The fighting dragged on until nearly midday.
Mist shinobi pressed through Umiwake's streets in wave after wave, each push weaker than the last. By the time the final raiding party broke and scattered back toward the docks, the cobblestones were littered with bodies, the air thick with smoke and salt. The city was battered but still standing.
My team regrouped in the shadow of the inn. Guy's knuckles were split and raw, Duy's shirt was scorched in several places though nothing serious, Asuma's breathing was heavy though he tried to hide it. Kurenai's hair clung damply to her face, but her eyes stayed sharp, and her chakra was steady.
They had held. More than held. They'd fought like true warriors instead of trainees.
But as the noise of battle faded, I could already feel the shift. Civilians watching us from behind shuttered doors. The few Sand ninjas moving through the streets to restore order would gaze our way when they passed the street corner, a few stares lingering too long. Questions were coming. Questions Pakura would not be able to answer if we remained.
"Let's move out," I told my team. "We're leaving the city."
They were tired enough not to argue. We slipped out through a side road, cloaks pulled tight to cover our gear and careful to avoid the patrols already sweeping in from the dunes. By the time Umiwake's smoke faded behind us, the sun was sliding westward, its light painting the scrubland in long shadows.
I chose a low ridge a few miles from the coast. Far enough to avoid patrols, but close enough to keep our bearings. We set camp with the efficiency of soldiers who had done this too many times. Duy managed the fire, Guy and Asuma setting a perimeter, Kurenai spreading out bedrolls without a word.
I let them work while I sat against the stone, watching the sunset. That was when I felt. My Scorch Clone dismissed herself and the memories came back like a flood.
~~~~~~~
Scorch sprinted down a half-collapsed street at Pakura's side. Pakura's kunoichi spread wide to hold the flanks, but it was Pakura and Scorch who cut directly through the enemy lines, heat and flame burning a path clear.
Pakura's attacks were honed, precise; each burst of scorching chakra condensed into a clean strike that would reduce multiple targets to ash. By contrast, Scorch layered raw elemental chakra into her attacks. A kunai wreathed in heat, a palm strike that flared with searing air, or a wide sweep of fire that scattered opponents before they could close in. She was not wasting time and energy on formal patterns, only shaping chakra to fuel destruction.
Pakura noticed, of course, she did. Between two strikes, her amber eyes slid toward Scorch. "You don't cast properly," she observed, voice level even in the chaos. "You weave it into your attacks instead of forming techniques."
Scorch flicked her wrist, sending a kunai trailing a line of burning heat through the chest of a Mist-nin. "Conserves chakra," she answered simply. "And keeps me moving."
Pakura turned back to the fray, but the faintest curve touched her lips. Her next strike sent a blast of heat clean through an enemy's guard, incinerating their weapon. "Then aim it sharper, thinner."
A moment later, as Scorch swept her arm wide to send another wave of blistering heat across three attackers, Pakura's voice cut through again, just audible above the roar. "Narrow your angle. There is too much bleed into the surroundings."
Scorch adjusted instinctively. Her follow-up attack hit harder, cleaner, forcing the Mist back even faster. Pakura said nothing more, but the approving glance she gave spoke volumes.
They moved together like fire given form, Scorch's raw power flooding the gaps, Pakura's disciplined technique cutting down anything that slipped through. Around them, her kunoichi held the line, but it was Pakura's steady pressure and Scorch's burning reach that broke the raid.
After the battle's roar had faded, it was replaced by the steady rhythm of waves and the murmur of recovery. Scorch stood on the edge of the Umiwake's dock, masked and silent, as she watched Pakura direct the Sand ninjas. She moved through the smoke and rubble with effortless authority, pointing one squad to shore up a crumbling wall, another to douse the last stubborn flames. To the civilians, she spoke plainly and calmly, her words steady enough to cut through fear, and they truly listened.
She was not just fighting for her people. She was holding them together. Pakura was a natural leader, so it was easy to understand why Rasa would have betrayed her. She could connect to the regular people, inspire their ninjas, and had the strength to make one of the Five Shinobi Village hesitate when her name was mentioned. She had far more potential than the Golden Boy.
When order finally began to return, Pakura approached Scorch and said simply, "Walk with me."
They followed the shoreline, the sand cooling beneath the late-afternoon sun and the gulls crying above. For a long stretch, neither spoke. Then Pakura glanced sideways, her amber eyes sharp.
"You fight strangely," she said. "Few jutsu, but constant manipulation. You weave elemental chakra into your strikes like threads into cloth. That level of control is not normal. Where did you learn it?"
Scorch let her gaze stay on the horizon. "I didn't learn it from anyone. I only created a few Scorch jutsu by breaking apart Fire and Wind techniques and fusing them into something new. But real jutsus take structure, molds, precision, and time to create. I didn't have teachers for that. Weaving chakra into attacks?" She flexed her hand, heat rippling off her knuckles. "That I could teach myself through trial and error. Easier. Faster."
Pakura studied her for several steps, the wind tugging strands of crimson hair across her face. "…And what are you really capable of?"
Scorch's voice was even. "If you want to have an idea, ask Chiyo. She still carries the memory of our fight, but that doesn't mean that I'm satified with my current level either."
A flicker of recognition crossed Pakura's eyes, and something else. Respect, perhaps, buried under caution.
They walked further until the water foamed around their boots. Then Pakura asked, "Then tell me... what does your real self want with all of this? What is her goal for this 'peace'?"
Scorch folded her arms loosely. "Part of it is practical. The Sand needs to take responsibility for starting this war, but instead of coin or resources, Orochimaru suggested you offer restitution by captured Stone and Mist shinobi. Dead or alive, their bodies and minds still have value to Kohona."
Pakura inclined her head slightly. "That's Konoha's interest. What about yours? What does Sarutobi Akari truly want?"
Scorch stopped walking. She turned toward her fully, the mask hiding her expression but not the conviction in her voice. "She wants more than war, and the one looming after it... The Sand fight because the Daimyo withholds his funding and even missions, making your people poor... but why must you rely on him? This desert has potential, just like its people, Pakura, but your leaders cling to old patterns... bleed for conquest, scrape gold from the sand, repeat the cycle. It doesn't have to be like that."
Pakura's eyes narrowed, but she did not interrupt.
Scorch pressed on. "Water could be drawn in aqueducts from the River or the Rain. Salt-tolerant crops planted along the coast. Animals bred for the heat could be brought here. There are plenty of rare flora cultivated for medicine and trade; Chiyo's proven as much. Sunagakure doesn't have to be chained to gold, to war, and possibly even a Daimyo, to survive."
Pakura slowed, staring at her. "…You're speaking of building futures, not just peace treaties."
"Because peace without change dies quickly," Scorch replied. "Konoha doesn't need a Sand Village that limps along as a hollow shell. It needs a strong Sand Village, a true partner, and your people deserve that strength just as much as mine do."
The surf hissed around them, filling the silence. For a long moment, Pakura's expression was unreadable, her fire-bright eyes locked on Scorch.
Finally, she exhaled softly, a sound like steam escaping. "…You don't speak only for Konoha."
"I don't... These are my, perhaps Akari's, opinions and ideas. That doesn't make them right, that doesn't make them wrong... They are a suggestion, a possible path; it's your decision that will shape the future, Pakura," Scorch replied.
Pakura's gaze lingered a moment longer on Scorch, then she looked back to the sea. "I'll consider the facts. No promises beyond that."
Scorch inclined her head. "That's enough." Her form flickered once, then dissolved into smoke, leaving behind a Sand ANBU mask to be washed away with the tide.
~~~~~~~
The clone's memories played out, leaving a lingering heat and smell of sea air after they were processed. For a moment, I sat very still against the ridge, letting it all settle. I could see the jutsu and hand signs that Pakura used while also sensing how the chakra moved through her body. Yet, Pakura had gone so far as to give Scorch some tips to refine her techniques.
Pakura was not the type to give something away for nothing, but her small suggestions in the middle of the fighting... "tighter," "sharper," "less waste"... could have been repayment for helping repel the Mis, or possibly a hint of something more. A willingness to see if a partnership was worth considering was my hope, but my rational mind reminded me that this could be a ploy.
On the beach, she had not dismissed my, or Scorch's, words. She had listened, questioned, even pushed. She had not promised peace, but she did not burn the bridge between us, either.
I looked over at my team moving about camp. Guy was still brimming with restless energy even in exhaustion, Duy steady as ever was carefully smoking our leftovers, Asuma scowling at his pack like it had personally offended him, and Kurenai quiet and watchful by the fire. For a moment, it seemed like we were a group of normal people camping, not trained ninja in the middle of a war.
After a long day of travel, we reached the field base. Lanterns burned low, and the quiet was punctuated by the shuffle of patrols. I dismissed my team to rest and made my way alone to the command tent.
Orochimaru was waiting, hands folded lightly on the table while his golden eyes seemed to glow in the lamplight. "You lingered in Umiwake," he said smoothly. "Did the message reach its intended ears?"
"The Mist raided the city when we were about to leave, but I ensured the message was delivered," I replied, offering nothing more. "There's potential she'll consider what was offered."
He tilted his head, the faintest curve touching his lips. "Potential… is fragile, unless given room to grow. Why not strike their main camp again? Drive Rasa and his supporters further into weakness. It would clear the way for others to take his place."
I met his gaze evenly. "I will if needed, but I had another idea. My team is ready to face Sand ninja, at least scouts and supply runners for a start. If I move them into the field, they'll get the chance to test themselves properly, while I can spread my Flying Thunder God marks throughout the region. That would give me freedom to scout, to reposition, even to strike unexpectedly. It's longer-term pressure, not a single hammer blow."
He studied me in silence for a long moment, then asked, "And what level of strength can you bring out, Akari-kun? Words are wasted if you can't deliver."
I smirked, shaking my head since I knew that he probing my strength, but replied anyways, "In two days, I can summon the Lava Golem again by then. I can also maintain five clones at once, each roughly at the special jonin level."
The gleam in his eyes sharpened. "Impressive... Fine, I will assign you the mission then." He leaned back, smile widening faintly. "But understand this, if Sand reinforcements arrive, you will strike them, either with your team or not, and if they are preparing to move on the camp again, you will crush their main camp with your Lava Golem."
I inclined my head. "Agreed."
His gaze lingered on me as I turned to leave, the weight of it sliding like scales across my back. Working with Orochimaru was like walking beside a serpent. Sometimes its fangs struck your enemies, sometimes it only watched, but you never forgot that it might strike you just as easily.