Naruto: Rise of the Fallen Princess

The sun had begun its descent when the three siblings of Sunagakure entered the quiet garden courtyard reserved for formal guests. It was a traditional sand garden, raked into flowing patterns of waves and circles, with carefully placed stones symbolizing stillness amid constant motion. Kankurō led, Temari eyed the composition with skeptical poise, and Gaara said nothing at all.

Hinata Gin stood by a low table set for tea. The scent of roasted leaves mixed with the dryness of desert air. She bowed politely, clad in pale silks accented with grey thread — the kind of still beauty that asked nothing and yet restructured the mood of a room.

"Thank you for accepting my invitation," she said softly. "This ceremony was taught to me in the Land of Iron by someone I deeply respect. I've practiced it many times, but never for guests like you."

They took their seats. Temari crossed her arms after settling in, while Gaara's expression remained unreadable. Kankurō watched every gesture, like gauging a performance he hadn't yet decided how to applaud.

Temari broke the quiet first. "You don't strike me as someone who drinks tea to make small talk."

Hinata smiled faintly. "That depends on the company."

Kankurō chuckled. "Well, you've got all kinds at this table."

Gaara's eyes didn't leave Hinata. "Hard to believe you're the same kunoichi I saw at the Konoha Chūnin exams."

"I hope so," Hinata answered, meeting his gaze without flinching.

As Hinata poured the tea in deliberate silence, her movements smooth and reverent, she finally spoke again:

"I've traveled your land for some time now. What I've seen — what I've felt — is not something I'll forget. People here adapt. They survive, not because the desert is kind, but because they've learned to dance with its cruelty. Few gifts are given. Everything is held with effort."

She looked at Gaara.

"That is why I believe gifts mean something here. And I brought one for your Kazekage. For two reasons."

She paused as Kenshiro, standing quietly behind her, stepped forward with a lacquered box in his hands. He offered it to Kankurō, who took it cautiously, inspecting the seals and woodwork before setting it gently on the table.

Hinata continued.

"The first reason is that I do not see in you the same young man I once glimpsed years ago. You have changed — as all strong people do. The second is... I believe you are someone precious to Naruto. And anyone precious to Naruto deserves protection."

Gaara's brow furrowed slightly. Temari leaned in.

"Inside," Hinata said, her voice calm but with weight, "is a talisman made by the ancient clan Uzumaki. It has two purposes: to strengthen the vitality of a jinchūriki, allowing better recovery after drawing on the beast's chakra... and to preserve life in the event of extraction."

Kankurō's hands tensed just slightly around the box.

"It can only bond once. Once linked to its bearer, it will never serve another. It cannot be replicated easily — the secret to the life it carries is buried in a mystery even I haven't been told."

Silence fell for a long breath.

Gaara spoke, measured and direct. "If what you say is true, this is no simple gift. Not the kind that can be accepted without consequence."

Temari nodded. "What are you asking in return?"

Hinata looked between them, her eyes calm. "If I must ask something… I would like to stay a few days in your village. Not as a diplomat, but as a seeker. I am... fascinated by the way your shinobi use their threads. I believe witnessing your puppet masters train could help me understand something I've been meditating on for some time."

"My gift, however," she added after a moment, "has already been delivered. Even if you choose to decline my request, I will not withdraw it. You may accept it, if nothing else, as a gesture of friendship between our lands."

Her eyes moved between them. There was no pressure. No arrogance.

Only the suggestion of trust, wrapped in humility.

And steam from the tea, curling upward like threads awaiting purpose.

<<<< o >>>>

A couple of days had passed since the tea ceremony. In the quiet of late morning, Kankurō stepped into Gaara's office carrying a modest wooden box under one arm. He set it down carefully on the table between them.

"Our sealmasters confirmed it," Kankurō said. "It's exactly as she described. The sealwork is intricate — unmistakably Uzumaki. It's protected, yes, but the purpose was left visible for anyone trained enough to understand it."

Gaara nodded slowly. "Then it's true. A great gift."

Kankurō crossed his arms. "She wasn't lying. And what she asked of us isn't difficult. We can honor her request without revealing the core of our puppet techniques. She seemed more interested in the chakra threads than the puppets themselves."

Gaara considered this in silence for a moment, then looked up. "Good. Escort her to whatever demonstrations she requires. If she requests anything else, see that it's given. Her gesture must be returned in kind."

Kankurō's voice lowered slightly. "I hope you'll use the talisman, Gaara. Kami knows, it could save your life. Keeping it buried in a drawer... wouldn't be wise."

"I will use it," Gaara replied simply. "But we will keep it secret from the elders. I don't want them twisting this into an excuse to question her intentions."

Kankurō nodded. "Understood."

The Kazekage rested his fingers on the box. In a world so used to weapons disguised as gifts, this one felt disarmingly sincere.

And for that very reason, he would not let its meaning be diluted.

<<<< o >>>>

Kankurō guided Hinata through a quiet wing of the village, leading her to a sealed training facility buried beneath the sandstone buildings of Sunagakure. They descended into a wide chamber lit by a clever design — sunlight from above reflected and redirected through polished mirrors and pale lenses, casting a natural glow throughout the subterranean dojo.

Two young shinobi were already inside, each commanding training puppets in a silent sparring match. Their chakra threads shimmered subtly in the filtered light.

"This is one of our internal training rooms," Kankurō explained. "Private. Secure. You'll be able to watch without distraction."

Hinata stepped forward with quiet reverence. Her guardians — Emi, Souta, Ayaka, Masaru, and Kenshiro — remained respectfully in the background.

As she watched, her focus sharpened. The chakra threads the youths used were visible — delicate but controlled, pure in construction. They reminded her of her own spiritual threads, invisible to most. Yet these were different. Hers carried spiritual intent. These carried chakra: weighted with purpose, balanced with yang and yin.

A memory stirred — Michel, once feeding her with yin to awaken the dormant yang in her broken body. These threads moved like veins of pure yang energy, guided with will but physical in impact. It was the same principle she had begun to shape into her Boost technique — channeling her spiritual threads and reinforcing them with controlled yang to temporarily simulate physical strength, speed, or touch. What had once been instinct now hinted at a replicable art.

Her thoughts accelerated.

Could her threads do more than deliver soul or signal? Could she make them momentarily solid? As weapons? As limbs? As a form of indirect manipulation?

She had done it once before — reflexively, during the venom cloud in her fight with Jiren. A burst of force, instinctive and raw. But now she saw the possibility. If she combined her threads with controlled yang... She could simulate touch. Shape. Command.

Kankurō's voice broke her concentration.

"Do you want to try?"

Hinata looked at him.

"Yes. But not just to observe. Would you face me? With a puppet?"

He smiled. "Sure. Just don't complain when you lose."

They squared off in the center of the room. One of Kankurō's practice puppets snapped to life, controlled with ease by his precise chakra threads. The duel was brief.

Hinata was faster. Stronger. But she couldn't predict the puppet's movements — not fully. Her World of Intent faltered. Reading intent through a puppet was different. Displaced. Fragmented.

The puppet clipped her shoulder. Then swept her legs.

She hit the floor.

Emi gasped. Souta stood frozen. Ayaka cursed softly. Kenshiro simply raised an eyebrow. Masaru grinned.

"Good," he murmured. "Now she'll want to fight him again."

Hinata rose. "Again."

She lost.

"Again."

Again.

And again.

Every defeat refined her perception. The World of Intent adapted, not through clarity but contrast. Shadows behind the strings. Emotions behind the extension. She started seeing color. Movement. Echoes.

By the sixth bout, Kankurō was sweating. By the eighth, he'd swapped puppets three times.

Other shinobi joined the sparring sessions, curious. Hinata faced them too — always with sword, footwork, and pure predictive instinct. No chakra. No Jutsu. Just learning.

By the end of the day, four shinobi lay exhausted on the floor. Hinata remained standing, hair damp, breath calm.

"Again tomorrow?" she asked sweetly.

Kankurō groaned. "Kami help us."

And all they could think was — she hadn't won once. And yet, somehow, they were the ones who had lost.