The Tsuchikage chamber in Iwagakure exuded an ancient majesty, its stone walls meticulously carved with depictions of legendary battles and the enduring resilience of the village's shinobi. Torches mounted on the walls cast flickering light, creating deep shadows that danced and shifted across the room. The polished granite table at the centre reflected the soft orange glow, its surface adorned with faint cracks—visible scars of years of heated discussions and pounding fists.
At the head of the table sat Onoki, the Third Tsuchikage, a man whose diminutive frame belied his immense presence. Despite his slowly hunching back, his aura of authority filled the room, making even the most seasoned advisors tread carefully around him.
He had removed his wide-brimmed hat, setting it neatly on the table beside him, revealing his balding head and the sharp, calculating eyes that had guided Iwagakure through countless trials. His robes were a deep earthy brown, the symbol of the Tsuchikage embroidered in gold on his chest, glinting faintly in the light.
The atmosphere was thick with unease, every breath seemingly laden with the weight of unspoken fears and political intrigue. The advisors around the table exchanged tense glances, their faces illuminated by the warm light yet shadowed by worry.
"If Konoha truly killed Kumo's jinchūriki," began one advisor, a stocky man with a thick moustache that quivered as he spoke, "this could escalate into full-scale war. The Raikage won't let such an affront slide. We must tread carefully. Aligning ourselves too hastily could be disastrous."
His voice wavered slightly, betraying his anxiety despite his attempt to project confidence. His fingers drummed rhythmically on the table, a nervous tick that echoed faintly in the chamber.
A stern woman seated opposite him folded her arms, her steel-grey eyes narrowing. Her hair, streaked with silver, was tied back into a severe bun, accentuating the sharp lines of her face. "And if it's a ploy?" she countered, her tone biting. "If Kumo and Suna are using this as an excuse to rally the other villages against Konoha, we could be walking into a trap. The fact that they've called for a Kage Summit only complicates matters further. We cannot afford to act on conjecture alone."
The room erupted into a cacophony of overlapping voices as advisors debated fiercely, each argument laced with both logic and fear. Onoki remained silent, his chin resting on one hand, his other hand tapping slowly on the table in a measured rhythm. His eyes, sharp and discerning, flicked from one speaker to the next, taking in their words without reacting.
Onoki had long mastered the art of listening, of letting his subordinates voice their concerns and exhaust their energy before he weighed in. It was this measured approach, this unshakable pragmatism, that had earned him the nickname "fence-sitter." To some, it was a criticism; to Onoki, it was a mark of wisdom.
Finally, he raised a hand, and the room fell into an uneasy silence, the echo of their voices fading into the stone walls. His voice, though weathered with age, carried an unyielding authority that commanded attention.
"Enough," he said, his tone firm but not harsh.
"Speculation will get us nowhere. We do not know if Konoha is guilty of this act, nor do we know if Kumo is using this situation as leverage. What we do know is that the shinobi world is once again teetering on the brink of chaos."
He straightened slightly in his chair, a feat that seemed almost Herculean given his age and stature. The firelight caught the sheen of his bald head as he looked around the table, meeting the eyes of each advisor in turn. "Iwagakure will not be dragged into another war unless it is on our terms. The last war cost us dearly—lives lost, resources depleted, and alliances fractured. We are still rebuilding. We must approach this with caution."
The stern woman leaned forward, her hands gripping the edge of the table. "And if we do nothing? What happens if the tide turns against us because we hesitated? Hesitation could be just as costly as action."
Onoki's lips twitched into a wry smile, a flicker of amusement breaking through his otherwise stoic demeanour. "Then we do what Iwagakure does best—we align ourselves with the side that offers the greatest benefit. Until then, we watch, we listen, and we prepare. The summit will provide clarity, and we will act only when we are certain."
His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of pragmatism and unspoken implications. The advisors exchanged uncertain glances, their earlier fervour dulled by the Tsuchikage's unwavering resolve. Onoki's approach was both his greatest strength and his most criticized trait—a calculated patience that often left allies and enemies alike unsure of his true intentions.
The room fell into a contemplative silence, the tension dissipating only slightly as the discussion shifted to more mundane matters. Onoki leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful as he listened to his advisors. While they spoke of logistics and trade agreements, his mind was already at the summit, weighing the potential outcomes and crafting the strategy that would best serve Iwagakure.
His thoughts were a fortress, impenetrable and unyielding, much like the man himself.
Meanwhile, in Kirigakure, the Third Mizukage, Hiroshi Yuki, stood at the edge of his chamber's wide balcony, gazing out at the mist-covered village below. The sea breeze carried with it the faint scent of salt and rain, mingling with the ever-present chill of the Hidden Mist. Behind him, his advisor waited patiently, the quiet hum of the room amplifying the gravity of their conversation.
Hiroshi was a striking figure despite his years. His long black hair, streaked with grey, cascaded down his back, and the pearl-shaped ornaments encircling his head reflected the dim light like tiny moons. His black sclerae and unreadable expression gave him an air of mystery, one that demanded respect and instilled unease in equal measure.
"The world is on edge, Hiroshi-sama," the advisor began, his voice calm but weighted. He was a tall man with a narrow face and sharp features, his hands clasped behind his back. "Kumo's accusations against Konoha have sent ripples through every hidden village. Even here, there is unrest."
Hiroshi nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving the horizon. "Unrest is the nature of this world," he said, his tone reflective. "It has always been so, and it will always be so. The question is not whether there will be conflict, but how we position ourselves within it."
The advisor stepped closer, his brow furrowing. "Do you believe Konoha is truly responsible for the death of the jinchūriki?"
Hiroshi turned to face him, his expression inscrutable. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. It hardly matters. What matters is the perception of their actions and the opportunities it creates for us."
The advisor hesitated before speaking again. "Kiri has not been on the best terms with Konoha. If we offer them support now, will they even accept it? They must remember our... failed attempt to eliminate Renjiro."
A flicker of something passed through Hiroshi's eyes—regret, perhaps, or a calculated indifference. "They will accept it," he said confidently. "Desperation makes strange bedfellows. Konoha is in a corner. If we extend a hand now, they will take it, regardless of past grievances. They also have one of our swords, so we can use that as leverage."
The advisor seemed unconvinced but did not argue further. Instead, he shifted the conversation. "There is another matter that requires your attention, Mizukage-sama. The position of jōnin commander remains vacant. Several candidates have been proposed."
Hiroshi raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Go on."
The advisor retrieved a scroll, unrolling it with practised precision. "The candidates include Ao, Oko Shinji, and Yagura Karatachi, among others. Each has their strengths, but none stand out as a definitive choice."
At the mention of Yagura, Hiroshi's expression changed subtly, his gaze becoming distant. "Yagura Karatachi..." he murmured, the name lingering on his tongue as if tasting its weight.