Land of Waves

Gaara sat in the dimly lit corner of his small, sparsely furnished room. The once vibrant reds and golds that adorned his space had faded into muted shades, mirroring the bleakness that had settled into his heart. His bed was unmade, with sheets tangled in disarray. Books and scrolls lay scattered across the floor, untouched and gathering dust. The heavy drapes were perpetually drawn, allowing only slivers of sunlight to pierce through, casting long shadows that danced eerily on the walls.

Gaara's appearance had deteriorated drastically. His skin was pallid and drawn, a stark contrast to the already sickly hue of his usual appearance. As usual, dark circles underscored his hollow eyes, evidence of countless sleepless nights plagued by nightmares. His frame was gaunt, soiled clothes hanging loosely on his frail body, a testament to poor hygiene and an even poorer diet. Meals delivered to his room often went uneaten, left to spoil in a corner.

This was the new reality of the formerly fearsome Jinchūriki who was Kankuro’s younger brother. Gaara's isolation had gone on long enough, and it was time for a change. The puppetmaster dragged his gaze from the disheartening sight to regard Temari who stood beside him, worry glinting in her eyes. He gave her a curt nod before turning his attention back to their stricken sibling.

"Gaara," Kankuro said, his voice steady and firm. "We need to talk."

The Jinchūriki barely acknowledged his presence, his gaze fixed on a spot on the floor. "I don’t," the boy muttered in response.

Kankuro stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "This isn't about you liking this or not. This is about you wasting away in this room while the rest of us are out there trying to pick up the pieces."

Temari stepped closer to the hunched boy, her tone a touch gentle but insistent. "What Kankuro is trying to say is you need to take care of yourself, Gaara. We're all worried."

Gaara’s expression did not change even as he pulled his knees closer to his chest. "I don't need your pity," he growled.

Kankuro's patience began to wear thin. "This isn't pity,” he spat. “This is reality. You've got responsibilities, and shutting yourself off isn't helping anyone. There is a war coming; you cannot afford to become a burden on the village. Father is dead and the Shukaku has somehow been stolen from you. A lot of people are starting to lose their patience."

Gaara's eyes flickered with a hint of anger. "I do not care for the squabbles of those fools."

Kankuro’s expression hardened as a scathing reply burned the back of his maw, but Temari shot him a warning glance before turning back to Gaara. "Please,” she coaxed as one does for a particularly stubborn child. “Just come outside for a bit. Get some fresh air. It might help."

Gaara shook his head, his resolve unyielding. "I don't want to. Just leave me alone."

Kankuro sighed. "Fine,” he spat, suppressing his frustration. “Stay here and rot if that's what you want. But don't expect the world to stop because you can't handle reality."

With that, he turned and stormed off.

As the door swung close behind him, Kankuro felt a pang of guilt. He knew his words were harsh, but he also knew that coddling Gaara would do more harm than good. Suna's attitude towards the former Jinchūriki had worsened drastically ever since news of the Shukaku’s theft broke. Where once there was a restraining fear to keep the worst of the lot at bay, now there was schadenfreude, disdain, and even malice. Whispers followed Kankuro whenever he dared to step outside, reminding him of his younger sibling’s fall from grace. Children who once gazed at “The Golden Child” with fear now openly mocked him, while adults sneered, glad to see the mighty Gaara brought low.

In the suffocating silence of the hallway, Kankuro glanced at Temari who exited the chamber a few minutes later. "He needs to snap out of it," he said, his voice low. "We can't keep covering for him."

Temari nodded, her gaze worried. "I know. But he's our brother. We cannot give up on him."

Kankuro's jaw tightened. "We won't. But he has to want to help himself first."

***

The sun dipped low over the Village Hidden in the Waterfall, casting long shadows that danced on the forest floor. Fū, weary and angry from her mission up north on Chūko island, approached her master's humble residence with an incensed spring to her step. The small wooden hut, nestled near an ancient spirit tree, bore a sign with the kanji for Taki (滝, Taki, literally meaning: Waterfall) above the entrance.

As she entered, Fū noted the familiar spartan interior. The hut still lacked the comforts of a typical home; there was no table, no chairs, only a raised dais on the floor where the village leader, Shibuki, sat. He seemed lost in thought, his fingers absently fondling a gourd.

"Shibuki-sama," Fū called hesitantly, not wanting to startle him. Something was terribly wrong; her master was hardly the ponderous sort.

Shibuki looked up, his eyes distant before focusing on her. Quickly, he put the gourd away. "Fū, you're back," he said, a small smile playing on his lips, though it did little to mask the worry in his eyes.

"Yes, I am," Fū replied, stepping closer. "What’s the matter, Master?” she asked, before remembering the reason for her prior anger; the emotion nearly returning, only stymied by the worry in her chest. “I heard you were planning on sending us to war against Konoha. Did you hit your head on something while I was away, master?"

Shibuki sighed deeply, gesturing for her to sit beside him on the dais. "...It’s not that simple, Fū,” he said. “The situation beyond our borders is deteriorating rapidly. I do not want war, but a conflict between hidden villages tends to rarely affect themselves only. Iwa, Oto, and Konoha—all our neighbours—prepare. I fear their plots might lead them into our lands. We need to be prepared."

Fū frowned, concern etched on her face. "But we're a small village—"

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Shibuki's expression hardened. "That’s unimportant to them, I fear. Even as we speak, Iwa moves its troops further east, closer to our border. Konoha already has a few companies to the south lying in wait for sages knows what. I cannot ignore that. I simply cannot."

An ominous silence befell, weighing heavily on the shoulders of the pair. With a gaze hardening with resolve, Fū reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her master’s arm. She spoke nothing, her gaze flickering to the gourd of Hero Water the older man tried to hide from view.

If he was willing to sacrifice that much for the village, what of her cursed with arguably greater power?

***

A single bubble floated out of the shrubbery, sunlight glinting off its iridescent surface.

For a long moment, it was just one. Then two.

Then a stream.

A cloud of bubbles formed overhead above a pair donning dark cloaks adorned with red clouds.

Utakata observed his pursuers from an elevated vantage point, his posture relaxed and bubble pipe held gently to his lips.

Moments passed as the cloud of death above grew larger but the strange pair appeared unfazed. The first was a grotesque hunchback with an unusual anatomy. Jagged blades fanned out from behind his skull and a ratty grey handkerchief hid the lower half of his face from view.

The second was a more normal-looking individual with a mane of long golden blond hair. A mane which he wore drawn into a half ponytail with the rest hanging down freely over the left side of his face. Slanted blue eyes stared up at the growing mass of bubbles and by his side stood a three-meter-tall clay owl.

Utakata could not say with any certainty what the pair sought, but their ill intent was profoundly obvious. Bounty hunters perhaps, lusting after the hefty bounty offered for his head by Kirigakure’s old enemies. Still, he had good reason to be concerned. Few were as skilled as the pair that sought his death today. It was only by sheer luck he wasn’t caught off-guard by their dogged pursuit.

Lightly leaping off his perch, Utakata willed his bubbles to descend. Only then did the enemy react. The blonde one mounted the clay owl by his side while the ugly one fell on all fours and beelined towards his location, the metal scorpion tail behind him whipping to life.

*BOOM!*

The descending bubble swarm detonated, sending a shockwave that rippled through the forest. From the epicentre, trees were toppled circularly and the very earth beneath was cratered in a single blow.

Utakata’s pursuers remained unscathed.

His eyes narrowed as he trialled bubbles behind him. The ugly one chased still, weaving past the floating minefield of bombs and corrosive chemical weapons with only millimetres to spare. The blonde one remained airborne; motes of white falling to the ground from his wake.

Utakata’s eyes narrowed as what he assumed to be a shower of clay bugs fell towards him, bracketing and cutting off his escape. Another explosion shook the earth and the six-tails Jinchūriki disappeared in a cloud of flames, smog and dust.

Moments passed. No odd movements.

Yet, as it seemed as if that would be the end of it, Utakata emerged from the plume, encased in a transparent bubble. Also, unscathed.

Without waiting to see his pursers' expressions, he turned and fled the battle, with Deidara and Sasori hot on his tail. There was no point in engaging them, he thought, outnumbered and heinously disadvantaged.

It was wiser to flee.

***

Killer B stepped into the centre of the room, his eyes scanning the faces before him. "Yo,” he said, throwing up gang signs at the representatives from Shimogakure and Yunagakure in attendance, “let's get this started, no need for delay. We're here to find a solution, and that's what we'll do today."

They were in a stone fort with walls, covered in moss and weathered by time. The air was thick with strange tension, and the atmosphere was uncomfortably charged, as each eyed the other stubbornly. The sight disappointed B, but he plastered a wide smile on his face regardless. He was here to mediate not judge the two sides for foolishly undermining one another in this time of strife.

The representatives from both sides faced each other across a low wooden table. To the left sat Juro, a Yuna-nin infamous for his hard-headedness. Possibly why he was chosen for this meeting. Opposite him, sat Eiji, his youthful counterpart from Shimogakure. Both Jonin-ranked. Both formidable in their own right.

Both with goals that neither seemed willing to compromise on.

Juro was the first to speak. "Glad you finally found the time to meet us, Killer B,” the grey-haired man drawled, quite obviously irritated. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to join us at all.”

B shot him a shameless thumbs up which the older shinobi scoffed disdainfully at.

“Either way,” the man continued. “Yunagakure’s stance on Fort Kurogane remains unchanged; we shall not allow you to convert a heritage of our people into a military installation. This fort is an irreplaceable part of our history. Modifying and converting for the uses you desire risks its destruction. I am afraid we cannot allow that."

Before B could respond, Eiji leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "We need this location for its strategic value. Frost and Cloud have both been gracious enough to strengthen your borders and keep your cities and key installations protected, yet you cannot even consider reciprocating with what amounts to a tourist attraction. You lot have those in the dozens; what’s one that you cannot afford to relinquish?"

B listened, his expression thoughtful. "Past and future,” he interjected, catching the attention of the two men before things devolved into more pointless arguments, “yeah, we see. We ain't here to fight, just you and me. Let's find that way, that golden mean. Both sides proud, keeping it clean."

Juro glanced at Eiji. "What do you propose?" he asked.

Killer B nodded, appreciating the opening. "A new outpost, a bit away, keeping the fort safe and sound, that's what I say. Yunagakure provides manpower, your peeps to build, and Shinobi to handle security. We making sure the pockets are kept filled…

“We cool?" he finished in a tone that brokered no argument.

***

The training grounds lay in ruins. The earth was scarred, with deep gouges and craters marking the landscape. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows. A gloomy sight, it seemed.

Naruto Uzumaki stood in the centre of the devastation, breathing heavily. His clothes were torn, and his skin was smeared with dirt and sweat. His eyes, usually so full of determination and hope, now burned with an odd, dark emotion.

The boy wiped his brow, his gaze never leaving the horizon where he imagined a shadowy, red-eyed figure looking down on him. Smug. Self-righteous. Arrogant.

From the edge of the tattered clearing, a figure approached. Sakura moved with a certain hesitation to her stride. She watched Naruto, her chest stuffing up at the sight of him visibly succumbing to his obsessions.

"...Naruto," she called out softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. "You need to stop. You're going to destroy yourself."

Silence.

A cold draft blew, seemingly snapping him from his thoughts. The blonde turned to face her, his expression exhausted. "...I can't stop,” he sighed. “Not until I surpass him. Not until I bring him back. To face justice. He has to pay for what he's done. For all the misery and destruction he's caused."

Sakura stepped closer, her eyes pleading. "Bringing him back … Do you really think that is even possible?"

Naruto's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. "I have to try, Sakura. I have to. He was our friend, and he threw it all away for what? Power? Revenge? It doesn't make any sense!"

Tears welled in Sakura's eyes, her voice breaking. "Maybe it never made sense. Maybe it never will. Maybe... maybe this is just the way things were always going to be. Let it go. You are going to get yourself killed if you don’t stop."

Naruto's gaze softened for a moment. "I cannot give up, Sakura..."

"Even if it means I have to die trying.”