Shin grinned, razor-toothed, as the Fire noble in front of him swelled with misplaced ego. They'd been having regular meetings for over a month now, the two performing a careful dance to try to use the other to their benefit despite a mutual deep and abiding dislike and the noble thought he'd just played a winning hand.

Of course, he thought a lot of other things, too.

He thought that Shin had no idea of the man's distaste for ninja, that Shin had no way to tell that the money he was being promised had already been earmarked for samurai—oh, the noble would 'fight' to keep his promise in the coming weeks, but there would be 'nothing he could do' and that would be that.

He thought, most importantly, that Shin was far less connected than he actually was.

Shin had known immediately upon meeting the man—his first time around, with his Sensei and the rest of chinmoku—that he would never make for a good ally. He was well placed, it was true, but also out for himself and with little to no regard for the shinobi forces who worked to keep his life so comfortable. He had shockingly little regard for samurai, too, funnily enough, but he could more easily see how aiding them would benefit him, so he'd positioned himself as a military advocate and done very well.

Knowing that, on Shin's return trip he'd made relatively few attempts to get anything out of the man, had played his cards close to his chest, and not used any of the information he gathered from his sources to try to endear himself.

The noble, incapable of thinking someone was not trying to suck up to him, instead thought Shin had nothing to offer—that he was too young, knew nothing, was friends with no one.

Shin had allowed the noble to think that for weeks as he'd settled in, made the man's impression increasingly distant from the truth.

There hadn't been much of a point in breaking it.

Now, though…

"We have a deal, then?"

Now the man had just tried to make a deliberately false promise, tried to get Shin to offer him aid without giving anything in return.

And Shin needed the aid. With the Land of Mushrooms starting up their own Hidden Village, it was absolutely vital that Fire was seen supporting them, not only so the village actually lasted but to permanently indebt their soon-to-be primary military force to Fire and Konoha specifically. Getting support, then, ensuring that the village got the resources it needed in as timely a manner as possible, was priority.

So now it was time for Shin to play his hand. Not all of it—not even most of it—but just enough for the noble to know that, if Shin had any say in it, his days as an up-and-coming military advocate were numbered.

"Now, now," he said, setting down his cup of tea, "you and I both know that's not true."

He left the man several minutes later shivering in fear.

Some simply wouldn't respond to anything else.

Back in his rooms (the rooms for any Konoha ambassador, sealed by Uzu specialists 50 years before and without the slightest breach since then), he found several letters waiting, delivered by one of the regular mail carts that ricocheted back and forth between the Capital and Hidden Village.

He opened them by order of size—skimming the longest first, then progressively moving down in size.

Within minutes he'd made it to the smallest of the letters, only a couple hundred words of tightly written script, all of the meaning hidden behind layers of protection—

His Sensei's handwriting. Sakura's code.

He'd expected…

Suggestions, perhaps? He still sent tips fairly regularly. Or maybe an update on the goings-on within Konoha; Shin received official reports, of course, but Sensei often felt those left vital information out. He'd just sent one just last week about how the Konoha-Kumo relations seemed to be worsening by the day, with increasing agitation about what Konohans saw as the lack of clear response to Kumo aggression. Kumo, of course, thought that Konoha were the aggressors—relations between the two had only ever approached tolerant, and even then, rarely.

Instead, to Shin's shock, his Sensei had written him with orders.

S-rank orders.

To be carried out, to his further surprise, with the rest of chinmoku. He thought briefly of Ibiki, but before he could ruminate further he'd processed the next line.

Lord Jiraiya was leading the mission.

His eyes flew over the rest of the page, taking in the location (Uzu), the mission (general information search), and the parameters (no more than one month, then back to previous duty.)

He was to arrive at the coast by tomorrow night.

Lord Jiraiya, Shin was well aware, hated it when anyone other than him was late.

Shin sighed, wished he'd left the previous meeting earlier or, better yet, hadn't bothered to attend, then got to work.

Within fifteen minutes, notes had been written and dispatched to all those he'd had scheduled appointments with; all he needed packed into three of Sakura's handy storage seals, and Shin could be found far from the walls of the city.

He sprinted all out, eye on the sun as he measured out the distance he had to cover. The weather was good, at least, which meant he had some chance of not being late: the time of the scheduled rendezvous was too close for comfort regardless.

Pumping more chakra in his muscles, he put on another burst of speed—they'd have to take a boat anyway, so even if he wiped himself out, there'd be time to recover, and he really didn't want to be the last to arrive.

.

Sakura stared out into the ocean. A storm, a rather large one, seemed to be rolling in: the sky was grey and low, and the waves buffeted unhappily against the sand and rocks. The wind, too, shoved at her with all the force it could muster, forcing her to hold a defensive stance just to stand straight against its blows. Sakura's hairs—the lightest of them, that were too small or too nimble to remain caught in her bun with the rest of them—whipped across her face.

She'd been to the Chigiri Sea before, on the mission to extricate her brother, and even been taught how to sail during a storm on Fire's Great Lake during her genin years, but she'd never been on the Fire Sea at all, much less during a storm, and the combination was more than a little uncomfortable, particularly as the dim light of the evening made everything just that bit harder to make out.

"We'll set sail for Uzu tomorrow morning." The Captain eyed the waves dispassionately, trying in vain to smoke—the wind was making it hard for him to get a light—as he stood next to her. "No point in waiting it out—winter's coming, so it'll last a while."

Sakura nodded her agreement, glanced at the ship beached nearby—it was small enough to not need a port, making it more maneuverable and secretive than other naval options, but that also meant that it was small enough to have no barrier against the storm for those held inside.

She glanced at the sea again—choppy enough that she wouldn't be able to survive alone longer than an hour or so—then the boat, about 16 meters long. It wouldn't be the most dangerous thing she had ever done, but even with the Captain and twenty or so crewmen seeming relatively confident about their chances…

Sakura was pretty sure it came close.

She nodded again, then turned to the stocky inn once more. She'd just wanted an idea of what they'd be in for tomorrow, and she'd certainly gotten that. The Captain, equally interested in avoiding the rain when not in his boat, followed after quickly.

The storm broke mere minutes after.

The inn was a warm, busy place.

The Fire Sea emptied to the south, and with the destruction of Uzu just about every major naval trip went through the Chigiri Sea instead now; most destinations were closer by those ports, and those that weren't could almost all be easily reached by land.

Despite that, a steady troop of merchant ships constantly threaded their way across the sea, crisscrossing between Fire, Rivers, Wind, Tea, and the Jungle, as well as the myriad of (relatively) tiny islands that dotted the Sea. The inn was not positioned in a town that had a port, but it was positioned at the border between Rivers and Fire, which meant the land travel kept it more than busy enough.

Sakura's party—twenty crewmen, a captain, Jiraiya, Juro, and herself—raised eyebrows, but that was about it; ninja and ship crews of large size were both common enough individually.

By the time the storm broke, the Captain had disappeared, and his men were happily in their cups, enjoying their last night at the inn. Sakura, Juro, and Jiraiya were pressed in a booth, sipping at their drinks and eying the proffered meal—meat stew and baked bread—with no small amount of leeriness.

The innkeeper had refused to say what kind of meat was in the stew.

"So, how long do you think until Shin's here?"

"Technically our meet-up time is in half an hour," Sakura said, "so then."

Juro shrugged. "We were kind of a last-minute addition, weren't we? It'll matter on how quickly they got him the message."

Jiraiya, who'd splayed himself along the entirety of his side of the table, snorted. 'Last minute addition' was more than a bit of an exaggeration—the mission was actually supposed to be undertaken by Jiraiya and Orochimaru, but the two had had one of their regular falling outs, and within an hour, it had been decided that it was 'unwise' to put them together. Orochimaru's role was then replaced by a combination of the entirety of chinmoku. Barring sensei, of course. (Even then, they'd been the third choice; the second choice of a Mitokado Diplomat and Akimichi Researcher refused to work together on the basis of their clans' strife, received docked pay in punishment, and were dismissed in favor of chinmoku who, at least, had no reason to not get along.)

Juro and Sakura had been less than pleased—they'd had barely any time to calm Ibiki down and comfort him before they left—but that was the fun thing about military dictatorships:

When they said jump, you jumped.

(Or, you know, destroyed your entire career. Which some were willing to do, apparently.)

Sakura poked at the stew, frowning. It didn't react in any kind of unusual way, so she decided she was hungry enough to eat it. Juro, seeing someone else give in, was quick to do so himself.

Jiraiya pushed his stew back to the center of the table, abandoning the meal entirely.

"Hopefully he arrives soon."

"Why?" Juro grunted.

Sakura agreed. "We're not leaving until tomorrow morning, he'll have gotten what information we were given in the message, and you refuse to tell us anything else."

"Just—I'm in charge, okay? It's perfectly reasonable for me to want all my pieces in place."

"Did he just call us pieces?" Juro asked.

Sakura nodded, planning to press the advantage—Jiraiya's hand was rising to rub his temples already—when the door banged open, bringing with it a gust of wind that caused all of the flames and fires to surge. Shin, behind the gust, slammed the door closed again, glanced around, then moved to the kitchens, where people hung up their coats to dry out.

"Moot point, then." Jiraiya said. "He's arrived." Before they could say anything else, he'd stood and made his way to the kitchens himself. After a second, both Juro and Sakura chose not to follow: he hadn't made any sign they wanted him to and, at the end of the day, he was their boss.

Minutes later, they were all settled around the table once more, diving with varying degrees of enthusiasm into the provided meat stew.

Jiraiya had already finished bringing their third member up to date—it wasn't hard, given what little he was willing to explain before they were actually out at sea—and now the elite jounin relaxed in the corner of the booth with his eyes closed, looking to all the world like a man fast asleep.

Chinmoku, despite knowing anything was further from the case, ignored him. There wasn't any particular reason to hide their conversations from the man, and if this was how he wanted to spend the evening, who were they to stop him?

"How's Ibiki?"

Sakura frowned. "Not good. Really didn't take our going away well, particularly because he couldn't come with us."

Juro nodded in agreement. "Full on temper tantrum. Lost his voice screaming so much and was still going on when we left. At least this is supposed to only be a couple weeks to a month."

"Still a long time for a boy his age. Any age, really."

"Yeah."

"Kohana and Himari taking care of him?"

"Mostly. Your nephews promised to hang out with him some when he doesn't have school too, keep him entertained by learning new things."

"Nice of them."

Sakura nodded. "How've you been? Capital treating you well?"

Shin shrugged. "Same old, same old, same politics as ever. I have more time to write, though, so that's nice."

Jiraiya's eyes snapped open, and he turned to stare at the neighboring boy in surprise. "You write?! Why didn't you tell me!"

"I do."

"So do I!"

Chinmoku stared at him. He grinned, happy to have caught them unawares. "Only one book so far, and it's… special. But I've just started up on my second and it has a slightly different purpose: politics!"

With a flourish, he presented his work.

It was… lewd, Sakura thought, was probably the most accurate description.

Juro flipped through the pages using only the very edge of his fingers. "You call this political?"

Jiraiya leaned forward. "Look, at some point or another any book I write is going to be traced back to me. But I like writing! And women! And I want a way to communicate, you know, a sort of base to use to get messages across!"

Shin sat back. "You think if you're overtly sexual enough Konoha's enemies will struggle to find any hidden messages within."

"Well, kind of. I'm not really planning to put any messages in the book itself, you see—"

"It's a book cypher."

"Exactly!"

Juro squinted at one of the pages. "Should so much of the paper be devoted to drawings, then?"

Jiraiya frowned. "I can use those to convey messages too, you know." Then, "why aren't you more freaked out? I was expecting greater reactions!"

"Everybody knows you proclivities by now," Juro said. "This… is in line with that."

Sakura shrugged. "When my clan found out I was going on a trip with you they gave me a series of plants to make me deadly to the touch, and advised me in how to use them before bed."

"I would never—"

"You're the one that intentionally developed that reputation," Shin said. "You have to deal with the consequences."

"Still. I would never."

"But you would spy on women in places they are taught to feel safe for not only political but also sexual reasons," Sakura said. "It's a bit hard to tell where your moral compass lies, you see?"

Jiraiya snatched back his book, frowning. "Nothing wrong with looking." And then he was gone, a pile of leaves left in his place.

"Do you think he seriously doesn't understand?"

"Yes." Sakura and Shin said at the same time.

"Not, mind you, that that makes it any better."

A pause, and then, "how is Ibiki doing in his classes? Besides the tantrum, I mean?"

"Oh, quite well, actually…."

.

Sailing during a storm was a hell sport designed by sadists with too much time on their hands. It seemed that every minute the ship tilted in a different direction, heaving and surging and swaying and rolling and pitching and yawing in a sort of orchestral rhythm that made it next to impossible to do just about anything.

Which was not to say they were doing nothing: with the height of the waves and the twisting of the ship, water was constantly flooding overboard, so while the Captain and sailors worked to keep her in the same general direction chinmoku and Jiraiya used buckets to fight against the storm, emptying out the water which in the next minute would come flooding back in.

By their arrival two days later, none had slept more than three or four hours total, and never for more than an hour at a time.

The beach, at least, seemed clear of danger—Sakura wasted no time checking—and as the sailors worked to beach their ship and build their temporary accommodations, Jiraiya decided there was no point waiting: best to reach their goal as quickly as possible.

They began hiking up the cliff edge mere minutes after arrival.

It didn't take long, in the end, to arrive at their destination: the total area of the island was less than a fifth of Fire, and despite the storm, the Captain had landed them on the beach directly opposite their target.

It wasn't as fast as it could have been—all four of them were tired, chakra-depleted, and emotionally wrought, but at least Jiraiya saw fit to fill them in on why, exactly, excursions from the Leaf were regularly sent to the island, regularly made almost the same exact trek that they were making now.

It still…

Well, none of chinmoku were best known for their physical capabilities, and Jiraiya—for all that he saw far more combat than any of them ever would—was also the one covering extra ground by patrolling the nearby area every day.

At last, though, they arrived.

The sun, late as it was, was just beginning to graze against the edge of the horizon which sat over the Zubunere Sea. The waves were calmer, now, the storm having come to an end gradually throughout the whole morning.

Between them and the waves sat the remains of a city.

The former homes, shops, shrines stretched out a seemingly enormous distance—at its height, it held over one hundred thousand residents, and that number seemed to be growing at a steady and unvarying rate.

Now the buildings sat empty. Many had been destroyed, many more were in the process of being retaken by nature. Some still seemed to be in good condition, relatively speaking, but they were the minority.

This was a ghost town, a once thriving city reduced to rubble and memories.

On a November evening, almost forty years after Konoha's founding, four figures stood over the remains of Uzushiagakure and, no matter their past experiences, shivered against the feelings the city forced into them.