The morning sun had only just begun to crest the sandstone ridges when the training yard came alive with the rhythmic thud of feet and the rasp of controlled breathing. The warmth was still bearable, but already the heat was gathering, slow and inevitable, seeping into the stone and sand so it could radiate back in punishing waves by midday.
Isan stood at the front of his usual row, hands loosely clasped behind his back. His posture was relaxed but alert, eyes quietly measuring the other students as they assembled.
Beside him, Shira bounced on the balls of his feet, shoulders already sheened in sweat from the early warm-up sprints.
Daiana tightened the strap on her water gourd, narrowing her eyes against the glare beginning to burn off the horizon.
Around them, trainees shuffled into place with the sleepy discipline of habit, until the instructors arrived.
Baki's presence was sudden, sharp and impossible to ignore. He strode into the center of the yard with long, confident steps, Mistress Ibara and two other chūnin flanking him. Their desert cloaks snapped in the dry wind, faces hooded against the morning light. When Baki spoke, his voice carried to every corner of the yard.
"Forget your drills. Today marks the start of a survival exercise we've been preparing for months. You've had no warning, on purpose. In the field, there are missions that give you no time to prepare. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir!", The answer rolled through the yard in one unified shout, though Isan could hear the uncertainty layered beneath it. Even Temari's sharp expression didn't fully mask her surprise.
"You will form provisional three-man squads.", Mistress Ibara said, her tone brisk and clipped. "Two combatants and one with medical focus. Your assignment begins the moment we dismiss you."
Names were called quickly. Isan's fell alongside Shira's and Daiana's, a balanced squad on paper, but he doubted it was random. The instructors knew their synergy; they also knew how to push it until it strained.
Temari's squad was announced next, paired with a lanky sealing corps boy, Maiku, and a broad-shouldered wind-style blade trainee, Juro. Her eyes flicked briefly toward Isan before she stepped back in line.
"Your objectives.", Baki finished, "Is to navigate beyond the west ridge, maintain your supplies, and survive for ten days.", His gaze hardened. "You have five minutes to gather whatever you think you'll need. The clock starts now."
The yard exploded into motion.
Isan, Shira, and Daiana broke immediately toward the supply shed, weaving between shouting, sprinting trainees. The air inside was already thick with heat and the press of bodies as students grabbed gourds, rations, rope, and weapons.
"Water first.", Isan ordered, reaching for a half-full gourd and a second skin pouch, checking the leather seams before stuffing them into his pack.
"Rope, six meters.", Daiana replied, snagging a coil from a peg and stuffing it alongside two jars of salve wrapped in cloth. She swept a pile of ration bars into her bag without counting them.
Shira was already at the weapons rack, buckling on weighted wrist guards before filling a pouch with kunai and shuriken. He tossed Isan an extra length of wire.
"Two flints and three smoke bombs.", Isan said quickly, scanning the shelves. He spotted a folded tarp, light and compact, and added it to his kit.
"Food's almost gone.", Daiana muttered, elbowing past another trainee to grab the last bundle of dried cactus fruit. She split it, without thinking, tossing half to Shira.
"Move.", Isan urged, pushing them toward the exit as the cramped shed echoed with shouts, boots scraping, and the clatter of gear being snatched from hooks.
Somewhere behind them, Temari's voice rose, sharp, commanding, in the middle of an argument with one of her new teammates, Juro, about carrying unnecessary weight.
A single whistle blast cut through the chaos, sharp and final. The noise died immediately as packs were slung and straps yanked tight. The yard smelled of sweat, leather, and dust, the air crackling with restless energy.
Baki didn't waste time with a speech. He gave one curt nod toward the west, eyes narrowed against the sun's glare.
Beyond the training grounds, the desert waited, an endless, shimmering expanse of pale gold and burnt orange. The ridges beyond the gate jutted up like the exposed ribs of some ancient giant. Even in the early hours, heat pressed against their skin with the quiet promise of what midday would bring.
Isan shifted his pack higher, feeling the weight settle evenly between his shoulders. Shira rolled his neck, then took off at an easy jog, bare feet kicking up thin plumes of sand. Daiana pulled her scarf higher over her mouth and nose, her eyes already narrowed against the grit curling in the wind.
They passed through the west gate in loose formation, the instructors watching from the shade of the outer wall.
The first ridge came quickly, sandstone underfoot warming enough to sting through the soles. Beyond it, the land stretched into rolling dunes, their sharp crescents glinting in the sun. Each step sank just enough to steal energy, the sand dragging at their legs with quiet persistence.
"Steady pace.", Isan warned, catching Shira's stride before it got too long. "No sense burning out on the first leg."
By midmorning, the heat had deepened. The air shimmered ahead, making the horizon waver like water. They broke once before midday, crouching in the thin shade of a weathered boulder to sip water, two swallows each, no more. The air tasted faintly of dust and dry stone.
By late afternoon, their shadows stretched long across the dunes. Shira remained loose-limbed, restless; Daiana's scarf was darkened with sweat, her breathing slower and more deliberate. The wind's voice never left them, constant, whispering, shaping the dunes ahead of their path.
They saw no sign of other squads that day. Only the scrape of sand against their clothes and the hiss of the wind over the ridges.
When the sun began to sink, the heat vanished fast, replaced by a cold that cut like a blade. They made camp on a patch of packed sand, sheltered on one side by a half-circle of sandstone that broke the wind.
Isan and Shira returned from a quick search carrying a bundle of dry brush and thorny twigs. Daiana unrolled the tarp, smoothing it flat as a ground cover.
The fire was small, just enough to keep the cold from gnawing too deep without sending their smoke high enough to betray them. Its light painted their faces in flickering gold, shadows stretching and shrinking with each gust of wind. They chewed slowly on the sweet cactus fruit, the taste sharp and clean against the dry grit in their mouths.
When they finally lay down, the sand beneath them was already leeching away their warmth. Isan stayed awake, watching the fire shrink to embers. His eyes roamed the dunes beyond the rock shelter, listening to the low whisper of wind over the desert.
It was his turn for first watch. It never hurt to be careful, and, this way, Shira and Daiana could sleep more relaxed.