Chapter 13

Katiya (approximate time: 8:00 PM)

Katiya was almost to the next village. Having stocked up from the previous one, she was graced with the gift of two meals a day of something better than food pills: beef jerky and stale rice (note the sarcasm).

Depending on the scroll maker's or user's skill, Storage Scrolls saved perishables (such as foods or prisoners) from the elements and rot that would take the object in days. However, three additional days of preservation beyond that skill limit was generally the maximum storage time for perishables in scrolls… because unlike non-perishable object storage, the ink for perishable object storage must be constantly imbued with chakra.

The chakra of the kanji marking on her scroll meaning "rice" was just beginning to fade by the time she took it out, meaning there was still a fairly high chance of edibility (or in the case of prisoners, live recovery) so scarfed down her food, not worrying too much about possible food poisoning.

She had eaten foods with markings with far more faded chakra, so she couldn't complain.

Stale food was still food.

Temari (approximate time: 8:00 PM)

Yome's pupils were dilated to full capacity as the darkened sky ensured no brilliant orbs of light would blind her precious eyes. Temari pounded the ground with her sandals in an effort to reach a rocky outcropping she previously scouted for cover. With a sharp turn left, she skidded to a kneel behind it.

Two opponents—one water-style, one wind.

Water droplets floated above the cooling sand—Yome's. Sensing a build up of chakra from said water droplets, Temari swung her fan—all three purple hoshi visible on her white fan—in her direction. Yome was thrown back.

Temari paused for a moment. Yome let out a groan.

Good, still alive then… But where is she? Where's Sen?!

"CACTUS GENJUTSU!" Sen yelled.

Temari whipped her around, swinging her giant fan in Sen's vague direction, trying to dispel the cactus pollen before she inhaled or touched it. She whirled. Sen was on the ground, prone. Temari glanced about her warily—Yome still down for and Temari was still cautious in case she was caught in a genjutsu.

Is she really out?

Temari glanced around.

This could still be a genjutsu—a good one…

She took a quick step back, making sure her back was protected by the rocky outcropping before placing the edge of her fan—which was left stretched open—into the ground to form an extra wall. Keeping an eye on Sen, she placed her hands into the kai hand sign, to dispel any genjutsu.

Release!

Sen was still on the floor, and Yome hadn't launched any attacks. She pulled her fan from the ground. Neither of them were moving, but it was quite a shinobi thing to launch an attack even once struck down—that is, after faking being down.

She approached Yome first, who Temari thought of as the greater threat. With her enhanced vision that enabled her to see and strike faster than herself, in a real battle, Temari would have to get to her first before Yome killed her. Temari's muffled steps were inaudible over the sound of Suna's billowing wind. She held her closed fan over Yome's head while nudging her with her foot.

Yome, who was faking being down, startled, not realizing Temari was so close. Yome corkscrewed from her position on the floor, an arm raised, trying to recover what was supposed to be a stealth attack. With a knowing smile, Temari gave her thump on the head.

Yome should've made her move when I was releasing a possible genjutsu. Her speed would've caught me unaware then.

"YAAAHHH!" Sen yelled, running footsteps clearly audible, holding a kunai for an overhead strike.

Temari gave Sen's direction a sideways glance. Yelling prior to an attack always ruined stealth, even if it did help curry more adrenaline and therefore strength. Almost casually, she kicked Sen back. With one more Wind Scythe Jutsu, she was lifted and thrown even further.

"You guys yield yet? It's getting rather dark, you know," Temari smirked.

Sen and Yome groaned and them pulled themselves from the ground.

"And I thought Shira's taijutsu training would've helped me this time," Yome whined.

Temari held a hand out to help her up. "All the taijutsu in the world won't help you if you're unprepared for an attack. You should've attacked me when I was distracted—it would've stopped me from being able to sneak up on you."

Yome sighed.

"And Sen, what happened to that genjutsu? Your delivery was perfect—at point blank range, it should've caught me!" Temari admonished.

Sen blushed. "I didn't use cactus pollen, that's why it didn't work."

Temari let her jaw drop in incredulity. "Why not? Sen—"

Sen continued, still red-faced. "I thought... I was trying to conserve chakra for a later attack… so I switched it out for dust, trying to blind you..."

It was Temari's turn to sigh. "Sen, conserving chakra's smart, but I'm sure you had enough for at least two more genjutsu attacks, and my fan doesn't require me to see every moment as long as I have your vague direction—you know it has a broad range!"

Sen averted her eyes.

"Come on, one more time," Temari said firmly, now serious. "We need to practice now before you guys get sent out to the field."

… And die there, Temari mentally added.

"Come on, and attack me like you mean it!"

Lord Rasa (approximate time: 8:00 PM)

Lord Rasa watched his son through a Third Eye Jutsu—a third eye formed from his gold dust—a weapon used similarly to Gaara's sand.

Only while using his dust did inky black markings ring his eyes.

A small, but significant difference between the father and son. The son, whose power permanently ringed his eyes, marking him as a monster from birth. The father, whose power ringed his eyes at will, the product of years of working to become a monster.

A new ANBU head was appointed. He had sent all but three Suna messenger hawks out to the ANBU forces abroad. Wherever that girl was, he would find her. But the Lord Kazekage was considering having her killed rather than brought back to Suna. Her absence seemed to have as much as an impact on his son as her presence. Out of his third eye, which was floating just above the open window of his son's quarters, he saw his son sitting on a chair, still. Calm. He did not cry out for companionship, did not seek out the company of those that would betray him. He was still, like a predator, waiting for the perfect prey to wander from the pack.

Alone, his son gained the strength of solidarity. It was the power and possibly, after Yashamaru's test of Gaara, the control that he could use to save the village. No daimyo would be able to oppose him. His son—his son could now be the savior of the village his wife died for.

Yes, he thought, the perfect savior.

He turned from the window, calling his gold dust to him.

Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow, he would have the ANBU bring him Katiya's head. He could not have that girl getting in the way of his new plan.

Gaara (approximate time: 8:00 PM)

Gaara was sitting in a chair—or in the cavern Shukaku was housed in, depending on whether you were referring to Gaara's position geographically or mentally.

He had grown used to withdrawing into himself, into his mind and into Shukaku's cavern in the small amount of time he'd learned how to do it at will. He and Shukaku—their minds were the same. They were the same. To an outsider, and to Gaara himself, the region that was "Gaara" and the region that was "Shukaku" was indistinguishable, the two blurring together.

Just like Gaara, Shukaku voiced the hatred with the wretched humanity they shared. The shackles, the restrictions. They were alone in the universe. Ostracized by the other demons, ostracized by their own father and families. How they longed to prove themselves better.

In the mental world, Gaara sat cross-legged in the sand, meters in front of a weathered and rather ripped Sealing Jutsu in the form of an open rune-marked scroll posted to a door. It was only Gaara's will, now, and the threat of being killed that kept them apart—and Shukaku's cell closed. Gaara was a Jinchuriki—a demon vessel, and a demon himself. He had no fear in that cavern. To be afraid of Shukaku was as nonsensical as being afraid of himself.

Shukaku growled, noticing something, stretching his arms outside the cell bars, sand licking Gaara's feet. SoMeOnE iS WatCHiNG US.

In the physical world, Gaara opened his eyes.

Who?

Shukaku exhaled, saying nothing.

Father, Gaara guessed.

No one else made them feel like this. Weak.

Externally, Gaara stilled but his heart beat like a drum. In his mind, Gaara had a hand to the Sealing Jutsu scroll plastered to Shukaku's cage. The strength to kill them all, right there. An image of seeing his father's blood on the floor filled his mind.

No. I can't. He'll kill us both, Gaara mentally rasped to Shukaku, remembering the last time.

Shukaku roared in frustration, and threw himself to the cage door, hearing the thought. Wind blew past Gaara's face. Sand pelted the walls.

Gaara's fingers pawed the scroll. He felt Shukaku's frustration—he wanted the power. They wanted to see them all gone, fulfill the purpose they were created to perform. To destroy them all.

The presence of his father left.

Gaara hadn't moved from his physical position, nor his mental one. His hand was still on the seal. His body was still in a chair. Hours seemed to have passed. Yet no time at all.

Temari (the next day, approximate time: 7:00 AM)

Temari was called to the Kazekage's—her father's office along with Kankuro that day. The top floor of a round building in the center of Sunagakure, the Kazekage's office was aglow with the rising sun.

Gaara wasn't there, so that was something to be happy for, but the mood in the office that day was sour regardless. Baki stood to one side, the new ANBU head in the other.

Temari and Kankuro were both dressed in more relaxed attire, unlike the last time they were called to the Kazekage's office. Kankuro was dressed in black, attire not too far from his Puppeteer uniform, but he was without the war paint of the latter. Temari stood beside him, her giant fan closed and held lengthwise in her clasped hands, her blonde hair in four ponytails as per her personal custom.

The siblings exchanged glances, not knowing why the meeting was called.

The Kazekage put down his brush from whatever document he was writing.

"Temari, Kankuro, you are both older now," the Kazekage started, his voice biting, "and as the children of the Kazekage, you have to set the example for the people of Suna. Now is not the time to be frolicking with friends… Nor is it the time to be skipping lessons with your tutor, especially not this close to Academy graduations."

Temari and Kankuro exchanged stiffened side-eye glances, not moving their heads from their positions facing the Kazekage. He was clearly referring to their actions the past week up to the night before. Kankuro's eyes narrowed, scowling, attempting to keep his emotions in check while Temari tilted her head downward. Not in passivity, but in restrained anger. "Frolicking with friends?" I was training with them, something you had me do—assigned me to do.

She pursed her lip and literally bit the edge of her tongue to stop herself from saying anything. Arguing back would've only made matters worse. Arguing back would've been disrespectful and make her father look weak in the public eye—leading to worse retaliation from the people aligned with the Kazekage.

It would've also violated the twenty-fifth rule of shinobi conduct and resulted in an even stiffer penalty from shinobi and Father alike.

Show no emotion, Temari whispered in her mind. Show none at all.

Fury, as strengthening as it was, was still emotion.

He went on, "Starting today, after class and after your scheduled sessions with your respective private tutors, you are to join Baki-sensei on the training grounds until he terminates the lesson, seeing as the amount of training you have must be insufficient."

But now, Kankuro straightened to protest. "Hang on!"

Kankuro, don't bother, Temari wanted to cry out, It won't change anything. We will never be sufficient, not since Mom died. No amount of training we receive will ever be sufficient.

But she didn't, seething with a cold, dark, fury but saying nothing. Had she been a fire-style shinobi, the symbol of Suna emblazoned on the front of the Kazekage's desk would have been ash.

The Lord Kazekage cut Kankuro off. "'Hang on?' In the battlefield, your opponent will not 'hang on'. In the battlefield, a second of training can make the difference between life and death."

Kankuro shifted his weight nervously. "But I've already got enough training on my plate. All the jonin in the Puppeteer Corp say you've got to rest or you'll end up hurting yourself… Temari, you agree right? We've got more than enough training as is!"

Temari kept her gaze averted, the points of her incisors digging into her tongue more firmly. Don't say anything—it doesn't matter. Don't do anything—you can handle the training. Show no emotion—a shinobi must be able to handle it. Show no emotion.

The Kazekage's brow furrowed in irritation. "Training? You consider the play the last few days training?" he interrogated, an eye leveled at Temari, clearly talking about the training she was giving to Sen and Yome the night before.

Temari's grip on her fan tightened. How—how dare he? THEY ASKED ME FOR HELP. "PLAY?!"

She couldn't hold it much longer. Firmly, and looking her father dead in the eye with the same intensity she was searing the desk with less than a minute previously, she ground out, "As a chunin kunoichi, you assigned me to help tutor the students at the Academy. Two of them asked for additional training, and I obliged."

The Kazekage gave her a glance of shrewd calculation. Internally, he was taken aback by the outburst but neither his body nor his facial expression indicated it. "That may be so," he said, deathly calm, "but that does not change the fact that the training you have is insufficient. Because unlike you, the enemy shinobi you face will not hold back."

Temari stiffened. She didn't dare argue further, not in front of other people and her sensei. Instead, she continued ranting mentally. An internal storm.

"Unlike you, the enemy shinobi you face will not hold back"—WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO? Kill my friends? ...They asked ME for help. You assigned ME to a classroom to help tutor the students. I tutored the students.

Tears did not fall. A tantrum did not form. As a kunoichi—a female shinobi—she showed no emotion. Not now. Despite seething, only her eyes told her fury.

"You are both my children. You are both prodigies and shinobi. I cannot have your talent go to waste in the state Suna is in."

"Talent go to waste." You're the one who assigned me this post! Temari thought. The anger she had for her father was clutched tightly to her chest. Internal, but there nonetheless.

The Kazekage leaned back in his chair. "I need you at your peak. As soon as Kankuro's graduated, you will be sent on your first mission. What message would it send if both of my children were to fail on their first mission? As you know, Suna faces many threats as a shinobi village. Failure of your first missions will reflect badly on Sunagakure."

And reflect badly on you, Temari added darkly, the internal storm calming as her focus entered the storm's eye—her father's disregard for them. What message would it send if we "failed our first mission" and lost Suna's precious money? Our lives don't matter—just the profit. Just the stupid profit and appearances.

He spared a glance to his ANBU head—who knew the most pressing one, the most pressing failure, on his mind. "We do not have enough shinobi to spare for D-ranked missions that can be relegated to mediocre genin. After this… two month grace period, you will be sent on your first C-rank mission."

C-rank? Temari repeated mentally. The Kazekage paused, letting his words sink into his children, watching their expressions.

"Which means these lessons must be taken seriously," he said to Kankuro. He turned to Temari. "You should treat them with as much caution as a true mission—meaning you should not hold back."

Temari met his gaze. The look in Temari's eye frosted over and turned cold. I understand. I understand completely, she mentally responded, that internal voice finally quenched of emotion.

The two were dismissed.

…

Temari thundered down the eight flights of stairs leading up to the Kazekage's office, coming out into the sunlight. Some kids were playing out in a nearby alleyway, oblivious to what just happened—her emotional turmoil. The small chakra flare she sent slamming open the Kazekage's building door was enough to startle them, however. Ignoring their stunned faces, she turned to walk away.

"Temari! Wait!" Kankuro yelled to her.

She needed a place to think. She marched on, ignoring her brother as well. "Many shinobi have died on C-rank missions" and with Gaara on the team—the same person so dangerous—? A barely suppressed shiver rolled through her. The training will be to our benefit—for us to use to figure out how to survive Gaara…

"Temari!"

Who Father put us with. Non-negotiable lessons, a manner of life and death, Temari admonished herself mentally. She was torn between hating her father for sticking her with him knowing she might end up dead and hating her father for thinking she was so pathetic she'd die on a C-rank. Her pace and trajectory remained the same: away from the Kazekage's main building.

"Temari!"

Temari spun around. "What?" she asked forcefully. The kids paused their game after resuming previously, hearing the tone.

"I-I—" Kankuro hesitated, "What are you going to do?"

Temari looked at Kankuro with both anger and incredulity. "What do you mean 'what am I going to do?'"

Kankuro looked uncertain, unsure of himself and his sister's tone. "You know we can't handle it—you and your tutoring thing, my Academy classes—and then homework—and then the lessons we already have—we'd be exhausted—when are we going to eat? …Or—or…"

Or have time to be ourselves, Temari finished in her mind, her anger draining slightly, understanding her brother. She stopped walking, and took her brother in as if seeing him clearly for the first time.

He was coming to terms with the fact that they were shinobi. The ones who did the dirty work of society. The defenders and the warriors; the swords and shields.

The people who were as deadly as any weapon, to be treated as such.

"We don't." She answered aloud. Plain fact. Simple as that. She was the firstborn child of the Kazekage, and play was meant for other children, not her. Not Kankuro. But Kankuro, more of a people person than she, a child not as pressured to the role of the perfect shinobi, knew he was losing one more right of that of a normal child.

Kankuro turned his head from her sharply. "It's not… fair."

Kankuro's voice was not a whine, and was tinged maybe just the barest hint of emotion, ever the shinobi. Another plain fact. Temari inhaled, turning her face to the rising sun, feeling its warmth on her skin.

No, it's not.

Despite the sun on her face, a chill was curling around her heart.