The beginnings of alliances may be found in the smallest of actions. Yet to initiate any alliance, one must first meet with the intended ally. Thus, the Chunin exams can be said to be the moment when the Coterie became part of the world at large, although it would take time for it to grow in its own.

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


Ginkanmuri was waiting for us backstage after she and Yagura had delivered the closing lines. "Thank you everyone." She said, "It was a good play, even if certain individuals who shall go unnamed nearly brought us to ruin." She looked pointedly towards where an actor was nursing a skinned knee. "We have new marching orders." She smiled as she brandished a scroll, "Mizukage-sama wants us at the Academy right now. It's—" she paused and lowered her voice conspiratorially, "top secret!"

There was an element of tiredness to this Ginkanmuri's demeanor, as if she was still in the play and merely acting by route. There had been a switch—this Guard was acting as a messenger. We followed her down into the basement, where—"Raiga-san?" I whispered in greeting as we passed the shadow where he hid.

"Kirisara-chan." He fell into step beside me, expression unhappy, "He wants you somewhere else."

I let him hold me back while the Guard opened a passage into the sewers.

"What is the situation?"

"The Daimyo's wife summoned you for an audience."

"I am fairly certain that she may not—our independence was dearly bought." We turned back upstairs, a bit of mist thickened by Raiga hiding our presence once we emerged into the open air.

"True!" Raiga giggled, then bopped me on the nose, "But we are tricksy tricksters, Kirisara-chan!"

"Water gives resistance only when it is pressed." I said, "And so we allow them comforting assumptions?"

"Just so!"

"Father doesn't fail to emphasize our independence though." I pointed out, rounding a corner.

Raiga gave a wheezing cackle, "That's the point, Kirisara-chan! They think they know that we won't bow, but they forget how far we can push back!"

"Over-confident but still cautious enough." I noted.

"Exactly!" He paused at the door of the inn. It was luxurious, in that tastefully understated way that showed its age. Curiously enough, though Raiga and I were in the middle of the most prosperous part of the city, I had noticed little traffic. And even as I realized that, the world turned loud and bustling again outside the alley where we stood.

"Can you hold a Henge for an hour?" Raiga asked me.

"Easily." I was Mino's daughter, and though the Karatachi smothered all Bloodlines, I still inherited larger-than-average reserves.

"Here, henge into this." And Raiga henged into me, but with my hair up in two buns like a servant or a child, with lotus hairpins, and a kimono patterned in small clamshells.

I mirrored him with a small effort of will, my stagehand blacks gone with an application of chakra to show the same luxurious drape of silk.

"You have practice." He complimented.

"Don't we all? It's a well-beloved shortcut in school, Raiga-san." I brushed a hand over the buns, checking that they were secure.

"Yes!" He grinned, "I've forced people to henge into shuriken and get buried in boxes! Make sure you don't have a genjutsu on you when you henge!"

That was useful to know. Also, I was fairly sure that the average academy student didn't get into such escalated situations. Only one answer, "Thank you!"

He grinned back, bright and open, "Good luck then, Kirisara-chan. See you later!"

I bade him goodbye and then headed in.


All that is gold does not glitter


"Rasa of the Golden Sand." Yagura bowed.

"Karatachi Yagura." The man bowed back neatly, "Your delivery was masterful-please accept my congratulations. I presume that you will be taking part as a contestant in these exams?"

"Yes, and thank you. I intend to achieve Chunin through peacetime means, even if I will become Jounin upon the field."

"A wise choice, and a confident declaration." His counterpart from Sand agreed, "Some would claim that your participation would be cheating."

The Genin gestured to the mingling shinobi, Genin close on the heels of their sensei, Jounin finding old rivals and sometime acquaintances to tease out information in the guise of "catching up".

"How so? I am young and little more capable than my peers, all I can hope is to make a good showing. It is our seniors who judge whether to give us a Chunin's Vest, as it was our teachers who decided whether we were worthy to bear the hitai-ate; the Exams are but a platform, a chance for us to display our capabilities—surely you are not suggesting that I am capable of fooling Jounin already?"

Rasa laughed, "I would venture to say that if you could, then you would be more than Chunin, Yagura-san!"

Yagura smiled politely at that, at loss for anything other response.

"But that is a sensitive subject to speak of." Rasa relented. There was the barest hint of something patronizing in his tone, but he did do Yagura the courtesy of stepping back. Implicit was debt. As he had learned even before the Sandaime taught him, he could refuse to recognize it, but that made future dealings difficult. Expectation of reciprocation made people willing to deal with one. "Shall we discuss Kirisara-chan's wardrobe choices at the pier instead?"

"If you are curious." Yagura allowed, "Mizukage-sama has always been very open with his opinions, and he has a fondness for symbolic fashion. Unfortunately, as a shinobi, he is not free with his apparel, but the discovery of his daughter has given him an outlet for those impulses."

"Oh?" Rasa queried lightly, "I myself observed the use of frosted glass. It is very fine—finer, I dare say, than even the work of the finest of Wind's glassblowers."

The Mizukage's apprentice inclined his head in acknowledgment, "Such glass is the work of more than man. It is not made by careful sculpting, but rather fragments shattered and cast into the sea, where time and salt and the work of the waves upon the shores transform them into ornaments of this particular sort. From the union of your craft and our places, surpassing beauty is made."

"And so as well would an alliance of our villages bear fruit." The Kazekage's lieutenant voiced what the Mizukage's heir had implied, "Indeed," He mused, "We are not without our similarities, and our resentment towards our liege lords."

"It is food for thought." Yagura agreed noncommittally. His sister had promised him the possibility of peace on a grand scale. Not now, perhaps, when the two future Yondaimes held little true power, but after the war, perhaps, this could be the groundwork for their world's remaking.

"In time perhaps." Rasa agreed with his thoughts, "Sadly, I must say goodbye. Your sensei appears to be calling for you."

He wasn't wrong.

Yagura missed the danger of the unallied shinobi's company moments after being summoned by the Sandaime to suffer the presence of quarter-grown royalty.

"Lord kinsman. My cousin Kirisara is a pleasant personage, and yet such opportunities for me to travel to her are rare. Would it be possible to arrange for my kinswoman to come to me?"

"You are attached to my daughter, young crown prince, yet her obligations are not to thee." The Exiled Prince looked down at his young grand-nephew from his height, "Why should I allow one of mine to waste her time keeping you company?"

Prince Masao rallied easily—or maybe he had planned for this, "I will not put a price on her time and attention, if that is what you mean. That would devalue her. Yet this I would say, should she allow me, I would treasure her in a room of gold." That disgusting boy did not! "Kirisara's" cousin grinned up at the Sandaime with exaggerated innocence.

The Exiled Prince raised an eyebrow at that, "The one who hid his cousin in such a vault cast her away."

Wonderful. It had come around to incestuous innuendo.

The Crown Prince tilted his chin, "I know of what I speak, and yet I say it. But as you have said, my cousin is for the waters and the wild, and I doubt she would love me for sealing her behind doors, no matter how gilded her quarters." Then he drew himself up with a challenging glint in his eye, "I would welcome her and her counsel, and give her my trust."

The boy was offering the most precious currency of the court—influence. Though he was young, he was the future Daimyo. Because he was young, he was impressionable. He knew that, was willing to use that. And why was it that every second boy his sister made the acquaintance of was so desperately lonely as to latch onto her despite the consequences?

Yagura hid a grimace. The sad thing was, those boys were useful, but why couldn't they be more like Kasumi, who, despite being unable to read tone or faces or social nuances, was without a doubt capable and emotionally healthy and talented in what he loved? The ten-year-old studiously ignored that he had also all but latched on to his sister as a confidante and co-conspirator.


Not all those who wander are lost


"Won't you stay, Miko?"

"No, Abbess." The kunoichi replied, repacking her weapons and stringing her bow.

The old woman sighed, "You've healed and brought us healing, won't you let yourself to be healed too? The child who accompanied you stays with us, but there are wounds upon your soul too, no less deep than his."

"I have not suffered as he has suffered." The ROOT dissented softly, "I am not as hurt as he."

The abbess barked out an ugly laugh, "Girl, you may have seen much, but I have lived longer and seen more. Being better off doesn't meant you're good, and there's more than one type of hurt and more than one type of laird. You might've not had to spread your legs or claw about in a harem, but you've been in another's power and forced to give more than you're willing."

"Not more than I was willing."

"No?" The older woman raised an eyebrow, "The boy, he said yes to whatever happened to him too, didn't he? But you could tell that he wasn't willing. What's so different for you? Pah! Spies, you think you're all so tricky, but then you just start fooling yourselves, and there's no greater foolishness than that."

She could not dissuade the abbess—she had brought a former honeypot here for refuge and recovery among women who had once been caged in walled courtyards, and that was not something any priestess without a temple could do. She could only deflect, "How did you know I serve a lord?"

The abbess snorted, "Few miko wander without trading something more than the purported blessings and exorcisms. You're powerful, girl, powerful enough to actually do something about the oni and jami and misaki and the like, not just comfort and soothe with small magics and petty prayers. You even use more than herblore and handcraft in your healing, but there're only so many youkai and so many wounds. Flesh and information, those things buy passage far easier, and you just told me that you serve a laird who definitely wants the second, if not also the first."

"My failing then." Nono said tiredly, "But I am needed, I can't stop."

"That's stupid, that." The abbess spat into a spittoon, "Never can't. Won't. If you're set on going, girl, here's a piece of advice from an old woman. There's no god yanking at your chain. You can stop. It's easy. Just unstring your bow, unpack your bags, stay with the boy you saved. But you won't, because you care for more things than you and he, and that's why you think stopping is hard. That's not a bad thing, that, but if it starts weighing you down, remember, won't. Not can't. You can always stop. The nuns here, they learnt, didn't they? They thought they had to be those poisonous pretty peonies forever, play those politics for their sons or their fathers or their brothers, calling that patriotism, but not now. No knives hidden in smiles, no needles in the bedding. Come here if you won't stay no longer in the Sorrowful World. We can be your home."

"And with a home awaiting, though I wander, I can never be lost?" The spy asked with a smile.

"Just so." The abbess dropped a small drawstring bag, "Something for the road. Gods know you deserve it, what with all that you have given us. Next time you come, Chiyako and Michiko will be able to supply you with blessed arrows."

"They need not."

The abbess waved an annoyed hand, "Did I say anything about need? Some of us here couldn't feel safe again until we learnt how to defend ourselves. Others need to learn something untainted by past memories. You helped us with both. We want to thank you. Besides, we're still a temple. There's always a need for tools of exorcism—we aren't just making them for you."

Nono smiled again, opener now, "Then I will accept them gratefully."

Once the Abbess left, Nono opened the bag. Along with a handful of coins, there was also a piece of paper, folded into quarters. On it was written…

Kumo-nin had lodged here in their way to the Chunin Exams. Rope and sedatives had been noticed in their luggage—who were they planning to acquire?

She took out paper and pen. This needed to reach Danzo-sama immediately.


The old that is strong does not wither


Onoki was old, but his memory was still unmarred by age. He remembered much. He had fought in both wars, been struck dumb by the glory of Uzushio in its prime, and borne witness to the terrors that were Konoha's Kage. He had witnessed the rampage of Bijuu, and commanded the men and women who bound them with ink and will. Mighty and many were the powers of the world, and most of them were awful as well. Just a few united in purpose would strike Iwa a raw wound, yet though they were dangerous, none were nearly as spine-chillingly so as the pearl-crowned prince.

Others may beat Iwa, shatter Stone, but though stone may be broken, its hardness could not be lost, no more than ochre could be deprived of its redness through grinding. But the man before him, called Kirihamaguri, had the ability to crumble Stone into dust from within and take from it its strength.

Iwa's nominal ally would be its bane. This he knew, with the same certainty he bore about the fact that he would not die a peaceful death. When the twin Nidaimes had died in mutual damnation, their successors had ascended in tandem. He was on guard for a retaliatory attack to prove the strength of a nation that had lost its head. It was not so. After a month of silence, the Fisherman had with a playwright's brush tarred their predecessors' deaths with the colors of romance and tragedy. He played two villages, the shinobi within, and even the Daimyos' courts with effortless ease, tuning tragic sympathies to force Onoki's hand, not towards war, but instead towards peace. In one foul swoop, the man had humiliated him, made a not-so-subtle threat that only a few could see, and yet brought about an outcome to the benefit of Mist and Stone alike, while simultaneously placing himself where he could backstab his opponent if needed.

It was masterful. Improbable in its methods, inhuman in its skill.

Onoki was old. He could feel it in his bones. They had all met as younger men when the embers of the Second War had yet to settle into cinders. His hair was white and growing sparse. Sarutobi's face, last he saw it, was liver-spotted, and no less aged were the shadows of Wind and Lightning, with their craggy countenances and wrinkled skin, living personifications of their harsh realms. Only Water's lord remained untouched by time, features smooth as a reflecting pool with no more than the hints of lines at the corners of his eyes, as if the rumors shared about campfires were true, that Byakuren's first apprentice was a youkai manifest in malice with an insatiable appetite for suffering.

However, Stone was tough and unyielding. Old age had not dulled his mind, nor softened his body. The rocks of the earth would last an eon, with time only sifting the weak from the strong. Kiri was a bloody mess of cronyism with a devil at the helm, while Iwa stood, immovable and strong.

They would endure. Kiri would collapse onto itself. They would grow stronger. Kiri would weaken. They would not fall. It would be the Bloody Mist that did.

They would outlast it.

They would.

That devil laughed from where he made play at being an indulgent adult with Water's Crown Prince and that sour-faced apprentice, and Suna's Rasa looked contemplatively at that pink-eyed boy. Friendships were being formed. Damn, this was not a game he liked. Throw in the baby devil and he'd think he was in a level of Hell.


Deep roots are not reached by the frost


Kinoe waits for a shoe that does not drop. Kinoe waits for a crisis that does not come. Kinoe waits for a test that needs not be passed. A nun offers him a gourd of drink. He tastes it for poison. Tastes it for other adulterants.

There are none. He drinks crisp cool water. No hint of cloying sweet wine. He does not know what to do. He does not need to do anything. He has been told to listen. He listens. There is nothing to hear. There is no secret to be remembered. The soft murmur of the women about him speak of inconsequential frivolities. Flowers and philosophy. Embroidery and books. Painting and pruning. Cooking.

He examines the garden for weeds. Ties frames for the peas. Plants daikon. The roots must grow deep and strong. The nun shows him how to draw the stamen through a honeysuckle bloom and taste the nectar. He points out it's a waste. The value of the plant is medicinal. There is no point in this refreshment. The woman laughs, stretching her scar—knife, uneven, done with her immobilized. That ma—a target had liked that too. The woman says that a few flowers can always be spared. Especially with the joy they bring. Joy. Unquantifiable. Irrelevant. His muscles twitch without him commanding them to. He smiles.

The Wandering Miko left orders. Infiltrate. Integrate. Understand. His training is for seduction. The women here are not attracted to his body. They care for him. He does not need to hint or tempt. He is confused. He only needs to ask. They will tell him.

Sunlight slants through. There is only a touch of morning mist. None of the heavy incense or dingy murk of then. It is simple. Clean.

This temple overlooks one of the passes through the mountains of Kumo. A spy must be stationed here. Always. The Wandering Miko has explained. Danzo-sama decided that he would be of more use here. She delivered him here on his orders. Danzo-sama is wise. Kinoe is grateful that—grateful that he can be of use. It's pleasantly quiet. There are no strong smells. Moss grows on the stone steps. It is open. Bright. There are no threats. He does not need to calculate. He does not need to manipulate. A tool does not feel.

He is relieved.


"My son has shown more interest in his future this past day than he has for months combined." The Daimyo's wife set down her teacup with a delicate clink, fingers presumably positioned in the proper manner. "It is, I have gathered, to do with you."

"It was not my intent, Lady Sayuri." I had no more knowledge of etiquette to go on than don't show weakness, do not acknowledge anyone as superior, so I kept my face smoothly impassive and my voice as constant as the lapping of the tides as I replied.

"In which case, you are owed an apology." Her beautiful face was also expressionless, but there was real or well-feigned emotion in her voice, "I have spent too long guarding my lord from other women, that I have seen too much in the innocence of children. Moreso, I have forgotten, of all the women and ungrown girls beneath the sky, you alone would never be bid by heart or circumstance wed a king."

"I would not?"

She laughed a bitter laugh, "Why would you share a heart with so many vicious sisters? Be locked behind tall walls in enclosed gardens? Fear your beloved's displeasure? See no man but he? I envy you, fey creatures of blood and brutality! Though you wear no silks and eat no delicacies, you kneel before no man, only bow to your general!"

"It is a harsh life." I said, softly, "You son is a child. He laughs and likes and loves and is carefree. I am merely a soldier yet to be. I envy him his wonder. I am not free to have it."

"That is not too great a price." The queen of the land looked into the distance, "But perhaps—you too are a piece on the board, a doll as am I. Yet you are dressed with power—with me, men would rather see a decoration, and I envy you. Do you know when I first knew of your lord father?"

"I would be glad to be enlightened."

"It's my first true memory." She said wistfully, eyes seeing a scene long since passed, "I was young—little older than you are now. The old Daimyo was dead, and the city was all in mourning. Everything was in white—white sackcloth, white cotton, white flax, white silk. There was no color in the world—even the sky was overcast. Then there was a commotion—sounds of surprise swiftly falling silent. My brother and I climbed onto the roofs to see what it was all about, and there she was, a spot of brilliant, vibrant red in the world, in a full furisode, ink-dark hair loosely bound with rubies, lips painted bloody, eyes winged with crimson…"

It would make an impression, a spot of the most vivid, celebratory red amongst the mourning whites. I wasn't sure what she was aiming at, speaking of a woman in red.

"No one knows her name." the woman before me continued, "She introduced herself as joy, come in Kirigakure's name to bury the Daimyo. Father was so shocked that he did not scold us for climbing like hellions afterwards, and said that Masataka-shinno had gone too far at last. Yet that woman came and departed unmolested, and nothing was done. I wanted to be her when I grew up, powerful, striking, unbeholden to inconvenient custom, twisting custom to my purposes—for that memory I demanded that my husband allow me to accompany him, if only to have a chance to meet her here—but this is as high as I can rise."

"You can still choose another life." I said, words tumbling out of my mouth before I could catch them.

"No, I can't." She seemed truly sad at that fact, "I love what power I have too much, and what love in my heart that is not for power is given onto my son. More pressingly, I am where I am by the will of another—it was no coincidence that my greatest rivals found themselves victim to accidents."

"The Fisherman's nets are wide." I agreed, "But if you are willing, I could ask my father who that woman was."

Sayuri smiled at that, "I would be most grateful." She hesitated, perhaps artfully, perhaps sincerely, "Cousin."


You have no idea how tempted I was to do a "the crownless again shall be king" about Ginkanmuri=silver crown and Karatachi having lost her. The pun works, but the plot is unwilling. Alas.

Golden room: 金屋藏娇to treasure/hide Jiao(name) in a golden room. The emperor Wu of Han (汉武帝) promised to treasure his cousin Chen A'jiao in a room of gold should he take her to wife. There was something about political support involved, and some time after he married her, he divorced his empress for infertility, headstrongness, and witchcraft. You can see how the reference could be read the wrong way.

Handcraft: character for character translation of 手术, literally arts () of the hand(), meaning surgery.

"knives hidden in smiles, no needles in the bedding": "笑里刀剐皮割肉,绵里针剔髓挑筋", knives in smiles flense skin and cut flesh, needles in bedding pick marrow and pull sinew. Meaning rather obvious. Interestingly enough, the latter line about needles in bedding can also be read as silk hiding steel.

Sorrowful World: Ukiyo also means the floating world if written differently. Here, it means the earthly plane of Buddhism. Either way, it's an invitation to retreat into the hermitage if the outer world becomes too terrible for Nono.

"though stone may be broken, its hardness could not be lost, no more than ochre could be deprived of its redness through grinding":" 石可破也,而不可夺坚;丹可磨也,而不可夺赤". "stone can be broken, yet its hardness can not be seized; cinnabar can be ground, yet its redness cannot be seized". I changed the phrase with the assumption that most people are more familiar with ochre as a pigment.

The Kinoe here isn't Yamato. Danzo reuses his names. Kinoe is very young.