal makers were considered property of the Clan, but given it was her first, Great-Aunt let her have it. "Do with it as you will," she said, with a smile that Mito in her wildest dreams would have thought almost proud.

She kept the seal under her pillow for days, sealing and unsealing various objects into it, enjoying the pure wonder of watching things vanish seamlessly into the paper, and thinking I made this.

With her first seal, childhood fell shut like a storybook. Growing up was the Uzumaki clan at war.

Tightening security around the compound's walls. Sending out replacement squads to every outpost as the previous ones came back battered or didn't come back. Zealously protecting their seal shipments like they had more value than people. Rationing food (shinobi first and civilians later because this was the time for sacrifices, they said). Cursing the enemy Clans for not just rolling over and dying already.

Rooting out spies. Mass-producing weapons of destruction to gather funds for other weapons of destruction. Lecturing children on security protocols and the best place to aim kunai in a man's throat. Wounded shinobi rushing home to see their loved ones one last time before they bled to death or rotted inside out. Civilians hungry and harsh fighting their everyday battles. Hoping they were safe. Hoping the war wouldn't reach past the compound's walls. Hoping they would win. Praying over graves.

The mass production of weapons was where Mito factored in, at first. As soon as she created her first working seal, she was assigned to work as one of the Clan's exploding seal makers. Her colleagues were twenty people in all, working under the supervision of seal master Sakae, and Mito was the youngest of them, only barely five. They would start work at six in the afternoon and go as deep into the night as they needed to, until they finished the amount set for the day, with the exact types and specifications ordered, no matter how unreasonable, because it was necessary. Sitting in a row in the tables at night with their heads bowed low, tirelessly inking tag after tag, and hanging them out to dry on a wire that crossed the room, still fresh, so they could get to the next tag, as fast as possible. Productivity was key.

If Mito ever stopped to rest, to wipe away the beads of sweat on her forehead, to wring out her aching hands, she could feel their disapproving glares boring into the back of her head.

Be fast, don't keep us here all night, don't dawdle, little girl.

She learned to be fast and precise. She learned more about controlling the range, radius, intensity and activation time of an explosion than she ever thought she would. She learned how to copy seals from models to perfection. She learned how to customize her own modifications on the fly. She learned it all thanklessly, with the methodical energy of an automaton, without praise or encouragement beyond knowing that somewhere, maybe, if she was lucky, one of her tags might help save her brother's life.

Because, the spring she turned five, Hayato had left. She'd clung to his chest, getting snot all over his armor, but he didn't complain, only ran his rough hands through her scarlet hair, and attempted a grin. His lips wobbled, but shinobi didn't cry. Mito wiped away at his cheeks, saying nothing, pretending not to see.

"Don't go," she had begged, instead.

He swallowed, shook his head. "I gotta."

"You don't got to," Mito argued, clenching her hands around his arms, "You could get around it. Pretend to be sick. Eat some herbs that make you sick and –"

"Mito," he said softly, chiding her, "that's dishonorable."

"Aren't you a shinobi? Ninja have no honor."

"That's only true for enemies," Hayato smoothed the hair away from her eyes. "We don't dishonor our family." He smiled like he knew she hadn't really meant it, but she did. She meant anything, to see him alive.

Mito felt a bubble of desperation bursting in her chest. "Can't I come with you?"

"Little sister, where I go there's only…" Death, he didn't say. "Battles."

"Better than facing it alone."

"I won't be alone. The best warriors in the Clan will be—"

"The best warriors in the Clan are not your sister!" She pounded her fists into his chest. "They won't watch your back like you're the most precious thing in the world. Which you are."

It drew a smile out of him. "You're so small," he whispered, patting her head, laughing humorlessly. "And stubborn. But you don't know..."

She bristled. "I'm not useless. I've made tags." Tags that killed people, she didn't say. She hadn't pulled the trigger, but she had provided the means, all the same. How many? How many dead? Mito gazed down at her pale, bloodless hands, her jaw clenched. "I would kill for you." Heavens knew she'd killed for less.

He stared into her eyes, then, slow and lingering. Whatever he saw there seemed to vaguely unsettle him, and he looked away first. She pulled at his hands and locked gazes again, intently.

"Don't look at me, I don't decide who comes. The captains do that. You know, they make you spar and do jutsu, and they do a formal assessment of everyone's skill and then they assign you to an unit. But you wouldn't make the cut -" He grimaced as she punched him. "Not right now, anyway."

"How," Mito said simply. She felt she'd already won. He was already talking as if she could.

"You'd have to be older. And stronger, I wouldn't let you come just to get you killed. And it'll be difficult to impress the captains. They don't like to send out girls."

It was frowned upon for kunoichi to fight in the front lines. They were assigned, in their own ways, as infiltrators and spies and sealmakers and medics and guards for the compounds and outposts while the troops were deployed. In times of war, with their forces all mobilized, women made up about a third of the compound's guard, near half of their sealmakers, and over a quarter of the patrols scattered around their minor outposts, but only a tenth of the Clan's frontal assault force. Kunoichi were efficient and useful, but there was an accepted guideline to keep them away from the brunt of the war, in order for them to repopulate the clan with the surviving men.

There were exceptions, however, because no life was deemed too valuable to be lost, if it could at least take down enough enemies with it before it fell.

"Does Cousin Kaede fight in the front lines?" She'd taught Mito her basic taijutsu lessons. Perhaps she could ask her, beg her -

"No. She is a guard, doing security seals for the outposts. Cousin Shimizu fights, though. She's half Hoshigaki, and her arms are as broad as oars. You're not nearly that strong to do that much damage. You'd have to learn ninjutsu, or battle seals." He sighed, holding her in place as she tried to bolt, to run out somewhere, to enlist. "Mito, I leave tomorrow. You won't make it in time. Just calm down, all right?"

She felt smothered, her chest so tight it hurt. "How can I watch you go?"

"You'll just have to trust me. I'll come back in one piece."

"Like you trusted Mother?"

He flinched like he'd been slapped.

There was a silence, thick and rotting between them.

Mito reached out, touching him softly on the wrist. "Sorry."

He didn't say anything, pulling her in for a hug. His voice was so light against her hair she could have sworn she'd imagined it. "I never forgave her for that. If I die, you don't have to forgive me, all right? You can hate me. It's alright."

He crumpled like a little boy in her arms, and she held him tight one last time, before she let him go. It was like he had been cut away from her. She felt she was bleeding from veins she didn't know she had. She would lay awake at night with phantom pains where his arms used to wrap around her.

She knew then, with an inescapable finality, she'd put herself in the war. She'd put the most important piece of herself in it, her heart, and now she might as well put the rest of her.

The days ran away from her in a haze of exhaustion. She woke up early for weapons practice. She ran up the river three miles in the mornings until she reached the waterfall, and spent hours every day trying to cut through it with the precision of the wind chakra coursing through her. Most of the time she sliced into her hands, which she bandaged anew, riddled with cuts and scrapes. She practiced her kata on the trees by the riverside. She picked fights with the other clan children just to have someone to spar with.

It felt like she was constantly tired, constantly hurting, and constantly not good enough.

She still had sealing duty every night, and her tired hands would work frantically through the explosives, pumping whatever little chakra she had left into making them. Every third day Great-Aunt Sakae would call her individually to check on her progress, and give her new assignments. Endless scrolls to read, beginner seals of various kinds to work through, knockout tags, flash seals, chakra suppressors, security barriers, privacy seals.

She was out as soon as her head hit the pillow, most days. Those were the good days. The bad days were when she laid awake thinking about Hayato, and she wished more than anything that she could hear his voice.

Then she'd light up a flash seal under her covers, and read silently in the dark about the wind and the many ways it could be shaped to kill someone, and she'd dream of invisible blades sharper than knives spinning in her hands.

Once, a week after her eighth birthday, there was a ceasefire, tenuous and brief. Hayato came back injured, his arm in a sling. Mito held him still in her grasp, looking him over sternly, and he pressed something small into her palms.

Mito undid the ribbon on the bundle, raising her eyebrows. "Hairpins?"

He grinned. "Happy birthday."

They were cheap, rusted metal, probably looted from a corpse or purchased in a small village store somewhere. She didn't ask. She just wore them.

"I have a gift for you, too."

She drew a seal on his palm, the ink dark and heavy against his skin. On her own palm, a perfectly matched mirror. "That is a locator seal. It pulls to its twin, like a magnet."

He stared at his hand in wonder, feeling the slight tug. Slowly, they pressed their palms flat against one other.

"Man, hairpins seem lame now..."

Mito laughed, bright and high as bells. "Just say thank you."

"Thanks."

"Brother, you know how... you know how I was doing basic training to be a guard? I passed it. They even taught me special security seals. I'll be assigned to an outpost soon. They say it's boring and nothing happens, unless you get attacked, but I don't care," she smiled, almost shyly, hoping he'd be proud.

"You sound excited. I'm sure it'll be the best protected outpost in the country," he said gently, ruffling her hair.

"You bet. And I'll keep working on my wind ninjutsu, and if the fighting breaks out again, I'll be right there beside you," she promised, and he smiled like it wasn't a comfort. Small and scared, the lines around his mouth pinched in worry, like he'd aged decades in three years.

"Where did you learn this?"

"Huh?"

He gestured silently at their hands.

"Oh." She smiled. "I made it."

She was no longer an apprentice, who had to work under the supervision of a master, but a fully-fledged seal practiotioner. Though she had a long way to go before she became a master herself.

Still, it meant her independence. It meant the edge of respect in the eyes of the adults who passed her by in the hallways, nodding slightly. It meant seals of her own making.

"You're good at it, Mito. Great, actually. They say you're even better than Mother when she was your age. You could just... do this. You could make seals. You have something you're good for, you know? I'm good for nothing. Nothing but fighting."

"That's not true."

"You don't have to do it," Hayato told her. "I know you said you're doing it for me, but the last thing I ever want is to see you hurt. Don't ever feel like you have to do anything for me. Put yourself first, all right?"

He was so kind, so impossibly kind. "You're worth it," she said simply, squeezing his hand, their seals pressed together.

"You are worth so much more."

"I said I'm coming with you," she hissed, whacking him on the forehead. "Shut up and let me love you, you moron!"

His mouth was left hanging wide open with surprise, before it melted into a laugh. They stretched themselves out side by side, staring at the sun.

"When the fighting is over, I'll be a merchant. I'll be a really rich merchant, with clothes made of silk and a fancy hat."

"You'd look so stupid," Mito giggled. Still, she offered, "I can make you seals to sell. And I can travel with you, and be your guard. I'll protect your caravan, and beat up anyone who tries to steal anything."

"Of course. And I won't have to lift a finger. I'll just look at the bandits and be like, leave, or my sister will beat you up. And they'll all just run away, because you're scary like that."

And they laughed and laughed.

The outpost Mito was assigned to was a modest wooden shack nestled discreetly somewhere along the shores of the Land of Whirlpool. It overlooked a towering cliff's edge, the waves breaking harshly against the rocks in an endless rush of noise whenever the tide rose. If anyone stumbled upon the building, it would seem perfectly reasonable to assume a small family of fishermen lived there. They even had the nets left hanging outside to dry in the sun, to help their cover, and because they did fish an awful lot. The rations the Clan sent them were very limited.

In the afternoons, sometimes Mito would race out to the top of the cliff, her eyes cast down on the water spraying violently below. She would look over the foaming waves crawling over the sandy shores ahead. She would stare at the bright sphere of the sun spilling over the ocean its burning reds and melting oranges, tracing striations of light across the rippling waves until the world turned dark.

Then, Mito would jump, and crash down, feeling the water rush up all around her, tossing and turning, and let out a breathless laugh, standing on top of the ocean. She'd laugh and laugh, and let the sea carry her floating body until it was time for her shift.

She kept night watch, usually, quiet and still. Theirs was primarily a trade outpost, too removed from the fighting to be used as a refuge for soldiers, usually. They stored a certain quantity of weapons, in any case. But mostly they stored seals in bulk. They were, after all, the most prized commodities of the Uzumaki clan: most other clans would trade all sorts of things to get their hands on the famous Uzumaki fuinjutsu. They had all sorts of seals, combat, storage, communication, security, medicinal, stealth - Mito could never, ever get tired of studying them, or attempting to reproduce them.

Out at the shore, the summer days were long and breezy, and she'd collect sea shells and stack them up in in intricate piles, in the intervals between sparring the other guards and practicing her wind jutsu against the waves and re-applying the security seals over the building.

Sometimes, though, sometimes there would be security breaches. That was how she liked to think of them, coldly, clinically, in her mind.

The first time Mito killed a man, she didn't see his face. It went by so quick that all she remembered, afterwards, was the glint of metal, the force of the wind bursting from her palms, and the spray of blood as the kunai sunk into his flesh. He fell forward on his face, his back to her in the dark, and she thought of that as a blessing.

She was wrong, because soon he came to her in her dreams wearing a thousand different faces, all twisted in terror, eyes wide and glassy. She'd never know what he'd really looked like. There would be a comfort in knowing, perhaps, or maybe she was wrong again, maybe she didn't know anything.

The main requisite of an outpost in times of war was relative secrecy of location. If an enemy found them and was able to escape confrontation alive, their outpost would be marked on a map and promptly looted, and therefore be rendered useless. As such, they had a kill on sight order on anyone who trespassed who wasn't expressly authorized.

Which was why, when Cousin Kaede rose lazily from her chair, tossing a scroll into Mito's lap, and said, "We're having guests," the girl startled and her hands flew to her kunai pouch instinctively.

"The wrong sort of guests?" Mito asked, narrowing her eyes.

To her surprise, Kaede waved her off, grinning. "Ah, no, read that. The Senju are coming to trade. They should be here in a few days."

"The Senju?" Mito frowned, the name ringing familiar. Senju Hashirama. Senju Tobirama. Senju. Konoha. She startled. "Aren't they from the Land of Fire?"

"Yes, but our trade relations are good. We need this to go smoothly, Mito. It's important."

"Why?" Usually, when they traded, the Uzumaki had the upper hand, given their fuinjutsu was so unique and valuable as a trade commodity. "What do they bring us?"

"Metal weapons, mostly. The Land of Fire has a lot of mines, and the Land of Whirlpool almost none. Sometimes seed or grain, if we're low. And medicine, herbs and pastes."

Mito nodded thoughtfully. "They sound powerful."

Kaede laughed. "They could probably crush us, but we're cut off in an island, and they have their hands full with the Uchiha. Besides, they like our sealmakers alive, we're more useful that way." She looked over at her sternly then, her eyes dead serious. "Be courteous to them, Mito. No, don't look at me like that, I get that you're all thoughtful and quiet sometimes, I get it, but be polite. Smile and be polite and act absolutely delighted at whatever they bring us for a few hours, all right?"

She blinked. "Sure. Do I have to speak formally, like they're nobles?"

"That would be for the best, actually. And wash up behind the ears, and shine all your weapons. We don't want to look sloppy."

Mito stared at her, snickering. "Do we need to dress in kimonos and perform a tea ceremony for them, too?"

"You're lucky we don't have any fine china, or I would make you," hissed Kaede, wagging a finger in her face.

Mito pretended to pour imaginary tea in an imaginary teacup, her face perfectly serious, then turned and ran off laughing before Kaede could swat her.

The Senju envoys arrived at the outpost on a wet, rainy autumn morning. They were three in all, two adults and a boy, very alert, shaking sand out of their shoes as they headed towards the shack. Shinobi, Mito decided, inspecting them. She could feel the solid weight of their chakra pressing down on her as they entered the outpost.

The three Uzumaki guards, standing in a row facing the door, bowed stiffly at the waist in perfect unison. The three Senju bowed back. Only the young Senju boy smiled, looking over the shelves with unabashed curiosity in his dark eyes.

"Welcome, Senju-san," the Uzumaki outpost's leader, Katsuhide, said with cautious politeness. He addressed the tall bearded man who stood in front of the other Senju, blowing out dark rings of smoke from an iron pipe clenched between his teeth. "I hope you've fared well on your journey here."

The man made a noncommittal sort of grunt around his pipe. His teeth were clenched so tightly the veins on his neck bulged out.

"We didn't run into any trouble, if that's what you're asking," said the man beside him, a scarred shinobi with a very substantial sword strapped across his back, speaking in a gruff tone that implied he didn't consider anything short of heavily armed assailants trouble. "Besides that damn godawful boat, that is."

The boy next to him piped up, grinning slyly, as if sharing a secret. "Bunta gets seasick."

"Shut up, Hashirama," hissed Bunta, his ears flushing in what looked suspiciously like embarrassment. He buried a hand roughly into the boy's bowl cut.

Hashirama slumped dramatically down, regret rolling off him in waves. "Sorry, cousin..."

Bunta didn't look convinced in the slightest, looking over at him with an evil eye.

There was an awkward silence, as the Senju looked to the Uzumaki to start negotiations, and the Uzumaki looked to the Senju leader to start negotiations, who sat there silently blowing black rings of smoke through his pipe.

"Well," Cousin Kaede ventured, lamely, "So how are you liking the Land of Whirlpools?"

"I'm not," said Bunta, shrugging. He glanced over at his squad leader, still engrossed in his pipe.

"I like the sea," Hashirama offered, smiling brightly. "I'd never seen it before." There was no trace of sarcasm Mito could detect. The absolute sincerity of him caught her off guard, as though he were completely oblivious to the painfully stilted climate in the room, or perhaps just powering through it. She couldn't tell.

Feeling somehow encouraged, Mito rose to grab a pile of storage scrolls from the shelves and laid them out on the table. She'd expected to receive a glare for her initiative, but both her colleagues looked relieved, and Katsuhide promptly started detailing the scrolls and their many properties and how valuable they were. Here and there he dropped a covert, thinly veiled reference to a special shipment of stealth seals, insinuating they'd need to make a great offer to even get a look at it.

Mito knew how these negotiations went. By now, she'd witnessed many of them. But nothing, nothing had prepared her for this.

Because when the time came for the Senju to disclose their own wares and make an offer, the smoking man, who had been completely silent up until that point, rose stiffly to his feet and stabbed his sword into Uzumaki Katsuhide's throat.

All hell broke loose in an instant.

Kaede screamed, lunging.

Dimly, Mito watched the sword pulled free from Katsuhide's body. He fell down on the ground in a spray of blood. Katsuhide was – she was going to – the blade was inches from her face –

Smothering a scream, Mito pumped chakra to her legs and vaulted backwards, one hand forming a half tiger seal, even as she reached into her kunai pouch with the other.

Kawarimi no Jutsu.

She threw herself wildly to her left, grabbing a hold of her chair and thrusting it forward in her place, shielding herself. The bloodied sword sliced through it, splintering the wood. She threw a kunai clumsily in a wide arc towards him, and leapt back to put some distance between them. Her hands ran through the seals, frantic.

Snake. Ram. Horse. Bird.

"Uncle Ryoma, what are you doing?" Hashirama yelled, grabbing a hold of the killer's shoulder, his eyes wide and angry. Next to him, Bunta's face looked ashen, even as he easily parried Kaede's sword strike. Something wasn't right. If their leader had attacked, why did the Senju look so shocked -

The pipe fell limply from Ryoma's lips as he froze.

Then his grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, knuckles whitening, and he swung the blade down towards the boy's chest with a forceful jerk. Hashirama barely sidestepped it, a look of shock coming over his features, as if unable to believe his own uncle had tried to kill him.

Mito slapped her hands together with a crack.

Fuuton: Reppushou.

Wind rushed out from between her palms with a hiss, hitting Ryoma squarely on the side. The kunai she'd thrown sailed towards him with the full force of the gale behind it, embedding itself into his shoulder with a meaty thunk.

He stumbled over his feet, clawing at his own face, his head clutched in his hands, screaming, "stop it – stop it –" between ragged breaths.

Then Hashirama kicked him in the chest, tackling him to the ground. "What is wrong with you!"

"There's someone else out there," Bunta snarled suddenly, eyes wide with realization. "They had him under their control-"

Ryoma slumped on the floor like a puppet whose strings had been torn.

Mito clenched her jaw tightly, her eyes darting around the room. As her hands twisted into a seal, the faint lines inscribed all over the walls lit up. She glanced over them frantically, her stomach dropping at the sight of the twisted, marred ink. "The security seals have been tampered with. We've been breached."

Cousin Kaede lowered her sword away from Bunta's, letting out a curse.

Then the shadows rose up and attacked.

Author's Note: Cliffhanger because I'm evil. Also, HASHIRAMA IS HEEEERE. WOO. I mean, they didn't even get to talk yet... but whatever, get hype. This is kind of a set up chapter, meant to cover some of Mito's childhood before the plot picks up.

Answering reviews~ (first of all thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed or favorited, you're the best)

Guest 1: Thank you! I love Mito too, I'm actually going on a spree of reading whatever Mito fics I can get my hands on :D

Arcane Charmcaster: Yes, I have some wicked ideas for seals, like a fireproof seal to block katon or a long distance communication seal that functions kind of like an answering machine. Mito is (still) learning, so there will be a lot of trial and error, but she can already make her own (simple) ones and will only improve with time. If you have any ideas for seals, feel free to suggest!

gruntsbreeder: Thank you!

Shion Lee: Thanks, I will :)

Guest 2: Thank you, I'm so very glad you like it! You got a little bit of your action scene this chapter, and there will be even more action on the next one as the Uzumaki-Senju actually engage the assassin (which, ohhh boy). And no worries, all aboard the action girl Mito train! Just wait until she learns chakra chains ;)

Guest 3: She is still only around nine on this one, but she's already kicking butt, so let's go!