One of the phenomena unique to Kiri, especially Chigiri, is the fluidity of identity reflected by the interchangeability of names, of which the most common are the three names-child/parent/ore-name, student/master/steel-name, and true/peer/sword-name. They each reflect a different power dynamic, the first being the parent-child dynamic, where the name given is both a wish for the child's future, and a mark of belonging, declaring that the child is protected by their family. While the power dynamic in imbalanced towards the parents, it still assumes that the parent's love the child, and while the parent-name is a wish for the future, it is both only a wish, and temporary. The second name is given by a shishou, a declaration of what the student/apprentice would be made into, and therefore setting the shape of the apprentice's future. This reflects the traditional master-apprentice relationship, in which in exchange for service and respect, the master gives the student knowledge, and crafts the student as they will. There is no expectation of affection between the two, and it is not rare for the master to be "master" in more than one sense of the word, and the apprentice to be forced to evaluate if their condition is worthwhile. The last name, the peer-name, true name, or sword-name, is the name that a shinobi earns through their own efforts, and it is either self-chosen, or offered by friends.

Many have commented on the associations of the names with the "tool" mentality that is prevalent in Kirigakure.

-Introduction to the Five Great Shinobi Nations

There have been speculations as to the parentage of Kirisara, daughter of Kirihamaguri, Sandaime Mizukage, and many have proposed it to be the reason that he would treat his flesh and blood daughter as no more than a tool. Other critics have suggested that it was due to the man in question being, to quote Inheritance (widely believed to be the pen-name of Kirisara), undoubtedly "a terrible man". This is somewhat contradicted, however, by comparison with his treatment of Utakata, though it may have been due to a host of reasons, both practical and personal, from him being intended to be a Jinuchuuriki to Kirihamaguri's impending death.

-The Last Watch: An Account of the Last Decade of Chigiri and the Formative Years of the Coterie

14 Years After the Purge of Uzushio. Countdown: 0.6 yrs to SWIII. 1 year to Kirigakure participation in war.

I turned five. Nii-san had been Genin for a year now. Kiri rarely uses the team system, and prefers apprenticeships. Nii-san claims to have been given one, but refuses to speak of it. He often regales me of tales of his more interesting D-ranks, including the mosquito extermination missions. He usually complains of the pointlessness that was the mission. Apparently, the clients kept opening the windows without pulling down screens, and that let in the mosquitos, which they then required to be killed, so they kept requesting missions. Genin were forbidden from any sort of property damage, so they had to get creative, considering that there was a time limit, and the mosquitos had evolved to be far more devious than normal. My entering the academy was just a few fortnights away, at which point I would have to focus on getting a suitably influential patron to apprentice me, so I enjoyed the last month or so of relative freedom.

14 Years After the Purge of Uzushio. Countdown: 0.5 yrs to SWIII 0.9 yrs to Kirigakure participation in war.

On a rainy day, we stayed indoors, and Nii-san summoned a few of his mantis shrimp to teach him their version of bukijutsu, while I experimented with my detached state, which I have named Śūnyatā. I have discovered that it allows me to fade from notice, though sample size is limited to my parents. Nii-san can keep me on his mind with effort though. I theorize that like the men in The Wheel of Time who, having sold their souls to the Dark One, are unnoticeable, my detached spirit (possibly soul) makes me (temporarily) soulless and therefore people are unable to notice me.

"Yagura. Ginkanmuri. Come." Tou-san was uncharacteristically grave. We rose and followed him.

Tou-san brought us into the meeting room which I had never been allowed to enter. I was apprehensive. Father tapped me on the head, and a henge settled over me, so that my clothes turned into a formal kimono.

I saw a man kneeling in the center of the room, opening his white robe. Before him was a tabled tanto. Beside it was a scroll, the ink not yet dry on its surface. It was deathly silent. I saw my brother out of the corner of my eye, expressionless, garbed in a ceremonial kimono as well. His eyes were fixed on the man. Finished, the man (pupiless as us all) took the blade from the small table and struck at his own stomach. Blood. Blood spurted the way an arterial bleed did. I tried to look away but I couldn't, for kaa-san's hand was affixed to my head. The man never made a sound. Not when he bared his stomach. Not when he took the blade (no scrape of metal across wood). Not when he stabbed himself. Not even when he died, curling in on himself. Not even his corpse made a sound as it fell.

Around the room stood a circle of pupiless men and women, impassive watchers all, with us completing the circle. The blood stopped creeping over the floor. Mother finally let me look away. To father's side I saw the Sandaime Mizukage. He looked viciously amused.

"Your blood is as honorable as ever." Said he to my mother. "The Karatachi have not diminished in their dedication, nor has a weakness of heart carried over into a weakness of will in your kin."

"It is to our greatest dishonor that our diligence has waned, and sedition arisen in those we watch. We are shamed by our failing to repay the mercy granted by Kiri when we were spared the purge of the enemies of Kiri." Replied okaa-san.

Politics.

I immediately started fading into the background. Mother's grip on my shoulder tightened. I'm a pawn this time, not part of the scenery then. I immediately tried to distract myself by focusing on the word "civilian". The man who just killed herself. He was a civilian?! To slit one's throat without any expression, to ritually suicide without a sound. What demands would be made of us shinobi and kunoichi-in-training if the civilians are required to be so?

Father's voice sounded in my ear, but when I looked at him, his lips did not move. Genjutsu then. "When asked, repeat this. It is our duty to serve Kirigakure no Sato with flesh and blood and bone, to spill our guts and brains upon the earth in the service of our village. Dissension is not tolerated, and our loyalty should be absolute. Even a whisper of rebellion proved deserves to be quashed without mercy, for we live at our Kage's pleasure."

I am (far from) harmless.

I speak, clear, precise syllables in a child's high voice, solemn and composed, effortlessly synchronized with my brother. Through genjutsu, father helps us enhance our eeriness, the contradicting messages of harmless yet not, and our hints of otherness. And the Mizukage is pleased. "Two tributes," he murmurs, "for two faces of a coin. An excellent pedigree, with the Crimson Kinslayer as a dam, and the Illusion of Moonlessness for a sire."

The other Karatachi are statues, silent and still, and the civilian man's blood congeals about his cooling corpse. Our lives were forfeit, for we had once opposed Kiri's founding. It was by the Mist's grace that we breathed, and lives demanded as sacrifice would be given. Hostages, weapons, blades to our family's throats, the best of every generation bound directly to the Mizukage's service. Unspoken is that it is a punishment. It is rare, but not unprecedented, for the Mizukage to conscript more than one child at a time, so it appears that my brother's destiny has affected me after all.

One of my more distant family members—an older cousin, Bara, steps forward. "I do not disagree with your ruling, Mizukage-sama, but it is my request that your favor be less overt." She said calmly, in the same measured tones we were all taught, "To have two of our number join the ranks of your guard at the same time is too great an honor. I propose that the younger of the two be only recruited after her graduation from the academy."

The Mizukage laughed, and held up his hand, "No need." Said he, "I know of your children, and how little they learn in schoolrooms. The girl will join her brother within the year under another name, and neither shall be mere members of my guard."

And the Karatachi voiced assent.

"Girl." said the Mizukage, and with mother's prompting, I knelt. "You are Karatachi Ginkanmuri no longer. Henceforth, your name is Kirisara, musume."

He pressed both hands to my brow and ran one through my hair. As it passed down the length, ash-blond turned to ink-black. His other hand stroked my cheek, smearing it with a touch of blood, and I felt my features shifting, brows darkening, bones sharpening. "You may take a minute to bid your former life farewell, daughter." He said with false kindness, hand heavy on my shoulder as he let me rise. I hugged my brother for the last time I was permitted to openly acknowledge him as such. My heart twisted. Was it cruelty or kindness that as apprentice (for that was the only possibility I could think of), nii-san would still meet with the Mizukage Otou-sama regularly, and allow me to see him?

Father's genjutsu quickened, taking whatever time was left to tell me what he could about my conduct.

I learnt then that we survived by being loyal, by purging any sign of corruption before it could possibly spread and give anyone an excuse to do so themselves. We stopped others from killing us by killing ourselves instead. I was told that if I was commanded to cut my own throat, I was to unhesitatingly do so, lest I risk the nine-generation extermination of my kin.

We are Karatachi. We are caste. We must excel just to survive.

Perfection is not an achievement. It is the bare minimum of what is required for a ninja with the surname of trifoliate orange.

"Close your eyes." And my new father gathered me up in his arms. Śūnyatā I thought, and drifted to serenity so that I would not cry.

Some hours after, with her son comforted as much as she was able, Karatachi Mino sneered silently. This is how your curse manifests then, Uzumaki? How ham-handed, but what more can you expect of an impulsive, heart-ruled witch? You should have waited until I grew complacent if you had wanted to hurt me, or given far less importance to their sacrifice. As apprentices and heirs of the Mizukage, my children have far better chances of living to see the end of this war than as Karatachi. Fool. You have done me a service so great that I now entertain the notion of lighting incense for your soul on Obon. After all, you have given me a way for the survival of my clan, and I am Karatachi. I have always been willing to sacrifice my children.

And yet she mourned the fate of her fierce, talented children. Steel-spined Yagura and vicious little Ginkanmuri, both as worthy of her legacy as they could be, doomed to be consumed by Kiri.

Masked figures escorted the Mizukage to his residence. Despite his age (I remembered him being present at the first Gokage summit), he was strong. He set me down in a washroom, and I finally opened half-closed eyes. He examined me.

"You have expressed interest in the Nidaime Tsuchikage's techniques."

"Hai, Mizukage-sama."

A flash of intent. "Musume."

"My apologies, Otou-sama." I bit my tongue and bent my head.

"Continue."

"I have managed a version of the Dustless Bewildering Cover, and am in the process of refining it for field use. I estimate the time required to be a month. I have made no headway on his self-division."

"How…precocious." He looked at me contemplatively. "It would be fitting… Enter."

A woman came in, carrying a tray of contacts, needles, paints and hair dyes. I recognized the smell of one particular concoction. It was the same plant father used to color my hair ash-blond, for my hair had never been naturally identical in hue to my brother's. It was as red as my mother's, a blazing sign saying "this is an Uzumaki", so, as prejudice against the Uzumaki was not gone, and I had not earned the respect that my mother had, it was only prudent that my appearance be altered. It would have served the dual purpose of showing unity with Yagura-nii.

Tou-san helped me dye my hair. Otou-sama helped me dye my hair. It was the same. Warm water, the scent of ink and flowers, and hands in my hair and on my scalp. The smell was somewhat different, due to the different mix, but still. A touch of chakra, and it is dry. Then the woman puts contacts into my eyes, and he examines them.

He picks out a few shades. Dark colours. Blues and deep lavenders and a touch of cold grey.

"Any suggestions, Sara-chan?"

I didn't want his choices, even if I was terrified of offending him. His eyes were two black pearls, iridescent. I didn't want the indication of familial relationship.

"Silver, if possible, otou-sama."

He smiled, as if I had passed a test of sorts.

"The color that is not a color? You are truly my daughter. A good choice-these will protect you from minor genjutsu." And from his sleeve he produced a box, which opened to show silver contacts kept in tiny bottles. The woman took it from him, and pressed the silver into my eyes. I kept still. They darkened my sight a bit, but not much. The Mizukage then twisted his hand, and I was paralyzed. Taking the needle, pricked his own finger, and then set about tattooing my face with his blood as ink. I spared a thought about blood-transmitted diseases to stave of hysteria.

Darkness took me.

I was so excited! Otou-sama had finally let me go to the academy. I was overjoyed at having proven my ability, and to be soon able to better serve him.

Today, otou-sama had taken me to the Karatachi, a third-caste family, because one of their civilians was going to suicide and it was my father's will to witness it. Otou-sama had told me that the Karatachi produced the best shinobi, and that Karatachi Mino, the Crimson Kinslayer had produced a son in union with Nidaime-sama's natural-born son. The older boy (he was so much taller than I, for as Otou-sama had told me, he was almost ten. I was only four) was as blond as Nidaime-sama, and he was as composed as Otou-sama. I thought that Otou-sama was quite pleased, and ventured beyond my place to ask if there was any particular reason for my introduction to Karatachi Yagura. My lord father had deigned to grace me with an answer, and I was both sorrowed and gladdened by it. He had chosen Karatachi Yagura as an apprentice, for he foresaw his waning, and in testament to his wisdom, he was preparing a legacy. I was gladdened, for my father was wise, and I would have a companion other than his silent and wan Guard, of whom I was almost a member, yet I was also saddened, for my father's death was near.

I was still imperfect, so I wept into my father's arms, soiling his silken raiment. He was my father, lord and master and namer, and there was so much I had yet to learn. Otou-sama was demanding, for it was his right to be, and yet he graced me with kindness beyond the required. In my hair was a pin he gave me for no other reason than that I had found it pretty, and he had often indulged my fascination for stories, and let me sit by his side and idly watch the rain. How many more snowfalls could I experience by his side? How many gifts would I lose for him to find? I had no mother, there were none to claim me but my father, who made time for me despite being the leader of a village. It was selfish, to ask for some of his remaining time, when it would be spent worthlessly when it was needed elsewhere. Yet I so very wanted it. I buried my face in otou-sama's robes, though I knew I should not.

Warm arms enfolded me. "Do not mourn, dearest daughter." He said as he embraced me, "We have years yet to spend, and you have much to learn from me. My legacy will live on in you and Yagura-kun."

He cleared the damage with a wave of his hand, and swiped a suspended sheet of water over my face. "Weep not, sweet child." He said with a smile. "Death comes to us all. A treat today, now that you're old enough to eat raw seafood. There is a store that you should try, and I have an hour or two to spare."

He sent me to my room to change, and I opened my lovingly-worn wardrobe. I chose a simple lavender kimono with a hem of embroidered clams and pearls. It was my favorite.

Otou-sama took me to the store by Shunshin. It was called Hanaya's. He led me in. "The proprietor is absent," He commented, "but that is no worry. You will be able to enjoy the absolute foolishness that is its only full-time employee. As they say," he smiled, "dinner, and a show."

With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a youth aged a score of monsoon rains. "Mizukage-sama!" he bowed, panickily. "It's an honor! How may I help you?"

His bow knocked over a soy sauce bottle and he scrambled to catch it. In his haste, he managed to drop the clipboard he held with a clatter, and when he bent to pick them up, furiously blushing, the chair behind him was moved with an awful screech. Very much civilian in his ineptitude, unless he was a brain-damaged shinobi or undercover spy of great skill. Otou-sama laughed and said, conspiratorially, "As I said, dinner, and a show."

I smiled despite my residual sadness.

Turning to the server, he ordered, "Your full platter, with extra pickled ginger. Bring two servings of yourself as well, Tako-kun."

"Myself?" Tako-san sqeaked.

"Your wasabi octopus." Otou-sama clarified, amused. I was beginning to suspect that he was scaring Tako-san on purpose.

"Righ—right. On it!"

He scrambled back into the kitchen with a clatter.

Otou-sama drew water from the air, and let it hang suspended in a tiny ball. I thought that I was capable of the same as well, though I did not recall having learned it.

"Boil it for me, Sara-chan." I lift a hand to the ball, and channel chakra into it, leash the edges in to keep it from dissipating, weave my strands though his own power. The water boils, and with an elegant slip of his hand, otou-sama pours it into the dry tea leaves.

He lets it steep. I pour the tea, as is proper. The octopus, despite many tribulations, arrives at our table unscathed. Tako-san takes the yet to be grated wasabi stems, and makes the wasabi with oddly skillful movements. He splits the resultant paste neatly into two, and mixes it with the portions of octopus, a spoonful at a time. Left paste to left pot, stir; right paste to right pot, stir; left paste to right pot, stir; right paste to left pot, stir. Repeat. Finished, with a hurried bow, he left, muttering about seeing to the platter. Otou-sama gestured to the bowl closer to me. "Try it." I pick up my chopsticks, and a standard, habitual mutter later, I stick a piece of mucous covered octopus into my mouth.

It was strong. Very strong. The genjutsu broke. With streaming eyes, I look at my father-no, the Mizukage. He was smiling knowingly. "To deceive oneself is the mark of a perfect spy. Mu was no one, and with this ability for deception, he infiltrated Kiri and assassinated the Shodai. It is an interesting technique, and as my student, and the legacy of Gengetsu and Mu, you will learn it. Yours shall be a bitter schooling, Sara-chan, but you will emerge well forged."

Unlike in the Meeting Room where I first met him, I had no family at my back. I did not even have a name. I was Kirisara, marked as his own, not Ginkanmuri of the Karatachi. From one point of view, it was perfectly fitting. He was my master, and the name he gave would be my student-name, the name the smith gave to the sword, the words that declared what he would make me, far superseding Ginkanmuri, the parent-name, that spoke of my parents' hopes and dreams for my future. But since I was also his daughter, he had taken Mino and Minazuki's dreams. He had even stripped me of my surname, and with it, what meagre protection offered by my belonging to a family. I now lived and died at his pleasure, so far as the laws of Kiri were concerned, and I was powerless against him, had no viable alternative than to bow.

For now.

To spare myself the need to speak, I took another piece of octopus. By unspoken agreement, we ignored the less-than-peaceful sounds coming from the kitchen.

"The swordsmiths have an interesting technique, in which they bury iron to let its weaker parts rust away." He said as he too began to eat. "Such will be the nature of your future ordeals. The art of illusion is a hiltless blade, and even as you seek uncertainties in your enemies' psyches, you will find your own as well, and they will be liabilities that I will not allow in any legacy of mine. After this time when you learn to be my daughter, you will either emerge with unassailable self-certainty, ready for future shaping, or you will rust away, a failure."

"Hai." I said, eyes downcast.

With a bang, the waiter returned, bearing a platter that had just bumped into the doorway to the kitchens. He was flushed and harried. "A thousand apologies for the tardiness, but the fish got under the counter and we needed to catch it before it did something problematic and then I nudged the octopus tank cover out of alignment and I had to prize the tentacles off the tank to put the cover back before the cook had to be resuscitated due to his octophobia before we could present you with this dish. It's not spoiled though!"

I smiled sincerely at him, because the only defiance of the Sandaime's parentage I could offer was defiance of his cruelty, and unlike Kirisara, I had no desire to please. "Thank you, Tako-san. Your efforts were not wasted. This looks quite appetizing."

"Thus you are now," said the Sandaime, for his days were numbered, after Tako left, "sweet Kirisara, obedient and ruthlessly eager to please. You are the islands enshrouded in mist, the ground upon which we stand, the corpse of a kami. Faithful servant with hidden depths and unseen horrors under your command, you are named."

Karatachi are third caste. To quote Shadowking, my immensely helpful beta, "they survive by being perfect tools". Poor them. Yagura is perfectly justified in his ambitions.