Interlude: The Fire Beneath the Fog
Mei Terumī stood alone in her chambers, watching the mist roll across the rooftops of Kirigakure.
The rebellion was no longer theory—it had form now. Breath. Blood. Kozan had become more than a weapon. He had become a symbol. And symbols were dangerous, even to those who created them.
She sipped bitter tea and traced her fingers over the edge of the map that had guided them for years. So many red marks. So many names lost.
She wondered if she would join them soon.
---
"I didn't want to lead," she whispered to the empty room.
But no one else stepped forward. No one else dared.
Mei had watched this village drown itself, watched it devour the innocent in the name of purity. She had watched bloodline clans broken and burned, their children turned into ghosts with names erased. And in the face of that horror, she made a choice:
Survive. Endure. Rebuild.
But rebuilding required fire.
And Kozan had become her flame.
---
She remembered the first time she saw him—not the graduation match, but months before, in a holding cell after a botched academy spar. A boy who refused to speak unless spoken to. Who refused to break.
She'd read the report: "Water release instinctive. Chakra unusually refined. Emotional control abnormal for age."
But what caught her attention wasn't his power.
It was the way he stared at the wall—like he already knew it would fall someday.
---
"Are you afraid of him?" Ao had asked her once.
"Yes," she had answered.
"Then why trust him?"
"Because he's the only one here more afraid of becoming like them than of dying."
---
Now, the final move approached. Kozan would infiltrate the Mizukage tower. She would lead the assault on the gates. Ao would handle the fallout. And Chōjūrō… she hoped he'd live long enough to grow into his strength.
The revolution had faces. Names. Losses.
But Mei's fire burned steady.
And when the mist finally cleared, she swore to herself:
Kirigakure would remember who lit the spark.
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