Hi, and welcome back. Sorry for the delay. Just to brace you, this chapter, the first in a new arc called 'Snow Angels' is 44 pages in MS Word and probably WAY, way, way too long for fanfiction which seems to favor stories with shorter chapters updated more often. I would break a novel-sized chapter like this into two chapters at least but it really wouldn't have made much sense as far as where I'd have had to leave off.

In any case, after my previous detour to the Hidden Leaf Village (had to be done), I'm back to the main plot. By the end I hope you'll think that's a good thing and that I haven't gone flying off the rails. You'll see what I mean. But please, let me know what you think either way. Basically, if you're not infuriated and going WTF?, I'll be happy. ^^'

Thanks,

--Jonohex


Part 2, Snow Angels -- An artifact left at Haku's grave leads the young ninja in a search for the secrets to his ancestry. Wave Country's building boom continues apace, but what exactly is it becoming? Inari and Chuuya continue their training; meanwhile Naruto discovers that Haku is alive.


Inari

Stalking warily as best he could over the rugged countryside, Inari searched for and at the same time was on guard against his training partner, Chuuya. Sweat dripped down the ten year-old's cheeks, more from tension than the heat of the day as a brisk sea breeze swept the shallow canyons.

Wow, this sneaking around stuff is hard work, the aspiring shinobi moped. No matter how hard I try I'm still as loud as an elephant, maybe even a herd!

Having trained in the ninja arts for three whole months now, Tazuna's grandson burned with frustration that he hadn't made better progress than THIS. His sensei, Haku, certainly explained things in ways that made them seem simple; and he sure made practically everything LOOK simple. But whenever his young student tried to apply what he'd learned, it was so HARD!

Inari again thought of his new teacher's girlish laugh as he would advise in his gentle and understanding way for him to be patient – again, something that sounded simple in theory that was actually hard in practice.

The boy paused, cast a look up into the brilliant expanse of blue sky above then stood straight -- a lone figure against the rocky terrain dressed, as he always did, in teal overalls, white turtleneck and floppy, white hat…though he'd been starting to think about mixing it up a bit now that granddad could easily afford to get him new clothes.

Around Inari's lean waist circled a rope belt on which hung three lengths of red cloth, those that remained from his starting five. Not a bad showing so far, the student assessed, considering he'd been able to steal three off Chuuya who was older and had been training longer.

The would-be ninja smirked.

Haku had explained that the theory behind this game of 'flag sparring' was: if you could get close enough and with control enough to snatch one without losing one of your own, then you had gotten close enough to land a significant blow.

Despite that he was ahead by one, Inari knew that was no reason to get cocky. Chuuya was still bigger than him, stronger than him, had more chakra and could already perform a real jutsu – the 'cannon fist'. Though the younger (only by a year!) Inari was a little quicker, a little smarter and usually a little better at these kinds of exercises, there was no doubt in the boy's mind that he was the one who had to catch up.

As for the notoriety the bridge-builder's grandson had gained leading the villagers to take a stand against Gato's gangs of thugs -- that had already faded. Most everyone living in the Land of Waves now was a newcomer who didn't know anything about the First Battle at the Bridge or how bad things were under Gato's de-facto regime. The rest had, well, not forgotten exactly, but moved on, busy with plenty of other things to think about than what happened eight months ago.

'It's for the best,' -- that's what Haku-sensei had said then regarded Inari with grey eyes far more full of experience than the teenager's youthful face told. 'It's much better to be remembered for the entirety of your life rather than just one moment of it.'

Tazuna had a somewhat different take, having explained gruffly: 'Ya did a great thing, Inari, but nobody's gonna kiss your little butt forever. In this world it's strictly 'what have you done for me LATELY'. Now…go on and take out the garbage.'

Gulls cried as they circled high above. Having stopped for this long gave Inari's muscles another chance to complain at having had to climb, run, scramble and sometimes fight all over this rough, Wave Country countryside. The boy's hands were raw from grabbing on to rocks and trees, his cheeks and nose pink from sunburn, and knees and elbows scraped even through his clothes. Plus, he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and was STARVING!

Another careful look around the scrub-covered terrain yielded no sight at all of Chuuya, who had suddenly become oddly elusive.

"Man," Inari grumbled, whisked off his hat then wiped his forehead as he sat down to rest on a nearby flat-topped boulder.

It was times like this that Inari could hardly believe that becoming a ninja could possibly be so much work. He couldn't imagine Naruto putting up with all the training and study. But then, thinking about it again, when his friends from the Hidden Leaf Village were here to protect his grandfather, all three genin had trained really hard. And Naruto had even stayed out all night trying to master one of Kakashi-sensei's exercises.

Inari's young brow knitted seriously.

As for his own sensei's training under the notorious Demon of the Hidden Mist, well, the boy sure couldn't imagine what THAT must have been like.

"I guess," he muttered to himself, "this really IS what it takes."

Just then, the faintest noise grabbed Inari's attention and he looked down at his side where short, outstretched fingers reached slowly from the underbrush toward one of his red strips. The black-haired boy yelped and flinched away just as the grasping hand snapped, missing just barely.

Taken by surprise, Inari stumbled and fell but managed to roll to his feet. Even before he looked he knew it was his paunchy, round-headed partner, or rather, adversary, in this case. The older boy, though clad in a baggy evergreen t-shirt and grey shorts, (and, of course, a rope belt with those two lengths of red cloth remaining) had caked himself in dust, even his slightly pudgy face and coal-black hair. That's what had made him so hard to spot!

Chuuya, smelling victory, flashed a lion's grin, leaped atop the stone his teammate had just been sitting on then dropped down and charged low. The bigger boy clipped Inari hard just above the hip with a shoulder, knocking him breathless and coming away with a flag.

"Ow! HEY! You can't do that!" barked Inari, hot with anger, half doubled over and rubbing his side. "No contact, remember?!"

A gleeful Chuuya, with red trophy raised high, sobered suddenly at the remark then gave his teammate a sour look. "Oh, COME ON," he brayed and threw up his hands in a tortured, dramatic gesture. "That was incidental! Quit being such a baby! You're just mad 'cause we're TIED now!"

'Incidental' was the word sensei had used to mean accidental, slight and/or unavoidable. The former Demon's Apprentice had stated unambiguously that they were NOT to spar, let alone fight, ever without his supervision for risk of injury. Of course, it hadn't stopped them before.

Chuuya, frowning, stalked forward cagily, intent on the younger boy's remaining flags then rushed.

Inari, his brain clogged with the dozen or so techniques he'd learned, settled wisely on what Haku had taught him about the benefits of lateral movement, sidestepped then fired the edge of his hand at the side of his teammate's head. His blow though, thrown while off-balance, only touched the surface of Chuuya's ear and had no effect at all.

The older boy stopped, enraged at being hit deliberately even if only lightly, wheeled toward the younger, spun and fired a mighty roundhouse kick just as the unyielding Inari did the same. Their shins cracked. Both shriveled in pain then fell to the ground, wailing and clutching at their legs, eyes watering.


After a lengthy recovery and an airing of grievances, the two called a truce then had lunch.

"Hey," Inari asked, having meant to all morning, "where IS sensei, anyway?"

Chuuya chewed a sticky rice-ball in cow-like fashion, swallowed then looked around as if someone might actually overhear them way out in the wilderness where they sat. "He's gone for a few days," said the round-headed boy. "Do you remember that old saucer we found at Haku-sensei's grave, with the fancy design on it?"

Inari nodded.

"Well it's like, really, really rare and from some kind of high-rolling ninja clan from way back," Chuuya reported meaningfully with dark eyes widening. "So he's gone to check it out."

His younger teammate gave a confused grimace then rubbed his head. "Why would he want to do that?"

"Because," the elder endeavored to clarify through a mouth half full of another rice ball, "Sensei thinks it could be something to do with where he came from, you know, that it might be HIS clan, his FAMILY!"

Inari recalled vaguely that Haku had been an orphan when Zabuza found him, and that all clans possessing a blood gift had been all but wiped out during the aftermath of a series of terrible civil wars that had raged for years in the Land of Water. It made sense to him now that someone who knew sensei's family, or of them, might leave an offering like that to honor his spirit.

"Wow!" Inari chimed, now realizing the import.

"Don't tell anybody!" Chuuya cautioned him direly as he leaned forward sharply with an anxious, intent look on his face. "Mari said it's a secret and she'd KILL me if I told."

Inari blinked, appreciating the gravity of the threat. "But…you just told ME!"

Chuuya looked at him askance. "I have to tell YOU, you're my partner," he said as if Inari should have known.

The younger boy nodded very seriously but couldn't help but grin just a little. A lot of the time it seemed like he and Chuuya were competitors instead of friends. As training partners, they'd put each other through an awful lot over the last few months so it hard to tell sometimes.

So it was kind of nice to have a little confirmation that, wherever they stood, it was at least on the same side.


Sakura

Sakura Haruno sat alone at a table near the front of the quiet, empty classroom, her green eyes and carefully-balanced chakra energies focused hard on the shallow, water-filled dish in front of her in which rested a small rectangle of eel skin marred by a diagonal cut.

Though most academic exercises came to her easily enough, the kunoichi found knitting tissue back together incredibly difficult. Over the course of an hour, she'd only managed to repair the wound by about a quarter of an inch.

That's not exactly going to help anyone who's been hacked apart with a sword! It's not even any use in surgery, she thought and realized that was part of what the exercise was supposed to teach too – that the strength of the human body was fleeting and often illusory, easy to damage and not so easy to repair.

Still, Sakura's pride shouldered its way to the front of her mind, you should be doing better than THIS. Concentrate! Cha!

Re-devoting herself to the effort and vowing to do whatever it took to measure more highly in her mentor, Lady Tsunade's, eyes, the girl's face set like stone, lips frowning, brow beetled, completely absorbed as she set her focus tight on the tiny dish before her and that scrap of eel-skin. It was all too easy to imagine that it was the rent flesh of a real patient whose very life hung in the balance; a patient relying on HER to knit him back together.

Fiber by fiber, the diligent apprentice worked; her chakra energy swirling in mandalic intricacy; the rhythmic interplay of her breath and heartbeat whispering harmony in her ears.

Suddenly, a HUGE whisker-marked, peach-colored, blue-eyed face filled her vision. "SAKURA!" it blurted in a gravelly, high-pitched voice.

"Iiieeeee!" the startled pink-haired girl shrieked as she flinched back in her chair then found herself teetering precariously on its back legs, hovering there with arms flailing, on the brink of rocking all the way over.

The kunoichi held her breath, tightened her stomach and waited anxiously for physics' final verdict. Gradually, Sakura was rewarded with a favorable pull that spared her a date with the floor and she came forward. Harvesting the momentum, the girl shot to her feet and her angry palm thundered hard across Naruto Uzumaki's blonde skull. Whack!

"NARUTO I WAS CONCENTRATING!" she barked harshly then shook her fist at him.

"OW!" cried the short, orange-clad genin who reeled from the blow and clutched his arms protectively around his head. "Ow…ow…OW," he went on as he staggered woefully around the room, "ow…OW…ow," in a wide circle right back to the exact spot where the glaring, emerald-eyed, terribly pissed-off kunoichi stood with her hands thrust into her hips.

"Sakura!" said Naruto again then looked up at her as if for the first time, having already apparently completely forgotten she'd hit him.

The girl in the red dress piped with silver stiffened with disbelief, turned away then crossed her arms coldly. "WHAT, Naruto?"

"It's Haku!" her teammate explained in a plaintive tone, sapphire eyes swimming with emotion. "You remember HIM, right? Haku from when we went to Wave Country to protect that crazy old bridge-builder; with the funny clothes, the white mask and all those needles? YOU know, Zabuza's student with the ice-mirrors and the snow, and the--the, and who killed Sasuke except that he really didn't? And then Kakashi –."

"Naruto, I remember! I was there too! Sheesh!"

"Well, get THIS: he's --." The boy wet his lips, looked around the cavernous, empty classroom anxiously then crept close…closer…then even CLOSER until the increasingly nervous Sakura started to lean away.

"Alive?" she offered with quiet sympathy, understanding now what he meant at least, then nodded. "I know."

Naruto gasped then fell back as if stabbed. "AAAAGH!" he cried and pointed at her, the boy's expressive face popping wide. "How did YOU know?!"

Sakura expressed a sigh. "He was here…just a few days ago."

"What? Here in the Hidden Leaf Village?!"

Sakura again nodded then sat on the corner of the table. "You were still out on a mission," she explained then added: "He asked about you."

"Really? He did?" Naruto's voice cracked then he looked up at her eagerly, expectantly. "So…what -- what'd you say? What'd you tell him?"

"The truth," Sakura answered playfully with a clever smirk, "that you were still stupid."

"Awwwwwwwwww!" Deflated, Naruto slumped into a chair then leaned forward on his knees. "I can't believe I missed him," he mumbled sadly.

The girl gave a thoughtful hum, remembering how surprised she'd been, then smirked at how hard Ino had flirted with him.

Looking at Naruto, Sakura could see how badly he wanted to see Haku again and how upset, even hurt, he felt at not being able to. A faint smile came to her face. Naruto Uzumaki (future hokage, and if you don't believe it just ask him) was something else – infuriating one minute and endearing the next. Throughout Team 7's travels, he always seemed to have a way of bringing out the best in so many of those they'd encountered. Maybe it was the hyperactive blonde's boundless enthusiasm, his optimism, his utter lack of pretension that people responded to. Maybe it was just that he gave others a chance and never set his judgments about them in stone – a kindness that had rarely been extended to him.

"It was something," the young kunoichi offered, "to see him alive again."

The novice medical-ninja's eyes studied her teammate's downcast face which she now couldn't help but notice was studded with swollen, red spots. "Hey, Naruto," she said then looked closer, "are those, are those bee stings?"

"Huh," said the boy who roused from his reverie. "Oh, yeah. I was trying to get some honeycomb for these kids 'cuz I didn't want em' to get hurt. Where I was, the bees are really big and they nest way, WAY up high on cliffs." His golden eyebrows knitted as he frowned. "Who'da thought bees would be so greedy over a little honey? I mean, it's not like they can't make more, right?"

Sakura went to her medical bag then froze as her mind tried to process what the yellow-haired ninja had just said.

"Um, actually, Naruto," she felt obliged to comment, "everyone would think that."

"Oh."

Once the girl had what she needed, Sakura gingerly scraped off the remaining stingers from the boy's face and neck then applied ointment. "I don't know how you keep getting into trouble like this. Honestly."

"I can't believe Haku's still alive," Naruto muttered in his gravelly tenor. "Man. Is he ok?"

"Yeah, he really is," the kunoichi replied then revealed fondly once she'd thought about it: "But he seemed disappointed that he didn't get to see you."

Suddenly Naruto's eyes widened and he jumped up, startling the girl yet again. "Wait a minute – Kakashi-sensei!" he cried then gave Sakura a wild look. "I'VE GOT TO TELL HIM!"

"Wait, hold on, Naruto!" said the girl, but now the room was empty.

Sakura let out a breath, far from surprised, then walked over to close the window.

"Kakashi already knows because he met Haku too and talked to him for quite awhile. But," the pink-haired girl offered softly in closing then settled back down to continue her practice from where she'd left off, "I guess you'll…just…find out for yourself."


The Guardian Spirit

GOOD FREND FOR JESUS SAKE FORBEARE TO

DIGG THE DUST ENCLOASED HEARE.

BLEST BE YE MAN YT SPARES THES STONES AND

CURST BE HE YT MOVES MY BONES.

William Shakespeare – Epitaph


Could it be? the guardian spirit's thoughts whispered darkly in the labyrinthine chasms of its awakening mind. Another intruder?

Skeletal limbs reached through the womb of snowfall and parted it enough for it to emerge again into the lands of men. The white world it beheld stretched off in every direction toward a mist-veiled horizon then up into a cosmos of fuming greys and pearls.

In the distance the monster's rheumy, pale blue eyes, pin-pupilled and bloodshot, discerned an upright sliver of dark that flowed steadily over the limitless fields of blinding white, snow-mantled hills; the only thing present moved not by the cold wind's biting, bitter urgings but by its own volition.

In time, this lone, invading shape resolved into a figure whose edges remained blurry and indistinct amidst the haze. Soon after though, it became clear that this was a person, a man, no, from her size and gait more likely a young woman dressed, as good sense would dictate, in layers of clothing – a heavy coat of ocean blue and a hooded, winter cape to match. The perfume of her soft breaths puffed warm and misty in the wintry air.

Ah! the guardian hissed and savored this moment which moved its soul like an aria the notes of which, it knew, would surge into a symphony even more sublime ere long.

Its impatient eyes burned like coals, hot with intensity then shuddered closed, unable to bear the joyous sight an instant longer.

This trespasser, though unforgivably vile beyond what any mere words could tell, had granted the monster's greatest wish – to allow it to serve its divine purpose once again.

The caped stranger stopped suddenly, like a wary animal, then looked across the rolling fields of snow toward where the guardian spirit lay deep in concealment.

Hah! it realized then shrank, looked away and tried to distract itself. Clearly, this intruder was no normal sort of girl, but a shinobi, a kunoichi.

The more crafty of their ilk could hear your thoughts, your feelings and intentions as clearly as plainly spoken words. Her evident vocation explained too how she was able to cross the deep snow so easily, by gliding over its fragile surface using the power of her internal force, her chakra.

It would be hard, thought the guardian obake, but it would have to exercise restraint and patience with this one. It would have to wait for just the right moment.

The monster's thin lips, chapped and cracked from the cold, twitched then curled into a cruel, expectant smile.

Huh?

It turned at an other-worldly presence. There behind it, cold and quiet, stood the lord's captain of guards, a mighty jonin, resplendent in her panoply of arms: an armored, high-collared vest worn over fatigues of blue piped with gold; a straight sword worn over her back, and her sightless face masked below the bridge of the nose. And though the woman's hitai-ate still carried the sigil of traitorous Kirigakure, the village that had in the end abandoned then helped destroy her, her arm bore the crane-and-carp crest of the island's noble family.

What a figure she must have been in life to possess such a magnificent and overpowering presence in death, the guardian considered with deep admiration.

Without even a word, the shade had reminded it of the need to take its duties seriously. True service was sacrifice…NOT indulgence.

The guardian nodded, obedient always to the will of the hereafter, then set out.


In time, the unwelcome stranger wandered up through the highlands past ragged clusters of evergreens hunkered in frozen vigil defiant against the cold, while their deciduous brethren, bare-branched and barren for now, persevered instead by yielding to it.

Heedless of them, the girl continued through barrens and fields then through the remnants of a village long-abandoned, passing without pausing to mark the lonesome chimneys and crumbled gables which alone peeked through the enveloping snow.

With unforgivable temerity, the monster noted then scowled from the wilds where it lurked, she continued her trek uphill toward the castle.

Only there before the sagging corpse of a once-handsome gate did the intruder finally deign to stop.

The wind rippled her clothing, whistling harshly its rebuke over snow-capped broken ramparts, while the mantled stranger studied what remained. Walls of dark, jigsaw-puzzle masonry towered still, but from those tapered, adamantine faces whole portions had given way with stone spilling everywhere into snow-shrouded, fan-shaped heaps.

Amidst the twin voices of wind and distant surf, the girl dipped her head inquisitively toward the guardhouse (only a travesty of scorched timbers and tiles now), then canted it toward the higher landscapes beyond which were commanded by the icicle-curtained ruins of the great house.

Vacillating between rage and fascination, a figure gaunt and pale shadowed the trespasser warily through bulwarks of shattered stone, long unmanned and savaged by the elements, uncared for by all but one.

Though delirious for blood, the guardian could not help but appreciate how, every so often, this presumptive girl in blue would slow to a contemplative pace – to search maybe or reflect, at times brooding thoughtfully, seeking perhaps to catch a glimpse, however fleeting, of the castle's former grandeur, or merely to let herself be moved by the spirit of this holy place.

No, the monster remonstrated itself, pallid fingers flexing, teeth clicking restlessly.

It was hard not to feel a little sympathy towards someone possessed possibly of a poetic nature, whose soul could be touched by the haunted qualities of these ruins.

But it still won't do. Even a thoughtful trespasser is STILL a trespasser.

The young kunoichi navigated unhurriedly yet purposefully between rows of blackened, skeletal outbuildings toward the mansion of which only a maze of jagged-topped walls, fallen columns and naked ridge beams remained all encumbered by draperies of snow and overgrown by jungles of ice.

The pale monster, struggling to contain its impulses, followed her dutifully, creeping effortlessly up what was solid, slipping quietly through what was void, remaining at all times unseen and unheard. All the while and all around it, the essences of those who'd roamed these great halls at the height of their glory, lords and ladies, servants and soldiers, implored their lone executor to dispense with this intruder who had chosen to disturb their dignified peace.

The sight of these noble souls' distress ravaged its eyes; the sounds of their torment tore at its ears. What irony! So many poets write of how death intrudes upon the living; so few consider how the rude living violate the sanctity of the dead!

It was almost a blessing when the caped figure herself distracted the solitary guardian then as she dipped her delicate chin and stooped, having chanced upon something noteworthy there in the snow-blanketed wreckage. When the kunoichi rose, she held up her find – a lady's hand mirror. The looking-glass was gone and the handle cracked, yet still it remained an elegantly-wrought treasure from the past.

The obake's mouth hinged open in a horrified gasp.

A…a GRAVE ROBBER! it raged, quivering at the thought, but then, after a few moments, with the greatest delicacy and much to its surprise, the girl gently set the article back down right where she'd found it.

Seeking then a private corner sheltered from the wind, the stranger made of it an altar, producing a small plate and a few modest offerings of fruit, rice and wine to leave upon it. With the precision and reverence of a Mother Superior, the intruding kunoichi set beside the rest two sticks of incense then intoned a brief prayer with gloved hands pressed together as the thin, fragrant smoke swirled into the frigid air.

For the monster, these respects struck it as a conundrum. Anger ebbed but suspicion remained.

It doesn't matter, the guardian decided at last, for its wrath was not easily set aside. You have better manners than most, but you must still die for having come here.

Exploring further, the girl navigated the cratered remains of the great house's eastern wing. There the intruder embarked upon a much more thorough search and sifted carefully through the wreckage footstep by footstep.

Baffled at this turn, the obake kept its distance.

What could you be up to now? it wondered, then really didn't know what to think when the odd trespasser uncovered not another treasure but an ugly scrap of metal, curved in profile, jagged around the edges and rusted into little more than a mass of brown flakes.

Discarding the thing with a gesture of distaste after a few moments of study, the kunoichi sprang suddenly to the top of the highest wall still extant. In such haste did she act that the obake thought sure she had seen it somehow and was, very wisely, making an attempt to flee. But instead the girl stopped there upon her vantage and looked down, eastward over the sea.


After that the trespasser, seemingly immune to the chill and the forlorn solitude of this place unlike those few who'd come before, wandered through the rest of the ruined complex – the halls, private chambers and armories, the kitchens where only a few stone hearths and toppled chimneys remained, the long shacks for slaves and contract-servants. She then proceeded down a series of grand ramps and stairs toward the harbor where no ship had docked in decades; where the ocean-side fish pools and hatcheries had all long been filled with debris and snow.

Secreted nearby, the scheming monster planned its ambush.

From her comportment thus far, it was already quite certain that this trespassing young ninja would not retrace her steps through the castle but instead follow the shoreline path up and around it, re-enter through the lower precincts then exit back the way she'd come.

Atop a bulwark close to the gatehouse ruins is where the obake waited for the girl in delicious anticipation. After what seemed an eternity, FINALLY, it felt the radiant warmth of her blood as she approached, heard the slow rhythm of her as-yet untroubled heart then watched as the intruder passed back along the base of the outer palisade almost directly beneath it.

The monster's eyes rolled back into its head as a shudder took it, a sensual spasm of passion that it fought hard to control. Only the idea of losing its quarry outright allowed the guardian to wrest back the reigns of its urges.

It hardly had to prepare for what was so natural for it anyway and so, as quiet as a cloud, the wraith leaped from the top of the wall then plunged down at the trespasser whose dark, blue, hooded shape grew large in its eyes. A tangled stream of long, white hair flowed from the guardian's head like a comets tail. In only a moment it would hear the music of the girl's final gasp, the sound of her supple flesh as it yielded to its body, and behold again the exquisite spray of blood, bright and vivid against the unfeeling earth's mantle of snow.

Oh, it thought. Interesting.

It had been so long since the guardian had failed to cut its foe that it'd actually forgotten the sensation. Yet there it was. The obake had missed. Actually, it was far more accurate and fair to say that its prey had evaded.

The guardian spirit stood there in the snow with bare hand and arm outstretched. From that arm sprouted a startling arrangement of white blades – its own living bones, fluid before its will but keener than any metal forged.

The obake's eyes of bloodshot, pale blue locked for a moment on the delicate, gloved and long-fingered hand that grasped it at the elbow, then followed the slender arm up to where it vanished beneath the girl's cape under which it could make out the grey and blue uniform, a tapered club with a flanged hook close to the handle, and a singular emblem of a wave crashing.

"I was wondering when you'd see fit to introduce yourself," her low, calm and lilting voice intoned, jangling unpleasantly across the guardian spirit's consciousness. "So who are you?"

The obake's eyes slid toward her hooded face and beheld there a cool beauty: flawless porcelain skin, long black hair and big, grey eyes that were sure and expressive. Upon her alabaster brow she wore a hitai-ate with the cursed emblem of the Village Hidden in the Mist.

Clearly, this mist-ninja was unafraid. That was unexpected too but it would change soon enough.

The monster's already-savage expression narrowed then its lips twitched, dancing and jumping like ragged lightning across a night sky. At last they peeled back, baring ivory teeth in a ghastly, death's-head rictus of a smile.


Gennosuke

Festive, nighttime crowds rolled and rollicked in eerie quiet, laughing and chatting without words or sound. Among them wandered Gennosuke Serizawa who, barely waist-high beside them, stared up in a detached sort of amazement. The child had been having dreams like this for a few days now, vague and shadowy in some ways but vivid, detailed and emotionally-intense in others. They were a facet of his kekkei-genkai, that's what Tohma-sensei said, but despite that, finding himself in one of these illusory realms seemed anything but natural.

The living, moving walls of people parted like theater curtains, revealing to the small, curly lavender-haired child the entrance to a carnival.

"Step right up!" welcomed the barker whose lofty face remained nothing more than a dark blob beneath a shallow, broad-brimmed conical hat on which the characters for 'water' and 'shadow' were scribed. "Come on! Just for YOU, kid, admission is FREE!"

In the boy walked, though the sensation felt more like drifting, being carried by some unseen current. To his left and right hunkered limitless gaudy stalls, kiosks and stands offering, sometimes demanding, that he eat curious foods, engage in tests of strength or intellect, play games of chance or consult the supernatural. Likewise was Gennosuke presented with opportunities to watch animals perform routines never seen in nature, acrobats engage in dangerous stunts, freaks display themselves for his amusement, or to be accosted by clowns whose leers and bizarre antics were far more terrifying than comical.

Though the path he traveled was arrow-straight, the carnival itself twisted and turned dizzyingly around him, leading the boy in time before a raised podium in front of which fanned several curved rows of empty chairs.

Taking a seat in one of them, Gennosuke looked up to suddenly find all the others occupied. There were men, women and children, some he recognized but many he didn't. All belonged to clans like his own – those hunted to near extinction by Kirigakure and the cruel lords of the Land of Water. He felt, not necessarily kinship, but a palpable sense of belonging; that this was indeed his proper place.

The boy's gaze wandered over the top of the rows of heads in front of him toward the podium where his own teacher, Tohma-sensei, rose up commandingly and took charge. The towering, shaggy-haired man looked over the crowd then raised a baton with an elegant flourish.

Gennosuke stiffened automatically, reflexes telling him he was supposed to do something but he wasn't sure what. Just then his sensei's ally, Lord Noriyasu Tsujita, appeared from nowhere and cleared his throat, ready to perform.

Sensei traced a gentle arc in the air at which the sad-eyed Tsujita began to sing – not in the dull, uncertain voice he had in the waking world but in a powerful basso!

Gennosuke brought a violin, his instrument, expertly to his cheek as those around him raised theirs. The full orchestra, of which he was a part, then began to play.

As their music swelled to fill the air the surrounding crowds withered like crops in a drought and fell dead, leaving the tents and lurid displays empty and unnecessary. The boy's bow faltered then as a distant bright streak shot up through the starless night then flared into an aerial display as vivid and colorful as a peacock's tail rendered in flame.

Ah, Gennosuke marveled, having seen fireworks before.

As the child spellbound watched, more and more burst overhead and filled the sky with dazzling hues. It was like a harvest festival, the boy remembered with a far-away smile, or the celebration of the lunar New Year.

One of the abandoned carnival tents far off to his left exploded then, suddenly and silently, erupting into a quiet spectacle of annihilation with blinding flames and comets of wreckage flying in every direction.

The startled boy looked around but saw that no one else had even noticed.

He turned back apprehensively to watch, wide-eyed, as more explosions blossomed, falling closer and closer to where he and the other survivors played. Gennosuke thought he should say something, do something, but didn't want to interrupt, especially when the music sounded so nice.

Coming awake with a start, the boy gasped aloud but pure pride made him bite down before he could cry out.

Sitting up in bed surrounded by the shabby yet reassuringly-familiar confines of his room, the soft glow of an oil lamp, the crisp cling of his nightclothes, the small, hard futon under him and the keen of crickets outside, Gennosuke took a breath then let his head fall.

It's not real, the child told himself though his heart pounded a drumbeat in his thin chest. Just a dream.

But did he really know that? Even for those without the Serizawa bloodline, dreams were often taken to hold meaning.

A wan light glowed from behind the louvered wall to his room which slid open and Sakiko looked in from the long, covered porch outside, with paper lantern in one hand and dagger, gleaming white, in the other.

"Gennosuke?" the pale, white-haired girl in house-robes whispered because of the lateness of the hour; her concern coming through in the urgency of her voice, "are you alright? I thought I heard something."

The boy, years her younger, frowned then pouted. "Fine," he bristled curtly then retreated into icy, stubborn silence.

Sakiko studied him uncertainly for what he thought was too long. "Ok," she relented with forceful unconcern at last as her weapon, an extension of the bones from her own body, slid back into her palm. "Sorry to bother you."

Gennosuke's rust-colored eyes flicked up at her then looked away as the kunoichi moved to slide the panel shut again. "Sakiko?" he blurted impulsively before she could at which the girl shot him a glance.

The boy's expression quivered. "Do you think," he began in a worried tone. "Do you think Tohma-sensei's, you know, doing the right thing…sending Tsujita to wipe out Kirigakure?"

Sakiko raised an eyebrow, slid into the room then closed the panel of wooden slats behind her. "Don't YOU?" she replied quite perplexed then set her lantern down. "You were for the idea from the start."

"I know but," Gennosuke broke off then looked up at her in earnest. "But what do YOU think?"

The older girl shrugged, apparently convinced now that he wasn't just trying to find some way to make fun of her. "Mmm," she began then sat down beside him, the shaded lamp light flickering over her fair features. "I don't know to be honest. There're so few of us and we're all kind of trapped here. We've all been quite lucky so far but it's only a matter of time before we're discovered."

Sakiko, folding her hands in her lap, gathered her thoughts before giving him a more complete answer: "I can't be happy about the thought of so many people dying, and I can't get as mad at the Mist Village as sensei, Lord Tsujita and some of the others get. But," she wet her lips and concluded wistfully, "I suppose it's either them or us in the end."

The boy's brow narrowed. It was that same basic, elemental argument again – the one that had, until tonight, seemed so reasonable, so utterly un-contradictable.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Gennosuke nodded half-heartedly. "Bad dream, that's all."

The girl smiled. "'You want some water or something? I was just going out to get some."

His eyes narrowed with suspicion. Their relationship since his arrival had thus far had been prickly and contentious, not at all suggestive of doing favors. "How come you're being so nice to me?"

Sakiko smirked. "Who else am I going to be nice to, stupid?" she quipped then took his lack of immediate further objection as a 'yes'. "I'll be right back."

The girl rose, a benevolent pale white ghost, then left Gennosuke alone with only his thoughts and memories of his dream for company.

Probably nothing, he consoled himself but the effort left him wanting.

It might have been just a dream…or it might have been much more – his consciousness taking flight from his body to visit the future, relaying into his understanding a translation of what it found awaiting there.

Was there even a way to tell one from the other?

"Dammit!" Gennosuke cursed and pressed his palm hard against his forehead, turning his fair skin white from the pressure.

It was maddening at times to have an ability like this, parts of which were so strange and uncontrollable. He often envied Sakiko and even her crazy-ass brother. At least THEY could control their kekkei-genkai. Their Kaguya genetics made them strong, a little strange-looking but still beautiful in a way; while his made him weak, broomstick thin and prone to getting sick – not a very good thing to be with a Tsujita around.

And as for his vaunted 'gifts' well, obviously the fact that the Serizawa clan had been massacred along with the others was proof enough of how little those were worth. Assuming some of his predecessors could project their consciousnesses like HE could, then they'd either failed to notice their impending extinction…or they HAD seen and still weren't able to do anything about it.

Sucks either way, the boy grumbled.

Expressing a sigh, Gennosuke concentrated, closed his eyes then opened them. What he saw, however, were not the plank walls of his room but the long loggia just outside. Sending forth his spirit, the child's point of view swept and soared along the narrow, roofed porch that connected the sleeping rooms then off into the courtyard where it caught up with Sakiko.

Tohma-sensei had cautioned him against using his gift in such a way, to spy without purpose or only for amusement. 'It's a bad habit', he'd said, 'one sure to make you its slave'. But his youngest student just couldn't help it sometimes.

Gennosuke watched the girl as she walked, so sure and graceful unlike him, toward the well. There were a couple of the others there already, fellow members of Sakiko's clan, but they had not been born with the Kaguya's blood-gift. They greeted her graciously enough though it was clear that she made even them a little uneasy.

The boy watched the kunoichi fill a pitcher then look up into the night sky and let the breeze blow ribbons of her white hair across her face.

'Who else am I going to be nice too, stupid?!' – that's what she'd said. Gennosuke had never thought of it like that.

Everywhere in the Land of Water, life was cheap. Before finding his way to this lonely island, people had come and gone so suddenly in his life that it was hardly worth taking the time even to learn their names. Now he was here, with a roof over his head and a bed under his back, an actual sensei to teach him and a girl who didn't mind his own strangeness enough to be nice to him.

Sensei's plan to destroy the Hidden Mist Village seemed like a good idea – payback pure and simple for what they'd done and an answer to Gennosuke and the others' lives in exile.

Only now…the boy wasn't so sure.


Kakashi

Kakashi Hatake lounged in the shade on park bench with his long legs outstretched, completely engrossed once again in a quaint and curious volume of…well, actually it was the latest installment of Icha-Icha Paradise.

Flipping eagerly to the next black-and-white illustrated page, the jonin's eye followed along panel-to-panel until he thought he heard something then lifted his flaring, silver-maned head to listen. After a moment, the leaf-ninja decided it was only his imagination, shrugged then went back to reading.

A breeze rustled through the trees as civilians passed back and forth – the usual mid-day crowds.

The ninja's brow narrowed and again he listened closely. There it was.

"Gah…ee…en…ay," whispered a distant voice.

The jonin again returned to his reading.

"Kah…shee…zen…zay," repeated the soft wail, this time a touch closer.

Kakashi flipped a page. Hmm, he considered. That sounds like Naruto. "Ka…shi-sensei," the genin's brassy, distinctive, all-too familiar voice drifted louder in his ears.

Turning to the next page of the story, the masked man shook his head slightly and said knowingly to himself: This can't be good.

"Kakashi-sensei!" Naruto's peals cried frantically from not more than half a block away. "KAKASHI-SENSEI!" then as the boy shot past where the jonin sat in a galloping blur of orange and yellow.

The blonde stumbled to a stop, looking like he was on the verge of collapse, a nervous-breakdown or both, then staggered dazedly up to him.

The man spared his exhausted student an incurious one-eyed look over the top of his manga.

The boy was a sight! Naruto stood before him, gasping raggedly for breath, chest heaving like bellows, lean shoulders hunched as the genin leaned over and braced his palms on his knees. Sweat dribbled from his brow and flushed face; fluid frothed from his panting, open mouth. The young ninja gulped hard then tried to speak but all he got out was a raspy "Ka!" before he had to stop and gather himself.

"Ka --!" he tried again, wheezed, signaled that he needed a second, swallowed hard then began: "Ka…Kakakshi…s-sensei!" he panted. "Kakashi-sensei!"

The jonin looked at him. "Oh," he began dryly, registering mild surprise, "hello there, Naruto. Were you looking for me?"

"Kakashi-sensei," the young ninja blurted in desperation, "it's – it's Haku! You remember, Haku, Zabuza's apprentice? Well get THIS, he's --."

"Alive, yes, I know. He was here last week."

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" bellowed Naruto in alarm as he clutched his bright hair in two yellow fistfuls and nearly fell over.

"Oh, that's right," observed the white-haired jonin. "You're probably just getting back and only now found out. But yes, Naruto, Haku is still alive."

The diminuative leaf-genin, beaten to the punch, paced in a wobbly circle, flopped down on the grass then buried his head in his hands. "I can't believe I missed him!" he moaned then peeked up at his sensei. "What's he been up to!? How's he doing?"

"Very well, it would seem," Kakashi assured him. "In fact, I'd say he's turned into quite a fine young man and an outstanding shinobi. Zabuza's training may have made him strong but I think that, in many ways, having to live on and find his own path has made him even stronger." Under his mask, the ninja smiled reflectively. "His master would have been quite proud of him, I think. Especially considering the way he acquitted himself against that cell of sound-ninjas."

Naruto stared at his rangy sensei, blue eyes goggled with disbelief. "THAT was him?!"


The Guardian Spirit

WHY WON'T SHE DIE?! WHY?!

The obake crouched warily atop the snow, glaring at the trespasser who stood upslope from it. Though her cape had deep slashes though it and crimson leaked along lines from her thigh and trickled down her cheek, the girl was still, most infuriatingly, alive despite all its best efforts.

Intolerable! the guardian seethed. I've slain entire gangs of armed men more easily than this: soldiers; bandits; ninja! Why is it she's able to slide away from my cuts?

A pair of steel spines fell from its skin, reminding it again of the kunoichi's skill. Any mere mortal man pierced with needles like that the way she'd thrown them would have been immediately incapacitated. Fortunately, the obake's bones shifted to intercept any intruding force well before they reached important organs, arteries or nerves! And then too, its skin seamed shut upon being sliced or punctured.

So fling your useless needles, the guardian derided imperiously. They'll do you no good, for I cannot be cut or stabbed. Neither can any blow hurt me!

"Please 'older brother'," implored the intruder, "there are so few of us left. We shouldn't fight."

The monster's eyes went wide with apoplexy. How DARE you call me that! I am brother to no one living. I have a new family now that I would DIE rather than disappoint!

Gathering its abundant strength, the monster leaped at the kunoichi. Long knives and curved sickles of bone sprang bloodlessly from its flesh as the guardian slashed and stabbed with the fury of a thousand asylum inmates.

But when the mist-kunoichi moved and countered, it was with the wind as a constant ally that battered her adversary with chilling gusts and blinding flurries. The trespasser could vanish one moment and rematerialize the next, dancing over the top of the snow. Her open palms and one-knuckled phoenix-eye fists meanwhile crashed like waves against the guardian's cheek, temples and lower belly, clavicle, neck and joints; her feet slammed hard into its ribs and legs, slashed across the spirit's brow and stomped through its knee.

Of course it was for naught.

For all her efforts, the young ninja only ended up watching in unmistakable apprehension as the apparition's bones bent back into their proper shape for they could not be broken!

Laughter bubbled deep within the guardian spirit, surged up then came gushing out, ringing like a claxon in the winter air. But it had to stay focused! Ninjas were deeply crafty. The best way to kill them was stay close, attacking without relent to prevent them from using their jutsu!

Grinning wide with teeth that flared alarmingly into curving tusks and saber-like fangs, the gaunt monster slashed as it had many times before, but this time its arms and bone knives flexed longer and, to the guardian's great satisfaction, cut more than just cloth.

Droplets of crimson flew through the air and spattered brightly against the snow.


Tsunade

Being Hokage…Lady Tsunade thought as she perused the next document in the pile for her to review. This one was annoyingly dense with lots of whereas' and wherefores', 'party of the first parts', etceteras, and all that.

I once thought being Hokage would be QUITE the ego trip. Little did I know…

It's a lot like juggling, she mused and frowned, an ever-changing number of awkwardly-balanced objects – with some heavy like bowling balls and others delicate like eggs. Some are tricky like live cats or slippery like freshly caught eels, while others can hurt you if not handled correctly like knives or flaming brands.

And all the while you're doing this you have to keep walking…down a twisting road, uphill and down, climb winding stairways and cross raging rivers. Never is the terrain certain. And THEN, every so often, out of the blue, someone just tosses you another object and you, somehow, have to fold it into the pattern without losing track of any of the others.

The woman could almost laugh at her pitiable situation except for the knowledge that if she dropped something in this hopelessly contrived analogy…somebody DIED.

Suddenly, the door to her office flew open, almost crushing poor Shizune who was on her way out with her arms full of files and folders.

"Granny Tsunade, I need some time off!" declared Naruto in his inimitably brash, braying voice.

Tsunade made a face, scowling reflexively at the idea and more than a little put-off by the orange gremlin's abrupt entrance…not to mention the 'Granny' part.

Leaf-ninjas swore oaths to protect their villages. They didn't just get to 'go on vacation' whenever they wanted to.

The sandy-haired ninja lord was just about to cuss him out then throw him out when it crossed her mind that, though this kid was THE most immature genin she'd ever seen, he was fairly 'cause and effect' driven for the most part. And for that matter NO ONE was as eager for more missions, usually, than Naruto Uzumaki.

The Fifth Hokage frowned, leaned forward in her chair and rested her chin on her palm, certain she'd regret letting curiosity get the better of her.

"What for, Naruto?" she asked warily, mentally braced for something mind-shatteringly stupid.

"I just want," Naruto started then stopped, his bright, cerulean eyes flickering, "there's something I gotta do. There's someone I gotta SEE…in Wave Country."

Tsunade leaned back, nodded knowingly then steepled her fingers. "Ah," she replied, "Haku."

The blonde ninja looked up at her startled, then groaned: "Did EVERYBODY in Konoha get to see him but ME!?"

"Well," explained the Hokage with a clever smile, "when you're a principle actor in a blood and poison-drenched riot against a couple of dozen sound-ninja, with feathers and senbon flying and a humongous explosion going off over the city, you're bound to attract attention. Security never has been that great around here, but we're not completely incurious about those kinds of goings-on."

Naruto's eyes focused and his breath quickened. "So," he ventured, "I can go?"

Tsunade frowned, but understandingly this time.

Haku, she thought. That strange boy, a killer's disciple with an angel's face, had affected Team 7 much more than the Fifth Hokage ever would have thought possible. All of Team 8 seemed to hold a high opinion of him too and, in truth, she herself owed Haku big-time for returning the stolen Uchiha canisters.

Still, and maybe it was just that she couldn't afford to be careless, Tsunade harbored a doubt that maybe Anko was right and this, this ninja, this helpful constable from Wave Country really was too good to be true.

Anyway, the Hokage settled, all that's beside the point.

The woman shook her head. "I'm sorry, Naruto," she began with genuine regret. Already, just from that, she could see it in the genin's face, the fierceness in his eyes and restless poutiness in his lips, that he was muling up for a HELL of a fight. "I think I understand how you feel, but we're short handed and I just can't spare --." The Hokage paused then, having noticed Shizune's contemplative look. "What?" Tsunade inquired of her. "Do you think he SHOULD go?"

Tsunade's assistant smiled awkwardly and Naruto shot her a pleading look, quite surprised at the hope of finding an ally in her.

"Well…I was just thinking," the demure, dark-haired kunoichi began, "there's so much going on in Wave Country – all the new construction, money pouring in, a huge influx of people, the Mist's garrison. It bears looking into. We just recently found out that a former client of ours, a civil and structural engineer named Tazuna, was promoted to site manager and oversees the whole works."

"What? Tazuna?!" Naruto blurted.

"Yes," mused Tsunade, "he's the man who enlisted us for help about a year ago against a plutocrat called Gato's assassins. I read the after-action report."

Shizune looked down at the blond genin. "You two left on good terms, didn't you, Naruto?"

"You bet!" he piped at once, eyes closing to slits as he grinned wide. "He was all sour and mean at first, but he turned out to be a really nice for an old guy."

"There it is," Shizune continued, then laid it out: "Lady Tsunade, I think Naruto, because he already knows Tazuna, could learn more from one casual conversation with him than a whole team could learn through spying in a week."

Naruto nodded briskly.

"You're not helping yourself being THAT eager," Tsunade scolded.

The blonde reassembled himself at once and stood at attention with feet together and hands pressed tight against his sides, back straight, chest out, chin up, eyes focused straight ahead.

"Eesh," the woman grumbled. "Stop it. That's even worse. It's creepy when YOU do it. Ok, Naruto, you have one week in Wave Country. But it's a MISSION, understand. Find out more about what's going on."


The Guardian Spirit

The vengeful wraith rejoiced in the ecstasy of blood. The bright red sight of it teased its eyes; the scent of it filled the winter air and gave proof to his unseen audience of their loyal guardian's worth.

Seizing immediately on its advantage, the obake hurled itself in joyful, transcendent fury upon the intruder who, having been sliced across her chest and shins, staggered back limply through the snow and wove away from her vengeful attacker's flurrying stabs and wild, pin-wheeling swipes.

Even as it pressed the attack, a lone, quiet voice amidst the monster's thoughts yielded the young girl credit – how she could stay calm under such peril with her hot life's blood dribbling away into the snow; how she still parried and blocked its strikes bare handed, with her jutte or with a bundle of senbon clutched in her fist; how she'd wrapped her cape around one arm so she could use it to fend off its cuts until nothing remained of the garment but blue shreds. Amazing!

This mist-kunoichi was the monster's most entertaining prey EVER! How marvelous, how novel that she could perform ninja jutsu one-handed and STILL dared to fight in-close where it was at its deadliest, even while knowing her paltry strikes were useless against it.

The girl retreated, leaping away and desperately trying to find cover, while the guardian, close on her heels ripped its way through gangs of water-clones which hardly even slowed it down.

I will remember you, it promised magnanimously. I shall place your skull somewhere significant – overlooking the ocean, perhaps.

The kunoichi fled again, found purchase atop the snow using her chakra, then darted behind a cluster of trees – a maneuver the relentless revenant found deliciously coy yet a tad pedestrian.

Snarling, with eyes wide and feral, bone claws long as broadswords sprang from its fingertips. Two powerful swipes slashed clean through bark and bole, sending forth showers of splinters.

Really now! This is just too much, delaying the inevitable.

The guardian spirit was really close, enough to savor the girl's fear. The anticipation was almost more than it could stand. It scrambled forward, slashing, smashing and shoving the falling trees from its path and surging after the kunoichi. But rather than fleeing again, the ninja brought her hands together to form a seal.

A jutsu? the monster couldn't help but laugh. Do you think your ninja tricks can stop me now!? Do your worst, it considered snidely then immediately regretted it as a sharp pain lanced through its midsection.

What? What is this?! the guardian gasped then fell to its knees, belly afire with agony.

At once, the obake remembered all those times the ninja had struck it and where then knew the wily trespasser had infected it with her chakra which had nestled around its liver and at the base of its spine.

Clever, clever girl to attack in such a way!

The young stranger stood there, a comfortable ten paces away, focusing her chakra – calling out to the energy she'd transmitted into its body.

"Please, 'older brother'," the kunoichi implored in voice pitchy and breathless with desperation. "I don't want to hurt you and don't understand why you want to hurt me. This is senseless! Please…stop your attack."

Firing its willpower to resist, the guardian spirit canted its eyes toward her then raised a quivering hand. Pledging every last fiber of bone it could spare into the effort, it sent forth a shaft no thicker than a stylus with blinding speed, winding and twisting through space toward the heart of its enemy.

The monster felt its spear scrape bone against bone across her chest then pierce through her upper arm as the girl turned at the last instant, narrowly avoiding death.

The mist-ninja fell to her knees in the snow and clutched the barbed shaft with one hand while still commanding her poisonous chakra with the other.

The two, similarly situated, stared across the scant distance at each other, their lives in each others' hands – lives that both moved simultaneously to end!

Vicious talons tore at something inside the guardian spirit, transporting the monster to worlds of pain undreamt of. Its eyes rolled back blindly into its head as it grasped its side and fell over with muscles constricting and pulsing involuntarily. At the same time though, as fast as thought, the guardian commanded its bone shank to flare, blossoming forth with quills and hooks inside the kunoichi's transfixed flesh then sharply yanking back.

Hearing the trespasser's anguished cry pierce the wintry air soothed it a little as the obake's spear of bone returned, the barbed tip steaming gory with blood.

Face down in the snow, the guardian grimaced and grinned in pain and determination; its furnace-hot breaths gushing plumes of white. It would not fail. It would not betray those who'd trusted so much to it! Once the blight of this trespasser's presence had been erased, then the purity of this place would be restored.

Get up! the guardian urged itself, raging, Kill her! KILL HER!

Throwing off agonies like an unneeded coat, the monster thrust out bone stilts from its legs and arms to bring it upright, howled then launched itself at the wounded kunoichi with arms erupting into ivory lances and ribs gnashing like long, hooked teeth. But its prey had recovered too and conjured a blast of arctic wind which struck the guardian in mid-air with the crushing power of a titan's fist and sent it spinning.

Screeching loud in its frustration, the guardian fired a bolt of bone in every direction then latched on as one struck the ground then expanded within the frozen soil to anchor it. Retracting the tether, the obake pulled itself earthward and held itself firm against the ensuing gale which burned and bit with the kind of cold it had never experienced before.

Suddenly, the pressure subsided and the monster fell forward, caught itself then looked around for the kunoichi but it needn't have bothered; she stood there before it in plain sight.

The obake chuckled at first, at the hideous wound on her shoulder and the thick crimson that flowered there, soaking her vest and shirt and running down her limp, lifeless arm. But it stopped then for she had transformed somehow. Though weary and spent to the point of exhaustion, the guardian could see from the look on her face that she would never surrender her life no matter how compelling the circumstances. All the kunoichi's former calm had gone, replaced with defiant anger.

Those eyes, it thought then paused, imagining it had seen them somewhere before. One more chance, the guardian considered then more seriously, absorbed its bone anchors back into its body and moved to meet the ninja enemy again in battle. But the obake's limbs were tiring, its breath burned in its chest. The oppressive cold seemed to hang like heavy chains from every limb and squeeze every organ. Though it was still quite fast when it sprang, it was not quite fast enough.

As its white spear of bone homed toward the girl's bowels, the mist-shinobi drew a breath then extended her uninjured arm, pressing the edge of her palm forward in slow tension.

Again a wind as cold and fearsome as a winter storm rose against the monster but this time it was prepared. The obake smiled hideously then crossed its arms which sprouted wide, impenetrable bone shields. Its bare feet sank hooked spurs into the frozen earth and rooted it in place.

A test of strength? Ha! You can not move ME, the guardian vowed though the howling, elemental fury of a typhoon lashed it. You cannot outlast me!

But the longer the obake weathered the storm, the colder it grew. Despite its implacable resolve, the monster began to shiver and quake, its skin feeling like it was covered in needles as the power of the trespasser's insidious technique wore away at it.

"No!" the obake croaked helplessly as its body succumbed to the onslaught in slow inevitability.

At last it gave way and was blasted back, sent spinning through a maelstrom of blinding white and pitiless cold before it fell back to earth, tumbled over the snow-blanketed ground then finally came to rest.

Cold, was all the guardian could think for a moment as its numb limbs trembled uncontrollably, unable to function. Even its bones, always so plastic, so obedient to its will refused it. So cold! How can this be? I am a creature of spirit. The flesh is but a vessel. I-I cannot be defeated. I cannot…die!

Everything became quiet again -- quiet enough to hear the footsteps crunching softly in the snow.

As the monster stared skyward, the mist-kunoichi crept ponderously into its vision and stood over it like a trophy kill, seeming to tower from the perspective. Flakes of falling snow melted against her rosy-cheeked face, her grey eyes ablaze with fury and thin lips twisted into a regal sneer. It was then the guardian realized, though the most insignificant of details at this point, that this was not a young woman but a young man.

The blood-soaked ninja raised HIS hand skyward and concentrated his chakra, a daunting blue energy faintly visible against the overcast sky, then brought that power crashing down upon the fallen monster.

The obake's body locked. What the guardian had felt before it could at least comprehend – COLD, the kind found at the highest mountain summits in winter or in the great depths of the polar oceans, but this was far beyond that. This was the kind of cold that sages spoke of, that existed only in the vastnesses between planetary spheres.

The guardian could feel its life energy flee before it, its blood freezing to slush in its veins, its eyeballs to ice in its skull.

Its body left it then. Its senses, already shrouded in misery, failed.

My lords, my ladies, the obake thought, gripped by despair. I have failed you. I'm so sorry.

Don't be, a placid voice answered.

There, on oblivion's threshold, the guardian could see so clearly in its mind the spirits of the great house gathered there all around, not to scorn but to praise.

You've served us faithfully and well, beloved Tensai Kaguya. You have given everything you had to give. No one could ask for more.

The last clan patriarch of the Aramata took his hand, then the last lady kissed his forehead. He'd never been so moved as by the thought of accompanying them…to be by their sides in the afterlife forever.

But the delirious vision of their splendid and heavenly faces faded, replaced by the scowling mist-ninja who stood over him still with hand poised and chakra surging. The black-haired stranger's face quivered, angry tears mixing hot with melted snow as he glared down hard but then slowly lowered his hand at which the unearthly cold ceased.

Is he, it occurred to Tensai, is he NOT going to finish me?

The victorious shinobi's expression danced, moving between realms of rage and sorrow, pain and abstraction then settled angrily upon the face of his enemy.

Tensai was too frozen and stunned even to blink as the young man suddenly and unexpectedly spat on him. Streaking droplets, a viscous outpouring of spit and blood sprayed over his pale-complexioned face like burning embers.

The stranger clutched his maimed arm, retreated a step as if to go then turned back then lashed contemptuously with the side of his foot, dashing a cascade of snow across the fallen man.

But why? Why would you spare me?

The ninja, oblivious to the unvoiced question, turned and hobbled away alone and wounded, trudging through the snow at first before he found his concentration again and was able to walk atop it.

For several long minutes, Tensai laid there and watched the figure go until, like a ghost, the stranger vanished into the mist and snow-veiled haze.

He didn't kill me. How senseless.

The longer Tensai rested the more he remembered. He could see them now, the odd adoptive family he'd known that had raised him and his…his sister. "S – Sakiko," his frostbitten lips muttered fondly. "Tohma…"

No, the man reconsidered, refraining from killing someone is not senseless. Not all the time. His teacher had tried to explain that to him before. It is a virtue, a great virtue called 'forbearance' and it is noble.

Noble? Tensai repeated to himself, thoughts seizing upon the idea.

Hadn't the stranger's gentle face seemed a little familiar; similar in some ways to those he'd guarded here? And his powers, as boundless as the sky and the sea, hadn't they seemed to flow a little too naturally to be mere jutsu?

No! he thought in black dismay then shrieked, "NO!"

Tensai struggled, flopped and pushed his way to his knees, his unthawed body resisting every step of the way. "Please, master! Don't go!" the scion of the Kaguya clan cried as loud as he could, again and again until his throat burned with arid tingles. Even as the mocking echoes of his voice returned to him over the vast landscapes of white he knew it was no use.

Wailing his horror, the man slumped face down and wept; hands darkening with frostbite clutched pathetically at the snow and frozen earth.

How could he have been so blind, so stupid?! How could he not have realized that the only living lord of the house…had come back!?