The air in the subterranean chamber tasted ancient and damp, thick with the scent of wet stone, ozone from the Land of Lightning's frequent storms filtering down through hidden vents, and the faint, cloying sweetness of decay that always lingered deep underground.
Stalactites hung like fangs from the vaulted ceiling, dripping condensation into unseen pools. The chamber itself was austere yet imposing, dominated by a heavy stone table, its surface scarred by centuries of clandestine meetings. Three high-backed chairs, carved from dark, polished wood, sat around it.
Down a narrow passageway hewn from the living rock, footsteps echoed – sharp, impatient taps of a cane on stone.
"Tap. Tap. TAP."
Abe Kamizuru, of Iwa, emerged into the torchlight. His frame, though aged, was wiry and held with rigid pride, draped in robes of deep umber and slate grey, the colours of earth and mountain stone.
A faint warmth touched his stern features as his eyes landed on the tall figure rising gracefully from one of the chairs.
Yamada Yotsuki stood like a pillar of strength. Silver hair, impeccably groomed, framed a face that retained a noble handsomeness despite its years. His eyes, the colour of storm clouds, held a piercing intelligence. He wore robes of deep violet and silver, the Yotsuki clan crest subtly embroidered on his collar.
"Abe!" Yamada's voice was warm, filling the chamber effortlessly. He spread his arms in a gesture of welcome, a genuine smile lighting his features.
"It has been far too long! What was it… the Second Raikage's visit to the Third Tsuchikage? Or perhaps the Second Tsuchikage's funeral? My memory, alas, isn't the steel trap it once was."
He chuckled, "Kuh-huh-huh."
Abe's initial warmth froze, then shattered like dropped pottery. His gaze, sweeping past Yamada, locked onto the other occupant who had also risen from his chair. Tsuji Hōki of Suna stood barely taller than the table itself, a compact ball of wiry energy wrapped in robes the color of sun-bleached sandstone and desert night. His sharp, vulpine features were prematurely aged by sun and suspicion, his dark eyes glittering like obsidian chips. The sight of the Suna representative ignited a furnace in Abe's chest. His welcoming expression curdled into a sneer so profound it seemed to deepen every wrinkle on his face.
"Yamada," Abe spat, the name like a curse. He made a sharp, dismissive gesture with his cane towards Tsuji.
"Did your famed memory fail you utterly when you drafted the invitations? Or perhaps your scribes suffer from sand-blindness? You invite Iwa here for talks of peace and strategy," his voice rose, cracking like dry earth, "and yet you seat this Suna bastard next to you?!"
Tsuji Hōki exploded upwards from his chair. His face, already ruddy, flushed a dangerous crimson.
"WHO ARE YOU CALLING A BASTARD, YOU STONEHEADED SCUMBAG?!" he shrieked.
His small fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white. "Your village is built on rocks and delusions, Kamizuru! At least our sand shifts with the wind, unlike your ossified brains!"
Yamada Yotsuki closed his eyes for a brief moment, a sigh escaping his lips that was almost lost beneath Tsuji's screech and Abe's furious sputtering.
'Children. Petulant, vengeful children playing with the fates of their villages.'
The thought was a weary weight in his mind. He opened his eyes, the storm-grey gaze sweeping over both men, radiating a calm that felt like a physical barrier.
"Gentlemen, please," he implored, "The torches burn low enough without us fanning flames of ancient grievances. Sit. We have matters of grave importance to discuss."
He gestured firmly towards the chairs. Abe glared at Tsuji, but the sheer authority in Yamada's posture and the implicit reminder of why they were here – deep in Kumo territory, far from their own power bases – forced him to relent. He lowered himself stiffly into his chair with a grunt.
Tsuji, still vibrating with fury, spat on the ground near Abe's feet before flouncing back into his own seat, crossing his arms like a sulking child.
Yamada took his seat at the head of the table.
"Konoha, ever the meddler, seeks to maintain its dominance through deceit and division. They set you against each other, Suna and Iwa, like dogs fighting over scraps while they prepare to feast." He looked from Abe's resentful face to Tsuji's still-flushed, suspicious one. "Their Yellow Flash moves with impunity all to keep you locked in a cycle of retaliation that bleeds you both dry. And Kiri…" he allowed a note of cold distaste to enter his voice, "Kiri festers in its mist, a viper coiled, waiting to strike weakened prey."
He leaned forward slightly. "Kumo proposes an alternative. An end."
The word hung in the air, potent and dangerous. "A temporary cessation of hostilities between Suna and Iwa. A redirection of your considerable might. Not against each other, but against the true architects of this suffering: Konoha and Kiri."
He spread his hands.
"A coordinated assault, overwhelming and decisive. This war, this 'Great' War as they call it, could be the shortest in history. Minimal destruction focused solely on the aggressors. Imagine the peace that follows. Imagine the resources, the development, the strength your villages could amass without the constant drain of fighting each other. Konoha's era of unchallenged supremacy would end. Permanently."
Abe shifted in his seat, a low hum emanating not from his throat, but seemingly from within the folds of his robe.
"Hmph. Pretty words, Yamada," he rumbled.
"We saw through Konoha's little frame-up. Doesn't mean we trust the snakes slithering out of the sand dunes."
He jerked his chin dismissively towards Tsuji. "How do we know this isn't just another Konoha trick? Or worse," his eyes narrowed, fixing on Yamada, "a Kumo ploy to get us to soften each other up before you sweep in?"
Tsuji bristled again, "Trust? From the village that breeds rock-brained thugs who wouldn't know subtlety if it bit them on their dusty asses?!"
He jabbed a finger towards Abe. "Your 'intelligence' consists of counting pebbles! We uncovered Konoha's deception through skill and patience, skills your lumbering spies couldn't grasp in a century!"
He sneered, a cruel glint in his eyes. "Besides, we heard about your boy, Abe. Flunked his chunin exams again? Too busy playing with bugs to learn proper ninjutsu? My daughter may not be a frontline kunoichi, but at least she can think without causing a rockslide!"
Abe's face purpled. "You leave my son out of this, you sand-rat! At least my bloodline doesn't require skulking in shadows and stealing secrets like common thieves! And your girl? Last I heard, she got lost in her own damn sandbox during basic navigation! Some Hōki legacy!"
Yamada felt a profound headache blooming behind his temples. 'Gods above, they're impossible.'
Every attempt to elevate the discussion was dragged back into the mud of personal insults and village slights.
"Enough!" His voice cracked like a whip, "Your children's academy records are irrelevant! Your rivalries are meaningless in the face of annihilation! We stand on the precipice! Konoha grows stronger by the day, you waste snarling at each other!"
He took a deep breath, forcing his composure back. The silence stretched, thick with resentment. He needed a lever, something heavy enough to break through their ingrained hatred. Something from a time before this current animosity. His gaze settled first on Tsuji, then on Abe, holding each of theirs for a beat.
"Very well," Yamada said, "Since appeals to reason and shared future prosperity fall on deaf ears… let us speak of debts." He let the word hang, heavy and deliberate.
"Let us speak of Uzushiogakure."
The reaction was immediate and profound. Tsuji Hōki stiffened as if electrocuted, his face draining of colour. Abe Kamizuru's angry buzzing ceased abruptly; his bees froze on his sleeve. Both men stared at Yamada, eyes wide with shock and dawning apprehension. The name 'Uzushiogakure' was rarely spoken aloud, a ghost haunting the shinobi world, especially the villages that played a hand in its demise.
Yamada pressed on, his voice relentless. "The fall of the Whirlpool Village. A masterpiece of coordinated… neutralisation. Spearheaded," his gaze fixed unflinchingly on Tsuji, "by Sunagakure's relentless pursuit of their sealing masters. Executed," his gaze shifted to Abe, "with Iwagakure's overwhelming force blocking escape routes and crushing their defences." He leaned back slightly, "And who provided the critical intelligence? Who ensured the timing was impeccable? Who intercepted Konoha's pathetic, belated attempts to aid their cousins?"
He tapped his own chest lightly.
"Kumo."
The silence now was absolute. The torchlight seemed to dim, the shadows deepening around the table. The ghosts of Uzushio crowded the chamber.
"Kumo," Yamada repeated softly, "ensured the Uzumaki were scattered, their secrets lost or… acquired. We facilitated your victory. We even shared less than both of you when it came to the… spoils." He let the implication sink in, the unspoken horrors of that coordinated obliteration hanging in the air.
"We asked for little in return then, trusting in future… cooperation."
He stood up slowly, his imposing height casting a long shadow that engulfed the table.
"That time is now. The debt is due. Kumo calls upon Sunagakure and Iwagakure to set aside," he paused, his lip curling slightly in distaste, "petty squabbles. Remember the power of combined action against a common foe."
His voice hardened, "Lend us your strength now against Konoha and Kiri. Help us end this war swiftly, decisively. And then…" his tone softened marginally, "...then your villages can return to hating each other across your respective deserts and mountains, stronger and richer for having rid the world of two greater threats."
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