Reborn in the Mist

Kirigakure was abuzz in celebrations. The streets filled with vendors travelled from all corners to sell their vanity wares, fishermen showing off their proudest catch, chefs and grill masons selling sweet seasoned food.

Buildings and stalactite mountains alike were decorated with blue streamers, paper puppets, warm lanterns filling the streets with their scent and exotic animals caged up and put on display. Citizens took to the streets of the Capital and Central districts with mirth, eager to celebrate something for once in the long year of blood and tears.

Drummers, pipers and other instrumentalists heralded the Daimyo’s coming. Scantily clothe belly dancers and oni-masked singers performed choruses and muscular oiled men flexed and choreographed harmless fights beside his palanquin.

Contrast to the atmosphere of mirth were the sixteen royal guardsmen that walked at various points along the royal procession. They coordinated security with shinobi skipping across the rooftops above them and while the Daimyo waved cheerfully at the people, blessing and throwing kisses to maidens close enough to swear they felt his breath, all of Kiri’s higher-ups held theirs in anticipation.

I watched his entrance from within the Mizukage’s Tower, the councillors had gone out to greet him at the capital gates at the north, a thing Nana Megumi expressed gratitude for because had the Daimyo come from any other gate they’d have to shepherd him through the abysmal lands and homes of the Caste district.

Even if it was the Daimyo, it’s unlikely the disgruntled and oppressed low caste would behave themselves, in fact, there’s all evidence showing that they won’t and would see it as an opportunity to voice those concerns to a power equal to that of the Mizukage. Not at all a bad idea, leaders ought to hear the people’s protests, but in the current atmosphere it would have been a security issue the moment more than two approach that regal palanquin seeking answers to the ancient problems plaguing them.

I sighed at the thought of what waited me as Mizukage and glanced back at Fuguki who waited to be called along with me. He might have seen reason to back me up in that last meeting with the Funato clan head but I still didn’t trust him with Kirigakure. If he became Mizukage I’d have to deal with the threat of the Akatsuki through him and he seemed stubborn already.

Forgetting issues as large as the Akatsuki, there were issues at home, the segregation, classism and outright xenophobia towards other islands, these issues paralyze Kiri and Fuguki is so ingrained in the system that I simply don’t see him lifting a finger to change things for the better.

No offence, of course, still a great shinobi. But a shinobi that’s meant to follow me. I pulled on my gloves and sighed again, this time at my own power hungry thoughts and reassure myself that things will be fine, that they simply have to be this way first and this is who I have to be to ensure the better, easier times come sooner.

I resurrected Yagura’s old ANBU gear for the occasion, my Bo-staff strapped onto my back, two pouches full of shuriken and senbon needles, a couple of kunai and a set of paper bombs. I also had a three pill bottles whose function I couldn’t remember but one looked familiar, like the pill Owl mask took to bolster her chakra reserves.

My forearm and shins were guarded with quality metal bars, I wore a flak armour vest instead of my usual layer of chainmail— though I could have worn both, it got too heavy— and I tied my headband proudly on my forehead, it pushed back my grey bangs and made the pink of my eyes stand out even more.

“Yagura-san, Fuguki-san, the Daimyo will see you now.” A young woman announced behind me. I turned and recognized her as one of the Hozuki by the way her hair colour shades.

Fuguki and I share a look and then simultaneously we give curt nods to the woman. She bows steeply and exits the lounge.

It’s not the first time Fuguki and I have been alone, he towered over me in height, at least three feet taller than me which meant he stood at nearly a two metres tall. I craned my neck to meet his gaze, he hadn’t changed anything about his attire or made any special preparations I can tell of, Samehada waited at his back with barely restrained bloodlust.

“Yagura,” He started, his voice booming deeper than mine could ever hope to be, “You are…a good shinobi.”

My eyes widen and I raised an eyebrow, “Thank you?”

“You’re confident you will win, aren’t you?”

At this my lips purse in quiet thought. I hadn’t succeeded in connecting with Isobu like I originally planned and I couldn’t sign a summoning contract for that one-hit KO genjutsu, I wasn’t as strong as I wanted to be.

But for Fuguki, what I had would be enough. I found his gaze and held it, “Yes, I must.”

He studied me for a moment before letting out a breath as he grunted, “Do not shame me, if you are to defeat me then do so with all your strength, do not hold back. I will not.”

Fuguki turned away before I could offer up a response to what I translated as shinobi talk for ‘I respect you.’. I followed up after him and together the large hall doors part for us to meet the Daimyo.

Besides Fuguki’s towering height I felt like a child walking in with their parent but quickly banished the thought as an aide announced us.

“Yagura Karatachi and Fuguki Suikazan, Daimyo-sama.”

“Ho?” The Daimyo’s eyes parsed the both of us, going up…and then down. “This is the…the one renown as the Repulse-nin? Hmm, very young yes? Yes?” He looked around the long table that had the councillors on the right side and a trio of eunuch looking men I’ve never seen before.

The Daimyo himself was a young man no older than his late thirties, two pretty women stood at his side with a fan and the other with a platter of cakes and sweets.

“Not too young, Daimyo-sama, he is also the Three-Tails Jinchuriki, his power only grows as he does.” Uncle quickly comes to my defence.

“Hmm? And the large one?” He pulled a dango from a stack and snacked on it.

“Fuguki Suikazan, one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist and wielder of Samehada, the strongest blade of the Seven.” Nana Megumi introduced.

The Daimyo let out a high-pitched squeal of excitement, “Mmm! Ichidaime’s favourite weapons, my grandfather favoured him so much and he wielded that Samehada too. Good good. Who will be the Yondaime then? Repulse-nin or Samehada’s chosen one?”

Well, that would be me of course.