The air in the Valley of Heroes had always tasted of mist and ancient stone. For generations, the people of Takigakure had drawn breath from that air, finding solace in the perpetual drizzle that veiled their village, hidden behind the great waterfall that was their namesake and their shield. But today, the air carried a new taste: dust, iron, and the grim, unyielding scent of conquest.
It began not with a declaration of war, but with the steady, rhythmic tread of two hundred pairs of feet flickering in grim unison. They emerged from the dense forest on the eastern ridge, a column of earth-toned shinobi moving with the relentless patience of a landslide. At their head was a man who seemed hewn from the very rocks Iwa called home.
Jinseki Gan, a name whispered with respect and fear in the rocky passes of the Land of Earth. He was broad-shouldered and solid, his face a mask of grim pragmatism, his eyes the colour of flint. The rumours were no longer rumours; his presence here, leading this force, confirmed it. He was Onoki's chosen successor, the future Fourth Tsuchikage, and this occupation was his proving ground.
They did not break down the gates. There were no gates to break. Taki's defence was its secrecy. Instead, Jinseki's unit simply flowed into the village centre with an air of incontestable authority, their formation perfect, their silence more threatening than any battle cry.
The drizzle settled on their standard-issue Iwa flak jackets, beading on the hardened leather. The Taki shinobi on duty watched them come, their hands clenched white-knuckled on their kunai pouches, but they did not draw. What was the point? They were outnumbered five to one, and the man at the front was a legend who could turn the very ground beneath their feet against them.
The Village Centre, a natural amphitheatre of slick stone surrounding the ancient Tree of Life, became a stage for a quiet, brutal play. Jinseki did not wait for an invitation. He marched directly to the modest administrative building carved into the cliff face, his retinue of stern-faced jonin following like a rockslide in his wake. The Taki guards at the door, young chunin with more bravery than sense, moved to block him.
Jinseki didn't even break stride. A flicker of chakra, a minuscule hand sign performed without looking. The stone floor at the guards' feet lurched, not enough to hurt them, but enough to send them stumbling sideways, their balance stolen by the earth itself. The message was clear: your very foundation obeys me, not you.
They found the Takikage, Shibuki, in his meeting hall. He was a man who carried the weight of a small village's survival on his slender shoulders, and it showed in the perpetual worry lines etched around his eyes. He stood from his simple wooden chair, doing his best to project a dignity he couldn't possibly feel.
"Jinseki of Iwa," Shibuki said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands, which he hid behind his back.
"This is an… unannounced visit."
"It is a necessary realignment, Shibuki-dono," Jinseki's voice was low and gravelly, devoid of warmth or courtesy. He didn't bother with honorifics. "The war demands stability on all fronts. Takigakure's strategic position cannot be left to… chance. Or sentiment."
He didn't wait for a reply. His flinty eyes scanned the room, landing on a figure standing in the shadows behind Shibuki's throne-like chair. A young woman, her hair a startling shade of orange, her posture tense. Yasu, the Seven-Tails Jinchuriki. The real prize.
"The Jinchuriki will be relocated to a secure wing of our encampment," Jinseki stated, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "For her own protection, of course."
Shibuki's composure cracked. "Yasu is a kunoichi of Takigakure! She is under my protection!"
Jinseki took a single step forward. The room didn't seem to get darker; it just felt heavier, as if the mountain above them was pressing down. "She is a strategic asset in a great war," he corrected, his voice a quiet rumble. "And she is now under my protection. Your cooperation will ensure this transition is… smooth for your people. Your lack of cooperation will not."
The threat hung in the air, thicker than the mist. Shibuki's shoulders slumped. The fight drained out of him, replaced by the hollow ache of powerlessness. He gave a barely perceptible nod, unable to meet Yasu's wide, frightened eyes as two Iwa jonin stepped forward to flank her. Their grip on her arms was not brutal, but it was immovably firm.
Outside, the occupation took root with methodical efficiency. It was the bullying of a nation, institutional and cold. Iwa shinobi moved through the village's winding, moss-covered streets not as invaders smashing doors, but as bureaucrats wielding unchecked power. Notices were posted on the great tree, on shop fronts, on the walls of homes. The script was crisp, official, and utterly inflexible.
"By Order of the Tsuchikage and Jinseki-sama,"
"Curfew imposed. All civilians indoors by sundown."
"All Taki-nin are to report their patrol routes and schedules to Iwa command for integration."
"All long-range communications are hereby suspended."
"Non-compliance will be met with immediate detainment."
The villagers, peering from their windows and doorways, watched in silent horror. Their home, their hidden sanctuary, had been turned into an open-air prison under the guise of military necessity. The grumbling started low, a furious current beneath the forced calm.
" 'Integration,' he calls it," muttered an old weaponsmith, watching a pair of Iwa chunin redirect a Taki patrol. "It's a takeover. Plain and simple."
"They eat our food, they command our shinobi, they lock us in our homes at night," a woman whispered to her neighbour, her voice trembling with rage. "And they have the Yasu-chan…"
The most humiliating sight was in the training grounds. Taki jonin, proud veterans who had defended their village their entire lives, were forced to stand and listen as a much younger Iwa captain—barely out of his teens—barked orders at them, redrawing their defence perimeters to suit Iwa's needs, not Taki's.
The Taki ninja's faces were stony masks, but their eyes burned with a shame so profound it was a physical heat. One, a man with a scar across his nose, gripped the hilt of his tantō so tightly the leather of his glove creaked in protest. But he did not draw it. He, like his Kage, understood the brutal mathematics of their situation.
Jinseki Gan stood on a high balcony carved from the cliffside, a vantage point that gave him a view of his new domain. Below, his shinobi were everywhere, a swarming, efficient mass of earth-toned uniforms. The village, once a vibrant if modest tapestry of life, was now a diagram of control. Lights were being extinguished as curfew began. The only people moving were Iwa patrols, their footsteps echoing with a grim finality on the wet stones.
He watched a squad of his men efficiently disarm a group of Taki chunin before "escorting" them to a new post. There was no resistance. Good. The message had been received. This was not about malice; it was about physics. A stronger force exerts its will upon a weaker one. It was the simplest law of the shinobi world.
He allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, but his mind was already leaping ahead, past the borders of this damp, captured valley. The pieces were moving on the great board. His move here was just one part of a larger, more dangerous gambit.
He turned to his second-in-command, a lean, sharp-eyed sensor named Koseki. "The perimeter is secure?"
"Hai, Jinseki-sama. All points are held. No unauthorised entries or exits."
Jinseki nodded, his gaze drifting westward, as if he could see through the countless miles of forest and mountain to another village, another occupation happening in tandem with his own.
"Good," he said, his voice a low rumble that was swallowed by the constant murmur of the waterfall. "Then we hold. I hope Kumo are already in place."