Chapter 8: Winds of Deception
"When the future hangs by a thread of chakra, and love demands its price in blood - how far will the Wind That Moves the Desert go to protect what matters most?"
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. "Naruto" and all related characters, settings, and concepts are the property of Masashi Kishimoto and respective companies. This story is written by a fan, for fans, with no financial gain.
Summary: Sent back to the day Shukaku was sealed, Temari must be the sister Gaara deserves. Armed with future knowledge, she'll reshape Suna, her every choice rippling through time. Time travelers forge new bonds, finding romance based on mental age (don't worry, it's not gross!). Can Temari's love and intellect forge a brighter future and conquer a rewritten destiny?
Dawn's first light painted the borderlands in shades of amber and gold, the rolling hills of the River Country giving way to Fire Country's dense forests ahead. Temari moved with practiced efficiency, each step measured against mental calculations of distance and time. The weight of her battle fan pressed reassuringly against her back, while scrolls containing eight years of carefully crafted plans rested secure within her robes.
The air held an unsettling stillness that set her nerves on edge. Even the wind seemed to pause, as if holding its breath in anticipation of something yet unseen. Her fingers traced unconscious patterns against her thigh, mapping out theory lines of force and chakra flow - a habit developed across two lifetimes of tactical planning.
"Everything's proceeding too smoothly" she thought, eyes scanning the horizon while her mind cataloged a thousand subtle details. The transition of power in Konoha, the careful positioning of allies, the strategic redistribution of forces - all the pieces falling into place with an ease that felt almost orchestrated.
Her instincts, honed by both future memories and present experience, whispered warnings she couldn't quite decipher. The political landscape had shifted dramatically since Danzō's exposure and flight, creating ripples that reached far beyond Fire Country's borders. Yet their opponents had remained surprisingly quiet, their movements subtle enough to seem almost passive.
The cry of a hawk shattered her reverie, sharp and urgent against the morning sky. Temari's head snapped up, recognizing the distinctive silhouette of Konoha's fastest messenger bird - Hikarihane, streaking along her recently travelled path like an arrow of pure intent.
Worry coiled in her stomach, tight and cold. Hikarihane's deployment alone spoke volumes - this was no routine communication, no simple diplomatic update. The hawk's presence here, now, carried implications that set her tactical mind racing through possibilities, each more concerning than the last.
Before she could fully process these implications, a flash of white plunged from above. Shirotori, Hinata's personal messenger from the Hyūga aviary, landed on her shoulder with uncharacteristic urgency. The bird's presence alone was a red flag - Hinata had never risked such direct contact before, always careful to maintain the illusion of minimal connection between them.
The message it carried turned her blood to ice:
"Orochimaru has Naruto, still working with Sasori. The village was still in flux from Danzo's removal, and they struck while we were unprepared. Suspected path leads to Land of Rivers. Kakashi's leading RO in pursuit."
"Orochimaru knows", she reminded herself, remembering the Sannin's calculating gaze during the Chunin Exams. "He's known for years, and Hinata should have gotten through to him? Why let us strengthen our positions, forge new alliances, and protect the jinchūriki if he was gonna betray us?"
Temari's heart thundered against her ribs as she processed the implications. This was wrong - all wrong. The timeline had shifted too dramatically for such a direct move. In her original future, they'd targeted Gaara first, using Suna's isolation and internal strife to their advantage. She'd spent eight years building safeguards against exactly that scenario, transforming both her home village and her otouto into forces that would give even Akatsuki pause.
"But that's exactly why they didn't start with Gaara this time", her tactical mind supplied, racing ahead even as her fingers crushed the message into dust. "Hinata's had less than half the time I have, and Naruto…"
The pieces clicked into place with devastating clarity. While she'd been fortifying Suna, strengthening Gaara's position and control, Naruto remained vulnerable. His status as jinchūriki was still officially secret, limiting Hinata's ability to train him properly. At eight years old, he would be the weakest of the bijū hosts - a tempting target for those who understood the true game being played.
The morning wind carried whispers of deeper deception, each breath bringing new clarity to Temari's racing thoughts. Her fingers stilled their unconscious patterns as a particular detail seized her attention - the absolutely perfect timing of it all.
"Why now?" The thought crystallized like frost. "Why, when I'm exactly halfway between villages, precisely where I could intercept them?"
The realization hit her with the force of a desert storm. Orochimaru, that brilliant, twisted snake, had made a crucial assumption. That with the knowledge of the future he now possessed he would be able to outmanoeuvre them limited as they were by the bodies and influence avilable as children
A bitter smile touched her lips as more pieces fell into place. "They think they're so clever", she thought, wind chakra unconsciously stirring around her feet. The world at large saw Gaara as her sheltered otouto, a gentle soul who crafted sand butterflies for children and spent his days in peaceful meditation. Even Sasori's carefully monitored agents reported only what Suna wanted them to see - carefully constructed glimpses of a jinchūriki who had never known pain or isolation.
The layers of deception unfolded in her mind like a deadly flower. Of course they would still need Shukaku first - the Ichibi was crucial to their plans. Making it seem like they'd changed tactics, targeting Naruto instead, would appear to be their adaptation to the time travelers' interference.
But Temari hadn't survived the Fourth Shinobi World War by accepting surface appearances. She'd learned to see beneath the underneath, to recognize deception layered upon deception until truth became a matter of perspective.
"I see it now," she whispered to the wind, her voice carrying the weight of two lifetimes of tactical experience. They wanted her to save Naruto. They were counting on it. Such a rescue would force her to reveal techniques and knowledge that should be impossible, confirming their suspicions about the time travelers while simultaneously exhausting her resources.
And then, while she dragged herself back to Konoha in supposed victory, they would strike at Suna. At her precious otouto. Her heart clenched at the thought of Gaara, powerful but still so young, facing their enemies without her there to guard his back.
The weasel summon materialized silently at her feet, awaiting instructions. Temari's message was brief but weighted with urgency: "Ignore Konoha, mount a full covert defence of maximum security."
The forest canopy created shifting patterns of light and shadow, a natural genjutsu that would have challenged lesser shinobi's perception. Orochimaru moved with fluid grace beside Sasori's armored form, golden eyes occasionally flickering to their unconscious cargo. Naruto's small frame lay secured to the puppet master's shell, seal tags pulsing with carefully calibrated suppression jutsu.
"Your intelligence network remains impressive, old friend," Orochimaru mused, tongue flicking out to taste the air. "Though I confess, this feels almost... too precise."
Sasori's mechanical body moved with unnatural smoothness through the underbrush, each motion a testament to his artistry. "You doubt the trap we've laid?" The question carried a hint of amusement, as if the very concept of uncertainty was beneath them. "Kakuza and Chinmoku are already in position. The moment our agents confirm Temari's return to Konoha..."
"Yes, yes," Orochimaru waved a pale hand dismissively. "The Kazekage's prodigy daughter, exhausted from saving Konoha's precious jinchūriki, unable to protect her beloved otouto." His lips curved into a smile that held no warmth. "It's elegant in its simplicity."
Yet something nagged at the edges of his consciousness, an instinct honed through decades of survival that whispered warnings he couldn't quite grasp. Every piece fit perfectly - Temari's position, the political upheaval in Konoha, the carefully leaked intelligence about their movements. So why did it feel like they were missing something crucial?
"She'll try to delay us," Sasori continued, his artificial voice carrying absolute certainty. "Wait for Hatake and his team to catch up. The girl's formidable, but even her enhanced stamina has limits. By the time they drag themselves back to Konoha..."
A sudden absence caught Orochimaru's attention - a void where natural sensation should be. His eyes narrowed as he realized he could no longer feel the wind against his skin, despite their rapid movement through the trees.
A vicious grin split his face as understanding dawned. "Ah," he chuckled, the sound carrying notes of both appreciation and anticipation. "It seems our young Wind That Moves the Desert has decided to make her opening move." His tongue flicked out again, tasting the unnaturally still air. "She's taken our bait even more eagerly than expected."
Sasori's puppet shell creaked slightly as he adjusted his defensive positioning. "You sound pleased."
"How could I not be?" Orochimaru's laughter echoed through the artificial stillness. "Such a fascinating technique, manipulating air currents on this scale... I do so enjoy when my test subjects exceed expectations." His eyes gleamed with malevolent delight. "Prepare yourself, my friend. I believe we're about to witness exactly what years of preparation looks like."
But even as he spoke the words, that nagging sensation of wrongness intensified. Something about this felt too neat, too perfect - like a particularly well-crafted puppet whose strings were just slightly too visible.
Orochimaru's eyes widened fractionally as spheres of compressed vacuum tore through the space they'd occupied moments before. *Fūton: Shinkūgyoku* (Wind Release: Vacuum Sphere) - Danzō's signature technique, unmistakable in its execution. The Sannin's body moved with serpentine grace, while beside him, Sasori's puppet shell whirred and clicked as internal mechanisms adjusted to the unexpected assault.
"Most interesting," Orochimaru murmured, tongue flicking out to taste the unnaturally still air. "It seems our young wind mistress has expanded her repertoire significantly."
The forest around them shifted, shadows deepening as masked figures materialized with mechanical precision. Root's elite forces moved with the coordinated efficiency of perfectly trained weapons, their blank masks reflecting what little light penetrated the canopy. At their centre, like a dark star drawing all attention, stood Shimura Danzō.
Sasori's puppet body creaked slightly as he adjusted his stance, the unconscious Naruto still secured firmly to his frame. "This is... unexpected," the puppet master observed, his artificial voice carrying notes of irritation. "Your old friend seems to have developed new ambitions."
"Indeed." Orochimaru's eyes narrowed, studying the War Hawk's posture for any hint of deception. Something felt wrong about this entire scenario, yet he could detect no obvious flaws in the scene before them. "To what do we owe this... intervention, Danzō-san?"
The aged shinobi's visible eye held nothing but cold calculation as he regarded them. "You never truly understood the Will of Fire, Orochimaru," his voice carried the weight of decades of shadow politics. "Always seeking power for its own sake, never seeing the larger picture."
"And you believe this child is your path back to Konoha?" Orochimaru's laugh held no humor. "How desperately the mighty have fallen."
"The Yondaime's legacy. The Uzumaki bloodline. The Kyūbi's power." Danzō's words fell like stones into still water. "Properly moulded, he becomes more than just a weapon - he becomes legitimacy itself."
The air grew heavier, charged with potential violence. Root operatives shifted positions with perfect synchronization, a deadly dance of shadows and steel. Sasori's fingers twitched, puppet joints clicking in anticipation.
"We don't have time for this," the puppet master growled. "The Wind that Moves the Desert approaches."
Orochimaru's smile turned predatory. "Then, by all means, let us not keep her waiting." His hands blurred through seals even as he spoke. "Though I must admit, Danzō, I expected better from you. Age seems to have dulled your edge."
The forest erupted into chaos. Root operatives launched coordinated attacks with machine-like precision, their techniques flowing together like pieces of a lethal puzzle. Fire and earth techniques complemented each other perfectly, while wind-enhanced weapons carved deadly patterns through the air.
Yet even as Orochimaru's body twisted through the assault, that nagging sense of wrongness intensified. Everything was too perfect, too precisely coordinated. Like a puppet show where every string was visible, if only one knew where to look...
The forest seemed to hold its breath, reality bending subtly under the weight of Temari's masterwork genjutsu. Years of chakra control refined to an art, wind nature twisted into something entirely new - each molecule of air became a conductor for her illusion, sliding past their defenses with every breath they took.
"Fūton: Kokūshinkirō no Jutsu" (Wind Release: Technique of the Breathing Mirage), she whispered, the name carrying the weight of countless hours of innovation and refinement. In another life, she'd relied on raw power and devastating wind techniques. But in this timeline, trapped in a child's body with plans requiring far more subtlety, she'd crafted something unprecedented - a genjutsu style that turned the very air into her medium.
Her fingers formed seals with deliberate precision as she watched her targets through the forest's filtered light. Orochimaru and Sasori stood frozen in their elaborate illusion, fighting shadows she'd crafted from their own expectations and fears. A soldier pill dissolved bitter and sharp on her tongue as she channeled more chakra into the technique, preparing for what must come next.
"They expected a battle of attrition", she thought, moving like a ghost through the unnaturally still air. "Wait for Kakashi, play for time, exhaust myself in a prolonged battle." Her lips curved into a grim smile. "But I didn't survive the Fourth War by being predictable."
Naruto's small form lay secured to Sasori's puppet shell, seal tags pulsing with suppression jutsu. Seeing him so vulnerable, so unlike the powerhouse he'd become in her timeline, strengthened her resolve. This wasn't just about protecting a jinchūriki - this was about preserving hope itself.
Her mind turned to Hinata, wondering how things had gone so wrong. The curse mark should have been their insurance, binding Orochimaru to their cause through Hinata's commands. Yet here he was, still dancing to Akatsuki's tune, still plotting his own schemes with their stolen knowledge of the future.
"A snake sheds its skin", she mused, chakra gathering like a storm around her hands, "but never changes its nature."
The wind responded to her will, condensing into microscopic blades sharper than any physical weapon. She'd learned more than just tactics from Naruto's Rasenshuriken - she'd understood how to target the very foundations of chakra itself. Her technique would do more than just remove Orochimaru's arm - it would destroy the very possibility of channelling chakra through any replacement he might find.
"This is your only warning," she whispered to the wind, though she knew they couldn't hear her yet. "Cross us again, and losing an arm will seem like mercy."
Her chakra surged as she prepared to strike, the air itself becoming her weapon. The message she was about to send would echo through all their carefully laid plans:
Fall in line, or be unmade.
Reality twisted like a snake shedding its skin. Orochimaru's blade clashed against another Root operative's tanto, steel singing against steel as Danzō coordinated his forces with mechanical precision. Something nagged at the edges of his consciousness - a whisper of wrongness that grew with each passing moment.
Sasori's puppet frame whirred beside him, their combined assault pushing back against the endless waves of masked shinobi. The coordination was perfect, each movement flowing into the next with artistic precision. Too perfect.
A sound pierced his battle focus - a subtle click from Sasori's core that shouldn't have been possible with their current movement pattern. The puppet master's chakra signature fluctuated, a brief spark of realization burning bright before...
Nothing.
Where Sasori's presence should have been, where his consciousness had burned with artificial life for decades, there was simply void. Yet the puppet before him continued its deadly dance, unaware of its own non-existence.
"Genjutsu."
The realization crystallized with devastating clarity. Danzō would never risk direct confrontation, not with his limited forces, not when subterfuge had always been his preferred weapon. The illusion shattered like glass in his mind, reality reasserting itself with brutal force.
He found himself staring at Temari, the Wind That Moves the Desert, standing with casual confidence before him. Her battle fan planted in the earth like a statement of intent, Naruto secured safely against her back. Where Sasori had stood moments before, there was... nothing. No fragments, no scattered pieces - just empty space where his longtime ally had existed.
A strange sensation drew his attention. Or rather, the absence of sensation. His left arm...
Blood erupted from a cut so clean he hadn't felt its passing, hadn't even noticed its execution through the genjutsu's perfect illusion. His knees hit dirt as he initiated his body replacement technique, regurgitating himself whole - only to discover a horrifying truth.
The new arm hung limp, dead from the moment of its creation. He could feel the chakra networks withering, dying, like plants cut off from sunlight and water. Whatever technique she'd used, it went beyond mere physical damage.
"Remarkable," he managed, rising slowly to face the young jōnin. "How did you...?"
"You never could follow orders properly, could you, Orochimaru?" Temari's voice carried the weight of years he knew she shouldn't possess. "Hinata gave you a chance. The curse mark should have been enough to ensure your cooperation."
His eyes narrowed. "You underestimate me if you think I'd simply fall in line with the schemes of children, future knowledge or not."
"And you underestimate us if you think this was anything but a warning." She shifted her stance slightly, and the air itself seemed to hold its breath. "The arm is your only chance. Fall in line, or next time we won't be so merciful."
Rage boiled beneath his skin, calculations racing through his mind. She had to be near her limit - that genjutsu, whatever technique had erased Sasori from existence, maintaining the boy's safety... But something in her eyes gave him pause. The same look he'd seen in hardened veterans of wars yet to come.
"Not worth it", his survival instinct whispered. "Not yet."
"This isn't over," he snarled, body flickering away into the shadows. "I am not some dog to be brought to heel."
But as he fled, his useless arm a constant reminder of his miscalculation, darker thoughts circled like carrion birds. *Let them think they've won. Let them believe I'll fall in line. The game is far from finished.*
He never saw Temari's knowing smile as he vanished into the forest depths.
The forest held its unnatural stillness for three heartbeats after Orochimaru's departure. Then, like a puppet with cut strings, Temari's knees began to tremble. Her chakra pathways burned as if she'd swallowed liquid fire, the aftermath of wielding Fūton: Zenmetsu no Daikaze (Wind Release: Almighty Gust of Annihilation) on a scale she'd never dared attempt before.
Naruto's unconscious weight pressed against her back, each breath a reminder of what she'd risked - and what she still stood to lose. Her shaking fingers fumbled with another soldier pill, its bitter taste flooding her mouth as she forced her exhausted body to keep moving.
"I never meant to use that technique so soon", she thought, feeling the dangerous strain in her chakra network. What had taken years to perfect on targets no larger than an apple, she'd just unleashed at large scale. The soldier pills couldn't mask the way her muscles screamed in protest, her twelve-year-old body pushed far beyond its natural limits.
Her bluff had worked - the snake had retreated rather than call it. But the cold truth settled in her stomach like lead: if Orochimaru had recognized her exhaustion, had pressed his advantage even with one arm... She'd have fallen like autumn leaves before a storm.
The forest blurred around her as she pushed toward Team RO's position. Each leap felt like it might be her last, but the grip of anxiety around her heart drove her forward. Somewhere, in the village she'd spent eight years fortifying, her precious otouto would soon face Akatsuki's wrath without her.
"But not alone", she reminded herself, forcing chakra through burning pathways to maintain her pace. The fruits of her labour, carefully cultivated alliances and meticulously planned defences, would be put to the test. Kakashi and his elite team would arrive at full strength, ready to join a coordinated defence that their enemies couldn't possibly expect.
Her vision swam as the second soldier pill began to take effect, her heart racing dangerously fast. The medical knowledge she'd gained in another lifetime whispered warnings about the strain she was putting on her young body. Two soldier pills in such quick succession, combined with chakra depletion of this magnitude...
"Just a little further", she urged herself, feeling the familiar signatures of Team RO approaching. "Hold on until then. Hold on for Gaara."
She could already feel consciousness trying to slip away, her body demanding payment for the techniques she'd forced through it. But somewhere in the distance, Akatsuki's forces gathered, waiting for the moment she crossed Konoha's threshold to strike at everything she held dear.
The thought of their surprise when they discovered exactly what awaited them in Suna almost brought a smile to her trembling lips.
"Let them come", she thought as Team RO's signatures drew closer. "Let them learn what eight years of preparation really means."
Her last coherent thought, before the darkness began creeping at the edges of her vision, was a prayer to whatever gods might be listening: "Please don't let me fall into a coma before I can explain…"
Through the dappled forest light, Team RO materialized like shadows given form. The ANBU medic - Tori by her mask - reached Temari first, hands already glowing with diagnostic chakra. Behind her porcelain facade, Temari could sense the medic's shock at the state of her chakra network.
"Impossible," Tori muttered, healing chakra pulsing in precise patterns. "Your pathways are stressed beyond what should be survivable for someone your age."
Temari forced her eyes to focus as the emergency treatment began taking effect. Kakashi stood slightly apart, his visible eye studying her with an intensity that reminded her of far darker days. Naruto's small form still pressed against her back, his chakra suppressed but stable.
"Orochimaru," she managed, the words tumbling out with desperate urgency. "Sasori. It was a trap within a trap. They're going to hit Suna the moment I cross Konoha's threshold-"
"Slow down," one of the ANBU interrupted. "You expect us to believe you took on two S-rank missing-nin alone?"
Kakashi's Sharingan spun to life, its crimson depth cutting through pretense like a blade through silk. "Let her speak," he commanded softly, and Temari felt the weight of his analysis as he studied her chakra, her posture, the truth written in every line of her exhaustion.
"We have to get Naruto-kun back to the village," Tori insisted, her hands still working to stabilize Temari's dangerous chakra depletion. "The boy needs proper medical attention, and Temari-san's condition is critical."
But Temari's mind raced ahead, remembering countless strategy sessions in a future that would never be. Shikamaru's voice echoed across time itself, warning her about the phrase she was about to utter - words that could reshape the very foundations of command structure.
"Scarlet leaves dance in moonlit shadows," she whispered, watching Kakashi's eye widen fractionally. The ANBU code phrase reserved for the highest levels of command, a signal that transcended normal protocol and demanded absolute compliance.
The effect was immediate. Every ANBU tensed, their attention laser-focused on their captain. Kakashi's analysis sharpened, his Sharingan spinning faster as he processed the implications of a foreign jōnin knowing this particular sequence of words.
"Captain," one of the ANBU began, "surely we can't-"
"Saru," Kakashi cut him off, his voice carrying the weight of command, "you'll take Naruto-kun and Temari-san to Konoha. Use the emergency beacon seal when you're within range of the patrol routes." His visible eye curved slightly, but there was no humor in his expression. "The rest of us are going to Suna."
"But sir-"
"That wasn't a request." Kakashi's tone brooked no argument. "Something bigger is moving in the shadows, and I intend to find out what."
As Saru carefully took custody of Naruto, Temari felt her consciousness beginning to fade again. But she forced herself to meet Kakashi's mismatched gaze one last time.
"Tell my otouto," she managed, "tell Gaara... the wind still watches."
The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was Kakashi's slight nod, and the rest of Team RO vanishing into the forest canopy, racing against time and deception toward a battle they couldn't yet comprehend.