At the age of eight, Temari stood on the edge of her golden fan, high above the capital where the Wind Daimyo resided. From her vantage point, the sprawling city below looked peaceful, almost serene, as its inhabitants went about their daily lives. The soft glow of twilight bathed the rooftops in amber light, giving the illusion of warmth and safety—a stark contrast to the storm brewing within her.
This was her first S-ranked mission, a task that would be daunting even for seasoned jonin. Her father, the Kazekage, had ordered the assassination of the Wind Daimyo. The reason was simple yet dire: the Daimyo had begun outsourcing missions to the Hidden Leaf Village instead of their own. This betrayal had plunged the Hidden Sand Village into economic strife, with their people struggling to eat, maintain their strength, and keep Sunagakure afloat as one of the Five Great Shinobi Countries. Temari clenched her fists, her knuckles whitening. I have to do this, she reminded herself, trying to summon the resolve that had brought her this far. For my village, for my people… for Father.
But as she looked down at the bustling city below, tears welled up in her eyes. The enormity of what she was about to do weighed heavily on her young shoulders. She had trained for this, honed her skills under her father’s harsh training, but nothing could prepare her for the reality of taking so many lives.
‘What if they’re innocent? What if they don’t deserve this?’ The thoughts gnawed at her, an unwelcome whisper of doubt. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, cold and commanding. ‘The village comes first, Temari. We must protect our own, no matter the cost.’ She swallowed hard, feeling a lump in her throat. She knew he was right, yet it did little to ease the turmoil inside her.
Temari didn’t do discreet. She was a force of nature, her wind techniques powerful and unyielding. If she wanted to eliminate the Wind Daimyo, hundreds of others would have to be caught up in the destruction as well. For the first time in her life, she had to decide: the lives of others or the lives of those within her village. Her golden fan, a weapon revered in her village, slowly rose further into the sky, carrying her higher. The fan created by her ability, it was a weapon comparable if not superior to the Seven Mystical Swords from the Hidden Mist Village. In her hands, it was more than just a weapon—it was a tool of fate, one that could shape the future of the Hidden Sand Village.
The wind whipped at her face, drying her tears as they fell, but the coldness in her chest remained. Below, the city was unaware of the storm about to descend upon it. She could see the people moving about like tiny ants, oblivious to the danger looming above them. With a trembling hand, she reached into her pouch and retrieved a soldier pill, enhanced by her ability. She hesitated for a moment, staring at the pill. It was small, unassuming, yet it held the power to turn her into a living weapon.
I have to do this, she told herself again, but this time the words felt hollow. She wasn’t just taking down the Daimyo; she was sentencing countless others to death, people who might have families, dreams, and hopes of their own. Her heart pounded in her chest as she swallowed the pill. Instantly, a wave of energy surged through her body, filling her veins with what felt like liquid fire. The chakra overflowed within her, making her feel invincible, yet the pit in her stomach only grew deeper. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the wind roaring around her, pulling at her clothes and hair. ‘Focus, Temari. Focus.’ She knew this was a point of no return. Once she unleashed her power, there would be no going back.
Grabbing the handle of her fan, Temari stepped off it, letting herself fall towards the earth. The descent was slow at first, the wind cushioning her as she spun and twirled through the air. With each rotation, she could feel the wind gathering around her, swirling faster and faster until it became a tangible force. Her movements were fluid, almost graceful, like a dancer performing a deadly ballet. Some might have called the sight breathtakingly beautiful if it wasn’t for the impending doom it signaled. The wind howled as it obeyed her command, swirling around her in a vortex of raw power.
As she neared the ground, she opened her eyes. The city loomed closer, and for a fleeting moment, she saw the people below—men, women, and children going about their lives, unaware of the shadow descending upon them. Her heart ached, but she pushed the pain down, burying it beneath the layers of duty and responsibility. When Temari landed just outside the Wind Daimyo’s capital, the earth trembled beneath her feet. The wind around her intensified, whipping the dust and debris into a frenzy. She could see the walls of the city in the distance, the towering structures that protected the seat of power. But no wall could stand against the force she was about to unleash.
She tightened her grip on the fan and muttered a voiceless apology, one meant for the lives she was about to take. Then, with a swift motion, she swung the fan.
And the world exploded.
The wind roared as it tore through the air, a massive wave of destruction that engulfed everything in its path. The city, once peaceful and serene, was consumed by the storm, buildings crumbling under the sheer force of the wind. The sky darkened as the dust and debris were hurled into the air, blocking out the setting sun. Temari stood outside the maelstrom, her fan fully swung, her eyes locked on the chaos she had created. The power was exhilarating, terrifying, and utterly overwhelming. She could feel the chakra pulsing within her, demanding more, urging her to continue until nothing was left standing.
But as the dust began to settle and the wind died down, the reality of what she had done hit her like a ton of bricks. There was no capital present. Uprooted, and completely gone. It was as if someone erased it from the face of the earth. Temari had succeeded in her mission, but at what cost? Her legs trembled as she lowered her fan, the weight of the destruction bearing down on her. The tears she had fought so hard to hold back finally spilled over, streaking down her cheeks. She had taken the first step in saving her village, but it felt more like she had taken a step toward something that would bring about the exact opposite of peace.
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Temari turned her back on the wreckage, the enormity of her actions pressing down on her small frame. She was only eight years old, but today she had become something more—something she wasn’t sure she wanted to be. If this was what being a shinobi was supposed to be, maybe… Temari sighed as she tossed the thought out of her head. With her ability, only by furthering herself as a ninja could Sungakure thrive. As she ascended back into the sky on her fan, the weight of her mission settled heavily on her heart. The wind carried her away, but the memory of what she had done would follow her wherever she went. ‘For the village,’ she whispered to herself, trying to find solace in the words. But as she disappeared into the clouds, leaving the ruins of the capital behind, she couldn’t shake the feeling that a part of her had been lost in the storm.
Temari’s flight back to Sunagakure was long and silent. The wind, once a comforting companion, now felt cold and distant as it carried her back to the village. The golden sands of the desert stretched endlessly below her, their familiar sight offering little solace. When the walls of Sunagakure finally came into view, she hesitated. The village that had always been her home now felt foreign, like a place she didn’t belong. But she had no choice—she had completed her mission, and her father would be expecting her report.
The guards at the gate offered her no more than a brief nod as she descended, her giant golden fan folding neatly behind her. They were used to seeing her enter and leave on missions, but none had ever been this important. None had ever been so deadly. As Temari walked through the village, she smiled and waved at the villagers. Greeting them and other such niceties, momentarily burying the pain in her chest. Eventually she made her way to the Kazekage’s office.
The door to her father’s office loomed before her, the wood thick and imposing. For a moment, she stood there, gathering the courage to step inside. She knew what awaited her—praise for a job well done, acknowledgment of her success. But no amount of praise could erase the image of all the lives she took.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open. Her father, the Kazekage, stood by the window, his back turned to her as he looked out over the village. The setting sun cast long shadows across the room, painting everything in shades of gold and crimson. His presence, as always, was commanding, filling the room with an air of authority that made Temari feel small in comparison.
“Father,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.
He turned to face her, his expression as unreadable as ever. But there was something in his eyes—an intensity that told her he had been waiting for this moment. He took a step forward, his gaze sweeping over her as if assessing the outcome of the mission.
“You’ve returned,” he said, his tone neither warm nor cold, simply factual.
Temari nodded, her throat tight. “The mission… it’s done.”
The Kazekage’s eyes narrowed slightly, but a hint of satisfaction flickered in them. “And the Daimyo?” “Gone,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “The entire capital… it’s gone.” For a moment, there was silence, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. Then, to her surprise, her father’s lips curled into a slight smile—something she had rarely seen from him.
“Well done, Temari,” he said, his voice carrying a rare note of approval. “You’ve done what was necessary for the village. This is the first step toward our revival. Sunagakure is on its way to thriving again, and it’s because of your strength and resolve.”
Temari wanted to feel pride at his words, to bask in the rare praise. But all she felt was a hollow emptiness where her joy should have been. She had done what was necessary, but the cost was greater than she had anticipated. “Father…,” she began, but the words caught in her throat. What could she say? That she wanted to know if there was a different path to the betterment of the village? She was a kid but she wasn’t naive.
The Kazekage’s expression softened, just slightly, as if sensing her inner conflict. He placed a hand on her shoulder, the gesture both reassuring and commanding. “Temari, the path of a shinobi is not easy. It is filled with difficult choices, choices that will weigh heavily on you. But remember this: everything you do is for the good of the village. Our people rely on us to be strong, to make the hard decisions so they can live in peace.”
Temari looked up at him, her eyes searching for any sign of doubt, any crack in his unwavering resolve. But there was none. He was the Kazekage, a leader who would do anything for his village, and he expected the same of her.
“I understand,” she said, though the words felt like a lie. She wanted to believe them, to believe that the end justifies the means. But as the images of the destroyed capital flashed through her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever truly understand.
Her father nodded, seemingly satisfied with her response. “Good. Now rest, Temari. You’ve done well today, but there will be more missions ahead. You need to be ready.” She bowed her head, acknowledging his command. “Yes, Father.” As she turned to leave, the Kazekage’s voice stopped her. “Temari.”
She paused, looking back at him. “Remember, the village comes first. Always.” Temari nodded, the words echoing in her mind as she left the room. The village comes first. Always.
But as she walked through the dimly lit halls of the Kazekage’s residence, heading toward her own quarters, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been lost in the desert that day—something that no amount of praise or approval could ever bring back.
When she finally reached her room, Temari closed the door behind her and leaned against it, the weight of the day’s events crashing down on her. She slid to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest as the tears she had been holding back finally broke free. In the silence of her room, away from the expectations and the praise, Temari allowed herself to mourn—for the city she had destroyed, for the lives she had taken, and for the part of herself that had been left behind in the wreckage.
The village would thrive, just as her father had said. But as she sat there, the reality of what that meant settled deep within her. The path of a shinobi was not just about strength and resolve—it was about sacrifice, about losing pieces of yourself along the way.