Naruto: Mixed Heritage(Rewrite)

The wind whispered through the wide, arched windows of the Kazekage Tower, brushing against the scrolls and maps laid out across the lacquered wood of the desk. High above the desert village of Sunagakure, the golden light of dusk cast long shadows across the Kazekage's office. The horizon bled orange and red, mirroring the tension that simmered within the room.

The Third Kazekage, Satetsu, stood with his back to the door, hands clasped behind him, gazing out over the sandstone rooftops that glinted like sun-baked bones. He was silent, his silhouette motionless, but his mind was anything but still.

The reports lay stacked on his desk, already read, re-read, and memorized. Konoha's forces had struck swiftly and decisively. The outpost, meant to delay the Leaf and drain their resources, had crumbled under the weight of their assault. Renmaru was dead—Kumo's weapon was gone. Orochimaru had moved. Renjiro Uzumaki had played his hand.

Hiruzen's hand.

"How are we going to respond, Lord Third?" The voice was young, steady, and sharp with unspent energy.

Satetsu blinked, drawn out of his thoughts. He turned just enough to glance over his shoulder at the source. Rasa stood a few paces inside the room, his sand-coloured flak jacket unzipped slightly at the collar, his brow furrowed and posture tense. Still young for a jonin, Rasa's eyes held a restless intensity that reminded Satetsu of molten gold—dangerous when unrefined, but valuable all the same.

Satetsu didn't answer. Instead, his gaze returned to the open window, where a few grains of sand drifted in, carried by the wind. Moments ago, he had watched that same wind curl out toward the sea, where Kirigakure's shores met the storm. The view now was clear, calm...deceptively so.

Before he could respond, a gravelly voice cut through the silence.

"The loss of the outpost was inevitable," said Ebizō as he entered the room with slow, deliberate steps. The elder shinobi wore a worn brown cloak over his Suna flak vest, and his face was lined with time and wisdom. His eyes, however, were still sharp as kunai. "It wasn't meant to hold against Konoha. It was meant to make them sweat, even if it was for a few seconds."

Rasa frowned. "So we just sent our shinobis to their deaths?"

Ebizō met his gaze evenly. "That was war, Rasa. Do not be deluded about its cost. We bought time. That was the purpose."

A click of heels announced a second presence—Chiyo, Ebizō's sister, strode in from the adjoining hallway, arms folded inside her loose-sleeved robe. Her expression was unreadable, her lips drawn into a line of iron resolve.

"They were soldiers," Chiyo said. "And they fulfilled their mission. Because of them, we now know how quickly Konoha can mobilize...and how deeply they're invested in this theatre. That knowledge is invaluable."

"And what's more," she added with a faint curl of her lips, "Kumo lost two of their elite. That alone is worth ten outposts."

"Kumo?" Rasa repeated, eyebrows knitting tighter. "Aren't they our allies?"

Chiyo's eyes glittered, sharp and cold. "Allies, yes. But let me ask you this—during the last war, who stood shoulder to shoulder with Kirigakure?"

"Kumo," Rasa admitted quietly.

"Exactly. Allies shift," Chiyo said, her voice like wind scraping across stone. "And if an ally stumbles, if they bleed before their enemy does, it's not always a bad thing."

Rasa's discomfort deepened. "That's...a dangerous way to think."

"It's the way we must think," Ebizō said, stepping beside his sister. "We're not children playing tag in the dunes. We're shinobi, Rasa. The battlefield doesn't reward sentiment."

The younger shinobi lowered his eyes briefly. He understood the logic, but the coldness of it still unsettled him. "Still," he murmured, "I can't help but wonder what those men and women thought before the end came."

Chiyo's gaze softened slightly. "They likely hoped their deaths meant something. And in a way, they did. Their sacrifice helped set the board."

Satetsu had remained silent through the exchange, but his thoughts were racing behind his impassive expression. The moment they talked about the death of his shinobis, a name echoed again in his mind like steel striking stone: Renjiro Uzumaki. The boy was supposedly still growing into his strength, but the reports made it clear—he was not to be underestimated. Even with Orochimaru's presence on the battlefield, Renmaru had not survived. And Satetsu knew, with chilling certainty, that Hiruzen had placed Renjiro in that fight for a reason.

'If I were him,' Satetsu mused, 'I would have done the same. Send a controlled variable. Measure the response. Weaken both allies and enemies in a single motion.'

His gaze flicked briefly to Rasa. Young. Eager. Loyal.

He would need Rasa soon. But not yet.

"The Raikage will respond in force," Satetsu said, breaking the silence. His voice was deep and calm, but it carried the weight of iron.

Rasa looked up, startled by the sudden declaration. Ebizō's expression grew thoughtful, while Chiyo gave a slow, almost approving nod.

Satetsu turned fully from the window now, folding his arms. "The death of Renmaru will not go unanswered. The Raikage is not the kind to accept an insult like this quietly. He will make a statement. And when he does, all eyes will be on Kumo and Konoha."

"And us?" Ebizō asked, already knowing the answer but prompting it aloud.

"We wait," Satetsu said simply. "We measure the fallout. Then we decide whether to raise our hand...or keep it hidden."

Chiyo's smirk returned. "Let the other great nations bruise each other. If we can avoid bleeding until they're already on their knees..."

"...we can choose the perfect moment to strike," Ebizō finished.

Rasa remained unconvinced. "What about Iwagakure? Won't they take advantage of the chaos and attack us?"

Chiyo turned to him, tone cryptic. "Don't worry about Iwa."

The vagueness of her answer set off alarm bells in Rasa's mind. 'Why are they so dismissive about Iwa? What do they know that I don't?'

Satetsu watched him quietly, then spoke again, this time directly to his subordinates.

"Understand this. Every move we make is calculated. We cannot afford rashness, nor can we show weakness. The world sees us as the smallest of the Great Five, the most expendable. That illusion is our weapon. We will let them bleed each other dry. Then we'll decide which wound to reopen."

"And if Konoha continues gaining ground?" Rasa asked.

"Then we'll remind them why the desert swallows the unprepared," Satetsu said. "But not before."

A moment of silence passed between them, heavy with implication. Then, like a gust of wind cutting across the dunes, a sudden rush of movement disturbed the still air. A swirl of sand blew inward, and from its eye appeared a figure in a charcoal cloak and ANBU mask, kneeling at the centre of the room.

"Lord Kazekage," the ANBU said, bowing his head. "He is here."

Satetsu's eyes narrowed his demeanour hardening instantly like his iron sand. "Let him in."

Rasa blinked in surprise, brows knitting. 'He? Who's he? The village is in lockdown. Who could bypass the guards and the seals?'

Before he could voice his thoughts, the heavy doors creaked open.

A figure stepped into the room, cloaked in shadow despite the dying light outside. The presence was unmistakable—cold, quiet, and overwhelming. The sound of sandals on stone echoed with finality.

Rasa instinctively took a step back, his hand drifting toward the gourd on his back, even though no threat had been made. His thoughts scrambled to catch up with his instincts.

'Why is he here?' he finally managed to think, just as the figure stepped into the light.

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