Tate Iwamaru - The Shield of Stone

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ShinobiTruth
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Tate Iwamaru - The Shield of Stone

Post by ShinobiTruth » Thu Oct 31, 2019 9:24 pm

Never, in a million years, would Iwamaru have been ready for something like this.

Pressing his flak jacket to himself, Iwamaru was dressed in the brown-red formal uniform of the village, examining himself in the mirror. It was strange. He'd felt like he'd never find an appropriate time or place to wear the formal uniform he'd been given along with the flack jacket, but as he meditated on how he should arrange his appearance for the misery business he would now attend to, it seemed the only appropriate thing to wear for his fallen brother and sister. It was, by far, the easiest decision he would have to make today, and that alone had taken hours for Iwamaru to reach it. He could only imagine the other more damning choices he would have to make today.

Walking out of Jousai headquarters, he noticed a distinct chill in the air descending into the valley, a fitting stereotype to set the backdrop for the terrible burden he carried on his shoulders. Walking slowly down the road, he carried a small wooden box, fitted with crimson velvet and a glass panel, sealing the headband inside. Such was customary to memorialize the memory of those who had fallen in battle, a military epitaph notwithstanding. This was often all that could be brought back. Much like the two young genin he'd found, the horrors of war were often so violent and unforgiving in its touch that to try and recover the remains of those left on the fields of battle was less of a courtesy and more of a cruelty to those left behind.

Iwamaru's stomach twisted, realizing yet another horrid question he would have to answer. Both the weather and the frigid nature of the news he bore touched even his bones. His insides revolted against the very nature of what he had to do. This was wrong. No parent should ever have to bury their child. No... These parents would not even be able to put their progeny to rest. The desiccated remains of the children would be forever lost to them, entombed in a mix of mutant silk, acid, and unfeeling stone. They were the first, but Iwamaru had the distinct realization that these would not be the last headbands he would have to carry to families. Though he suspected sadness and loss on his journey as a shinobi, the tender-hearted young man had only ever readied himself to face his own loss. He'd never anticipated that the road to his future would be speckled with the tears of others. It was an utterly sobering realization, one that still rocked him to his core.

He was so steeped in his own thoughts that by the time he thought to look up and check his bearings, he was already on the road to the first victim's house. Even now, he recalled the name from the dossiers he'd read in the office with Tatsuo: Chen Saisaishi, age 13, son to Chen Hwong-Ren, a well-off merchant. Much to his shame, Iwamaru fervently hoped that this man would be much like the opulence he lived in: self-centered, proud, ignorant. Perhaps it would make divulging the message he carried that much easier. Yet, as he finally approached the front door and knocked, his spirits sank, even as he squared his shoulders and stood at attention. In his heart, he knew that it wouldn't be so simple. Nothing involving death was simple.

The door opened to a man whose features were lined with worry and distress, tall, lithe in form wearing simple robes, and short black hair atop his head. It was clear that the boy had been gone for more than just a short time. His eyes widened and nostrils flared as he immediately caught sight of Iwamaru in his uniform. His eyes searched for hope, something, anything that told him his son was okay. Iwamaru's eyes locked with his, and through his profound sense of duty, his gaze alone communicated the bitter truth. Crestfallen, the boy's father lost the strength in his legs, falling roughly to the floor as he put his face in his hands, the hitched breathing and soft, climbing moans of bitter sadness and mourning filled the space between them. Kneeling down with the man, Iwamaru was lost for words as he simply placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. After what seemed like an eternity between the two, the man managed to utter a single question through his misery: "My son... My son, how... How did he die?"

The thought of lying to the man was simply outside of the question. He opened his mouth to utter the words that Tatsuo had urged him to speak, that he'd passed in the line of duty... but that was a lie. The boy's death hadn't been in the line of duty. It hadn't even been due to his own foolishness. His death had been caused by the heartless actions of some fanatical, perverse organisms that had dared to call themselves human muddying the waters between this world and the next. His death had been caused by cowards that hadn't even had the courage or pride to stand by their own actions, instead leaving others to suffer the consequences of what they had wrought. Instead, the only words he could think to comfort his grieving father were these:

"...He died... Fighting for the village and family he loved."

It wasn't a truth that absolved the boy of his mistakes... but it was a truth that would give his father peace... and something to be proud of. Gently offering the now cleaned and polished headband to the father, he took it. At the sound of other footsteps quickly rushing to the door, Iwamaru realized the rest of the family was home. A mother, brothers and sisters, perhaps... It already hurt so much to see this man with his heart ripped from his chest. Could he even bear to watch? He so badly wanted to run, to simply leave the family to mourn and preserve his own peace...

But he didn't. He wouldn't let himself move. A shinobi was not one who only fought for themselves. A shinobi did not abandon his countrymen in times of strife and mourning. A shinobi was the shield that protected them, sheltered them, sacrificed itself to preserve their futures alive. He would forever shame his village, his late mother, and himself if he left. So he stayed. He stayed and watched as the mother rounded the corner and immediately knew from one glance of Iwamaru in his uniform. He watched her and the children crumple, one by one, under the weight of their grief, giving way to an outpouring of tears, wails, and curses whispered under their breaths as a trance-like haze surrounded everything he saw. After the minutes stretched on, the father would look Iwamaru in the eyes once more, seeming to pause for a moment. Why was he suddenly looking so intently at his face? Did he question the boy's empathy?

"...Thank you... for mourning our son with us."

Iwamaru blinked in confusion, and the water rushed from his eyes. Tears? He was...? When did he...? The boy touched his cheek, the glistening trail of water on his hand unmistakeable. Slowly wiping his face clear, he nodded and bowed before turning and taking his leave. It was only after the father closed the door that Iwamaru took the skies, the tears now streaming freely down his face as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop. He... he needed a moment to be alone and purge himself of his misery. He needed time, just a little bit of precious time, to regain the composure he'd been so resolute to maintain, composure that had so effortlessly crumbled under the weight of his own heart. It was the first of many, and yet...

...It felt like more than he could take.
The walk over to the Enkouten compound, known since ancient times as Okazan, had allowed Iwamaru to calm his nerves a bit. Every second he could get to poise himself for the next home visit would be vital to getting through it emotionally in one piece. The Enkouten's history could be felt even as he took his first step into the premises. The massive stone domes towered over him as he entered the imposing campus, seeking out the apartment of the other genin's family amidst the smelters and factories that symbolized the clan as a whole within the village. They were a hardy people, tracing their roots back to the founding of the village itself. He was hoping that this tough, progressive nature would make this solemn occasion easier for the chuunin to manage.

Those who would have normally stopped him saw the wooden case and his formal uniform, and their countenances darkened. Though perhaps an odd observation, the smooth lacquered appearance of the container he carried gave their skilled artisanal eyes all of the information they needed. The clan members understood immediately what he was here for. Stepping forward to help, they offered him help in guiding him to the abode of the family of the departed. He gratefully obliged, thankful that the clan's direct nature was aiding Iwamaru in having the courage and composure to complete this grim duty. The sound of clanging machines, hammers striking iron, and the grunts and cries of workers and foreman somehow calmed him, reminding him he wasn't alone in his thoughts. Even something as simple as the echoing of his footsteps down an isolated hallway helped push him forward, the small breaks in silence enough to keep his mind from ruminating upon the darkness within his thoughts.

After much searching, he finally found the home of the family. Taking a deep breath and knocking firmly on the door, Iwamaru awaited an answer. There was a long quiet that hung in the air, but eventually, footsteps emerged from behind the door. This time, it was a woman who met him as she partially opened the door, no doubt the genin's mother. She bore the light pelts and furs that often identified the Enkouten amongst the villagers, a necklace with three white claws framing her slender but strong frame with chocolate skin, deep brown eyes, and black hair. Much like the boy's father, she searched his eyes for the answer she sought. And much like the boy's father, her intuition told her exactly what she needed to know. "...Thank you for coming, sir," she said, her voice trembling as tears quickly formed at the corners of her eyes.

In a split moment, it became even worse than the boy's family, Iwamaru's natural connection to his late mother tugging at his heartstrings even more strongly. "Ma'am, I-"

Another set of footsteps, these heavy and quick, approached from behind the woman. Large fingers grasped the edge of the door and quickly opened it fully, the visage of a stern man, nearly a solid foot taller than Iwamaru emerging from behind the girl's mother. No doubt, the father. Iwamaru's eyes locked with his, and he knew no words would be fit for this exchange between the two. Instead, he simply presented the box with both hands, bowing deeply as he offered the container to the girl's father. Slowly, Iwamaru could feel his fingers grasp the wooden container before the woman's controlled breathing disappeared. Straightening back up, he'd noticed that the door, while further closed, had not been completely shut. After a minute or so, the father returned and opened the door. "Please, come in," he insisted.

Iwamaru hadn't been prepared for this. What was he to do? To decline would be a smack in the face to this family who'd just suffered an indescribable loss. Steeling himself for what was to come, he stepped into the apartment. The main room was simple, three modern-style couches, all hand-made of wood and fur pelts, surrounded a round table, which all sat before a large fireplace. A gentle flame burned inside as the man quickly pulled a kettle from the flames, quickly preparing two cups of tea, one for himself and one for his guest. Iwamaru nodded and offered thanks for the tea being poured.

Replacing the kettle, the man sat down across from him. Iwamaru looked into his eyes and was chilled by how closely they seemed to resemble his father's when his mother died. They were in a state of thinly-veiled turmoil, a facade of control the only thing providing some semblance of control, structure... sanity. Taking a sip of his tea, he asked: "How did she die?" he asked. Iwamaru began to offer the same answer he'd given to the boy's family, but he shook his head, cutting him off. "That is not what I mean, boy. My daughter was not weak. I cannot accept she was killed so randomly in the line of duty. I need to know. My wife and children deserve to know. How did Ayane die?"

Iwamaru grit his teeth. It seemed that not everything would go according to what Tatsuo had told him. He had little choice in this matter. "...She ventured into the Catacombs, sir, against orders and without backup. She was beset upon with her fellow genin, Saisaishi, by the mutant spiders that claim those areas as their nest and feeding grounds... They were overwhelmed both by strength and numbers."

The man's hands trembled in anger and grief as he struggled to maintain his composure. Clearing his throat, he took another sip of his tea. "...My daughter was strong... but she was reckless as well. Many times we tried to instill a healthy sense of caution into her, but she was a free spirit. She would not be bound... and she flew straight into a trap of her own making. We will mourn her... and I will make certain that her siblings learn well from her folly. Thank you for being honest with me."

The freedom the truth provided relieved some of the weight that Iwamaru had felt upon his shoulders as he nodded in recognition of the commendation. The next question, however, made Iwamaru's blood run cold: "We are grateful that you have returned her Brand Band to us, but we must attend to her burial as rites dictate. Where may we recover her remains?"

Iwamaru tightly gripped the fabric from his pants in his grip, staring down intently at the tea. There was no tactful way to explain to him the horrendous state his daughter's body was found in. There was no way to explain that recovering her headband alone could have nearly cost him his life had a man literally equal to the Tsuchikage in power not been there to protect him. There was no way to console him with the fact that his daughter's body was dissolved by spider acid before being crushed and pulverized by tons upon tons of earth, dirt, rock, and stone. "...I'm sorry, sir. You can't."

The sudden violent crash of a teacup against the back wall behind him echoed through the apartment as he stood, blazing eyes focusing down at the boy, his grief twisting and mutating into misplaced rage. "You would deny my family our dignity, our right, to tend to this final responsibility?! Boy, you will tell me where she rests, or-"

"There was nothing left!" he replied as he stood back up, managing to maintain his own composure by only the slimmest of threads even as shock overtook the father's face. Iwamaru sighed and took a moment to breathe, calming himself. "...There was nothing left to save, sir... There was nothing left to return. I'm sorry."

The kaleidoscopic range of negative, vile emotions crossed the man's face all at once as he slowly rose and stood before the fire. "...Thank you for bringing back what you could... I must ask you to go. My family and I... we have much to attend to."

Not uttering another word, Iwamaru slowly rose and headed for the door. Before he closed it, he turned back. "I am truly sorry for your loss," he gave as a final offer before quietly shutting the door behind him.

His task complete, Iwamaru exhaled as he started walking back down the tunnel. The sound of the father's anguish slipped from under the door, echoing through the tunnels. Many Enkouten would open their doors, some scurrying toward the family's apartment. What felt like a thousand eyes would lock onto him as he passed by.

All Iwamaru could do was continue ahead, his gaze as firm as it could be. For his own sake, he simply had no other choice.

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Tate Iwamaru - The Shield of Stone

Post by ShinobiTruth » Wed Nov 27, 2019 5:44 pm

Iwamaru made good time. It had only taken him half a day at full speed to pull the cart, and though he was sweating a little bit, the catharsis of the physical activity was a nice change of pace from the brutal violence he’d perpetrated but hours ago. He was also hopeful that the villagers would be excited to see their belongings and food returned to them. Despite his wild strength, Maru was a benevolent person at heart, and he certainly enjoyed helping people more than hurting them.

Naimuri heard the distant rumbling of the cart and initially stood at attention, afraid that they would face yet another raid. However, as her keen eyes peered closer, they widened, and her jaw went agape. It... it was one of those boys! And was he lugging a cart meant for horses? How was such a thing possible? Was he a sorcerer?

Iwamaru slowed down as he saw Naimuri step out from one of the fields, a look of bewilderment clear on her face. Iwamaru took a cloth and wiped the sweat from his brow. ”I know the elder only asked for proof our task... but it didn’t feel right to leave what they took from you there,” he said. ”I bring what has been stolen back to its rightful place.”

Naimuri’s sharp eyes slowly scanned over the parcels and goods that were in the back of the cart, almost as if she had kept a close account of everything that had been stripped from them. Naimuri shook her head in disbelief. ”Go in before the elder. If you have struck down those responsible, he will know of it.”

With a nod, Maru headed straight for the elder’s hut... though, from his previous visit here, Maru suspected it had a different name. Perhaps something like the Shrine of Mourning? That’s what he could call it for now. Stepping into the shrine, Maru looked for the disciple from before. Soon enough, he would stand before Iwamaru, and the chuunin would soon after produce the helmet of the raider’s leader. Gently taking the helmet into his hands without a word, the disciples words for Maru were simple: ”The Elder will know if your task is truly complete.”

The disciple would move almost silently to the side of th elder. For a few tense moments, the room was still with silence. Then:

”...Their souls are at rest... They have found peace in justice...”

The disciple rose and turned to Maru. ”You have done admirably, outsider. Rest for now, and once the Elder-“

”....There is danger.”

Iwamaru’s eyes sharpened and the disciple quickly knelt down beside the disciple. Iwamaru moves forward and knelt before the elder. His face was shielded from his view, obscured by a large black shawl. Iwamaru waited intently for the next words the Elder would utter. The silence, once a signal of peace, now served to frame the rising tension between them.

”...A plague arrives from the wastelands... above the mountains, locusts will descend. One hundred cursed stars will shroud the valley in pestilence...”

The disciple was normally certain of the Elder’s visions and their meanings, but even he appeared to be vexed. ”The Elder’s premonitions are normally much clearer than this. This bodes ill.”

Iwamaru remained where he was and pondered what the Elder has told them. Whatever this message was, it Iwa’s clearly a portent of ill tidings for the future. The number was likely important. One hundred... that was a specific detail. Whatever was coming would be at least 100 strong. Since they were cursed, that implied a negative context. Whatever was coming was not friendly. And locusts... that was odd, too. Locusts, insects capable of clearing almost any sort of vegetation, traveling in large groups. Why, a large enough group could strip this valley dry...

Strip the valley... Shroud it in pestilence... A disease... A barren valley, devoid of life...

From the wastelands...

Iwamaru’s eyes hardened in recognition. ”...They’re coming.”

The disciple looked up, flabberghasted that the visited had made sense of the prophecy when he could not. ”Who is coming?”

Iwamaru stood. The raiders we killed. It seems they had friends. How accurate are the Elder’s premonitions?”

The disciple was quiet for a moment. ”...I... I have never seen them fail.”

Iwamaru nodded and moved to leave the shrine. ”I must return to my partner. I cannot defend this place alone.”

Iwamaru did not waste a moment. The moment he stepped out of the shrine, he launched himself into the sky with a massive leap. A large band of raiders, at least 100 strong, were on their way. This small village didn’t stand a chance, none of the villages in the valley did. They were the only things standing between these peaceful people and annihilation.

It was time to get to work.

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Tate Iwamaru - The Shield of Stone

Post by ShinobiTruth » Fri Feb 11, 2022 3:08 pm

The Citadel barracks were by no means uncomfortable. They had individual rooms with small hearths, showers, refrigerators, the works. The mess hall staff were excellent cooks, and they offered food that was both delicious and provided both macros and micros for physical fitness. For a soldier, there was little else one could ask for. Yet, for all of those things, Maru found himself spending less and less time here. These walls lacked the one thing he found with Sayuri: peace. They were uniform, manufactured with the intent of building and maintaining human instruments of war. Maru wasn’t so naive to think that it wasn’t necessary, but it was a stark reminder of the years he’d spent in his emotional squalor. That cozy home he spent most of his days had shown him how much he had outgrown the necessary protection of this place. Still, he wasn't here without purpose. He'd been residing here when he found out his father had died in the line of duty, and the decedent's personal effects had been delivered here. Maru had kept the vision he'd had of his father the first night he'd met Sayuri, and after much time and emotional healing, nearly six years since his father died, he was going to finally try and reconcile with his troubled past.

The front gates had new security officers posted, which Maru preferred. A surviving member of the old guard would have likely prodded him for a conversation he wasn't ready to have. Matters of the heart were something Maru was still extremely private about. No one knew, and for the time being, it would remain that way. It wasn't like he was particularly close to anyone right now, to begin with, but it wouldn't stop him from erring on the side of caution. He chose the day he would come for these effects carefully. There were few people in the Citadel, most of the forces deployed on various missions around the village. During his walk here, he'd recounted the words ostensibly spoken by his father.

'There were many reasons, despite all my flaws, that your mother loved me.'

Maru's festering ire for his father's memory made a foul taste come to his mouth when he recalled that conversation... if it could even be called that. He'd been at an emotional high at the time the vision had oh-so-conveniently popped into his head. It irritated him even more that he had to begrudgingly be grateful for the interruption. True, Maru had stopped himself from a night of passion that he so desperately had thirsted for, but what this compelled patience had given him with Sayuri in return was so far beyond mere physicality. Still, of all of the people he'd expected to help him make that realization, the greatest sort of resentment and regret in his life wasn't who he'd expected to motivate such a difficult decision, let alone had he expected it to be at least partly responsible for helping him find his first true love. His own stubbornness had taken time to wear down to the point where he could motivate himself to even come back to this room.

No, that was a lie. His curiosity and regret had chipped away at that wall he'd put up. He couldn't get what his father's image had told him out of his head.

'...Read my journal. There is more in that book than you think.'

Reaching the door to his dorm, he closed the door behind him and locked it. Turning the light on, he made his way to the cot and knelt, moving the blanket on the bed to reveal a safe below the bed. The combination was a set of numbers he would never forget: the day his mother died. Before, he had felt a piece of his heart had died with her. Now that Sayuri was part of his life, he wasn't so certain that part of him was so deep in the grave that it couldn't be exhumed and revived. The door to the safe unlocked with a click, and Maru swung the compartment open to reveal a box, perhaps not that much larger than a shoebox. He felt the tension spike inside of himself momentarily. He'd put so many emotions he hadn't been ready to confront into this box both figuratively and literally. Was he really ready to face this?

His thoughts turned to Sayuri. Exhaling slowly, he felt that tension release. Yes. It was time. This was just as much for her as it was for himself.

Reaching in, he pulled the box out and closed the safe. Folding the blanket back into its place, he sat upon the cot and opened the box slowly, the carved wood heavier in his hands than he remembered. Many of the things in this box were his father's personal effects recovered from the house and his body before he died. The hitai-ate had a special compartment in the box at the bottom sealed with a glass spring door. There were a variety of other documents, papers, pictures, and a rather official-looking scroll. Despite resolving himself to look through everything inside, Maru didn't really know where to start. His thoughts turned to the small book in his jacket. Reaching into the inner pocket, he pulled out what was ostensibly a personal inventory log for his father's armaments and began slowly looking through each of the pages. Seconds turned into minutes as he found little more than what the book claimed to be: shuriken, kunai, senbon, knuckle dusters... He shook his head as his fingers leafed through the journal. He was almost halfway through this book. Had the journal been lost? Did he have the wrong-

I can't get her out of my head.

Maru stopped, his eyes resting on the first line of a diary, abruptly spliced onto the back of one of the pages. It took more time than he had thought to register exactly what he was seeing, but once he did, he bore intently into the words that spilled forth from the journal.

I see her people make deliveries to the offices every day, and I don't pay any of them mind. It's not like I have any reason to interact with them. I'm just here to archive the weapons logs for the armory. Shipment invoices, production orders, work like that. A thousand others have passed through those doors and have left, and for the life of me, I can't remember a single one of their faces. It's just her. Just hers. I can't get those green eyes out of my mind, that caramel skin, that silken black hair. This entire month they've had me up at the front desk despite how much I hate being there. I see her every day... I find myself waiting to see her, anticipating... hoping she'll walk through the door. It's crazy. I'm crazy. Right? There's no way she even thinks about me or notices me. Our lives are so different. I'm a shinobi, and she...

Maru noticed a few scattered dots over the rest of that line, almost like his father thought to write something but decided against it. Maru ground his teeth in irritation. 'You tell me to read your journal and then you don't even speak straight in it?' he vented internally. He continued reading:

We come from two different worlds. Will she even think that I'm genuine? Or will she think I'm just trying to take advantage of her? Is there any way I can even communicate that I'm being honest? ...These thoughts are running constantly through my head, just like the sight of her. I keep going to sleep thinking that rest might clear her from my mind... But who am I kidding? I'm not gonna just forget. The only way this is going to end is if I ask her...

Screw it. I'm gonna ask her. She'll say no, and then I'll be able to move on... Just have to remember to not get my hopes up when I pose the question to her.

Green eyes... Maru blinked in realization. This was before his parents met. Or before they knew each other at least. The comment about the green eyes was telling. Maru was pretty certain he knew how the next entry was going to start. Turning the page, Maru continued reading.

She said yes. She said yes. What. I can't believe this. She said yes!

The expressiveness was foreign to the memory Maru had of his father. It was enough to bring a smirk to his face. He continued reading on.

Her name is Shirayuki. I'm certain that's the name she was given when she was brought to the village, but I don't care. Having a name at all is better than what I had yesterday. She said they're relieved from their duties in the late afternoon. I'm meeting her at the gates of the compound. Their schedules are pretty strict, so we'll only have half an hour before she has to be back. I don't care. I'll take every chance I have to spend time with her. And we're not going to run into problems. I'm a shinobi. I'm not one to throw my position around like that, but I'll make sure we don't have any trouble. My privilege will finally find some use.

She said yes!


There's joy here, but Maru was left confused. This is his mother that his father was referring to. But these words didn't make sense. "Brought to the village?" "Relieved from their duties?" "Compound?" "Their schedules are strict?" What kind of work did she do? She certainly hadn't been a shinobi, that much was certain. Maru had been exclusively trained by his father before going to the academy. He couldn't wrap his head around the strange language his father was using. He looked for the next entry. He turned to the third page of the diary section.

Her real name is Amani. It's only been a month since we first went out, but it felt like so much longer. She says among her people, telling people their real name is a sign of implicit trust. A name gives power over a person, so they only tell those they absolutely trust won't misuse it. I'm grateful... but I also don't understand. She trusted me so easily. I do like her. A lot... But does she really feel the same way? Or does she see me as a way out? Do I care? What am I saying, of course I do. But how do you talk about something like that? If I'm wrong... I just need to give it time. Time and trust. Her actions will speak louder than her words.

Maru blinked visibly. Her real name. Her real name?! Maru was sent reeling by this revelation, his breath caught in his chest. He didn't understand. He'd always simply known his mother's name to be Shirayuki. What was going on? What was this, some sort of sick joke?! He flipped to the next page.

هذه هي المرة الأولى التي أكتب فيها بهذه اللغة. أردت التأكد من أن أي شخص يجد هذه اليوميات لا يمكنه قراءتها. اليوم ، كان علينا أن نفترق في وقت أبكر من المعتاد. كانت غير مرتاحة للطريقة التي ينظر بها الناس إلينا. حاولت أن أريحها وأطمئنها ، لكنني لم أرغب في مضايقتها. انها محقة. لا يمكننا تجاهل حقيقة وضعنا. يجب أن أجد طريقة لتحريرها. لا ، سأجد طريقة لتحريرها.
Hieroglyphs. Literal hieroglyphs in this journal. Of course. This wasn't going any further until he figured out how to break this cipher. Looking through the box, Maru sorted through the effects until he found another small leatherbound book. He opened it to find... a guide? An instruction manual. There were letters, words, and phrases written in common, and next to them were clusters of these characters. There even appeared to be instructions on how to say the characters in this cipher. It took a moment for Maru to come to another startling realization.

This... This wasn't a cipher at all. This was a language. A completely different language that he'd never seen before. Dad was bilingual? And what tongue was this? Certainly, he'd never seen or heard anything like this before. Maru sighed. Before he could get any further into this journal, he apparently had to learn an entirely new language. He grumbled audibly.

"Thanks, Dad."

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Tate Iwamaru - The Shield of Stone

Post by ShinobiTruth » Mon Feb 28, 2022 3:37 pm

The most recent weeks that passed had been exceedingly busy. Maru’s world had been thrown into discord with his surprise appointment as the village’s newest Bannin, and that had come with the additional responsibility of a new title: Honmaru Division Commander. There had meetings, committees, tactical logs, incident reports, speeches. The political and social platitudes that he had been forced to endure had nearly sent him reeling. He had never imagined a time where he’d be thankful to have an existential quandary to solve before now. His quarters had been relocated as well, and though they were quite spacious, it felt incredibly odd to have more space than what he knew to do with. The only material benefit he valued was that his desk was bigger, which helped with organizing documents.

The documents that had been in the box his dad left him were laid out across that desk, each classification of form stacked neatly in one area or another. Maru had two books opened in front of him. The first was his father’s journal, written in this strange language. The other was a guide to learning. It baffled Maru how his father had been able to learn a new language so quickly. He also found it strange how things didn’t translate perfectly between the two. Was this normal for differences in language? And where the heck had this language come from? He’d started this search looking for answers and had wound up with more questions instead.

It had taken those weeks of diligent practice, but Maru had a passable level of skill with this language. It was hard for his tongue and palette to conform to the structures necessary to make some of the sounds though. He would need more practice. For now, though, he was trying to read further into his father’a journal. He was writing down the exact translation, and he was almost certain he was missing some meaning.

This is the first time I write in this language. I wanted to make sure that anyone who finds this diary cannot read it. Today, we had to part earlier than usual. She was uncomfortable with the way people looked at us. I tried to comfort her and reassure her, but I didn't want to bother her. She's right. We cannot ignore the reality of our situation. I have to find a way to free it. No, I'll find a way to free it.

Parsing through the text, he started making edits. He wasn’t certain if it was exactly correct, but it seemed that there were certain meanings he could infer based on context clues. For several tense minutes, he would scribble, cross out, and scribble some more, the pen working furiously on the page of the notepad. The words began to unfurl and reform anew before his very eyes. He mumbles the new entry under his breath:

”This is the first time I’ve written in this language. I want to make sure that anyone who finds this journal can’t read it. Today, we had to part ways earlier than usual. She was uncomfortable with the way people looked at us. I tried to comfort her and reassure her, but I didn't want to belittle her. She's right. We cannot ignore the reality of our situation. I have to find a way to free it. No, I will find a way to free it.”

Maru shook his head. This made no sense. His parents had just been normal people, right? Who would care if they were dating? Why would people be so openly hostile? And what were they looking to free? What was the it the not was referring to? He needed more information. Maru read the next entry.

شعرت ... رائع. كان الأمر أشبه بمشاهدة النجوم في سماء الليل. لقد كانت محجوزة للغاية خلال الأشهر الثلاثة الماضية ، خائفة حتى من أن تمسك بأيديها في الأماكن العامة. لكننا اليوم ذهبنا في نزهة بعيدًا عن أي شخص آخر في القرية. كانت الأشجار تعلو فوقنا ونحن نأكل ونتحدث. ثم مدت يدها وأخذت يدي. ثم قبلتني. لقد كانت عميقة وعاطفية ، ولن أنسى هذه اللحظة ما دمت على قيد الحياة.

أعتقد أنني وقعت في الحب رسميًا. ولا يهمني ما تفكر فيه القرية عنا. أريد أن تكون هذه المرأة لي.

The same process as before. This time was harder, though. Maru struggled with some of the words. They were unfamiliar, but he was able to sparse them out:

You kissed me today. I'm still in shock. I felt...fabulous. It was like watching the stars in the night sky. She's been very reserved for the past three months, afraid even to hold hands in public. But today we went for a walk away from everyone else in the village. Trees were rising above us as we ate and talked. Then she reached out and took mine. Then she kissed me. It was deep and emotional, and I will never forget this moment as long as I live.

I think I've officially fallen in love. And I don't care what the village thinks of us. I want this woman to be mine.


Maru knew he had to adjust his translation, but he caught the meaning even without a perfect manuscript. He couldn’t help a reminiscent smile that crept onto his lips, if only briefly. Another flurry of scribbling followed:

”She kissed me today. I'm still in shock. It felt… wonderful. It was like watching the stars in the night sky. She's been very reserved for the past three months, afraid even to hold hands in public. But today we went for a picnic away from everyone else in the village. The trees towered above us as we ate and talked. Then she reached out and took my hand. Then she kissed me. It was deep and emotional, and I will never forget this moment as long as I live.

I think I've officially fallen in love. And I don't care what the village thinks of us. I want this woman to be mine.”


The village? Yet another question instead of answers. Why would the village think any differently about them? ”Damn it, Dad, can’t you just talk straight for once?” he grumbled. This process was becoming tiring. He decided he’d do one more entry and call it a day.

As Maru turned the page, he immediately noticed a change. Those lines and curves that Hayabusa had been so attentive to were more jagged, with sharper corners. Maru didn’t understand why, but if he didn’t know any better…

…Had his dad been angry when he wrote this?

Maru shook his head and went to work reading the next entry:

أنا لا أفهم. من بين كل من اعتقدت أنهم سيدعمونني ، والدي هو من يعارض زواجي من أماني أكثر من غيره. لقد حاولت كل ما في وسعي لجعله يرى ما أرى. إنهم أناس مثلنا تمامًا. أماني مصنوعة من نفس اللحم والدم مثلنا. ومع ذلك ، كل ما يراه هو لون بشرتها وغرابة ملابسها ولهجتها. إنه يريد فقط أن يرى ما هو مختلف عنها ، ثم تجرأ على إخباري أنه "لا يمكنك الزواج من ممتلكات".

لم أقترب أبدًا من ضرب والدي من قبل. كيف اهتمامه؟! إنها ملكية لأن بعض اللفائف اللعينة تقول ذلك ، وبمجرد أن أشتري عقدها ، لن تكون كذلك. لا يهم إذا كانت أماني جارية. أنا أحبها وهي تحبني! لماذا لا يكفيه ذلك ؟!

Maru began to translate the phrase. He was nearly complete when his eyes recognized a word that short-circuited his brain. …No. No, there was no way. That had to be a mistake. His scrawling more deliberate, more urgent, Maru finished translating the entry:

I do not understand. Of all those I thought would support me, my father is the one who opposes my marriage to Amani the most. I tried everything in my power to make him see what I see. They are people just like us. Amani is made of the same flesh and blood as us. However, all he sees is the color of her skin, the strangeness of her clothes, and her tone. He just wants to see what's different from her, and then dares to tell me that "you can't marry a property".

I've never come close to hitting my father before. How dare he?! It's proprietary because some damn scroll says so, and once I buy her necklace, it won't. It doesn't matter if Amani is underway. I love her and she loves me! Why isn't that enough for him?!


”You can’t marry a property.” No. Th-This has to be some mistake on his part. Maru furiously scribbled his translation after adjusting for grammar, context cues, and alternate definitions, staring hard at the page as he struggled to keep from falling apart completely.

I don't understand. Of all those I thought would support me, my father is the one who opposes my marriage to Amani the most. I tried everything in my power to make him see what I see. They are people just like us. Amani is made of the same flesh and blood as us. But all he sees is the color of her skin, the strangeness of her clothes and language. He just wants to see what's different from her, and then he tried to tell me that 'you can't marry property.'

I've never come close to hitting my father before. How dare he?! She's property because some damn scroll says so, and once I buy her contract, she won't be. It doesn't matter if Amani is a slave. I love her and she loves me! Why isn't that enough for him?!


…A slave. His mother, a slave? No. Nononono… No. This… This can’t… There had to be some other explanation. Maru quickly scanned over the rest of the documents, the dread clearly written on his face as he searched for more answers. His eyes were drawn to the scroll, now understanding what it might be. He picked it up, slowly thumbing over the cord that tied it shut. But even though his mind knew what was inside, his heart refused to acknowledge it. He shoved it roughly into his jacket and instead found a peculiar map with a particular area circled on it. It took a minute to understand the picture, as well as a quick reference to an updated map, but he found where it was, roughly a day’s ride from here.

He didn’t waste a second walking out of his quarters, slamming the door behind him.

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Tate Iwamaru - The Shield of Stone

Post by ShinobiTruth » Tue Mar 01, 2022 4:45 pm

Hooves rapidly crunched against snow and ice, the steed carrying a lone warrior through the frigid tundra. Maru’s hands tightly gripped the reins, and the wind beat against the insulated coat of emerald green that had become his trademark. Spring had not yet arrived on this plateau, ice just barely having begun to melt, but Maru barely felt the cold. His mind was already hot from the thinly veiled fear and rage from what he was seeking to disprove. The horse he rode on was a warhorse, bred specially for both speed and endurance. He’d already spoken with his intelligence officers to keep a close eye on threats to either himself or the village while he was gone. Should they receive word of a credible threat, they were to immediately dispatch shinobi to notify both himself and every single active-duty Bannin in the village, including the Tsuchikage Tatsuo himself. He had communicated the exact coordinates and his exact travel route, as well as two alternate routes of return, should the first somehow no longer be passable. It was annoying but necessary. His new position required that his location be known at nearly all times when he ventured out of the village. He was an asset, one that could be targeted by enemies, and they would use whatever opportunity they could find to strike.

It was with that peace of mind that Maru sped across the land, about one day’s travel from the village. He’d set out at midnight and rode without stop save for a spattering of rest stops for the horse. What would normally require a full day Maru had managed in six hours, pushing the horse to its limits. He wouldn’t normally put this noble beast through such rigors, but he needed to see this for himself. For better or worse, he would have his desperate questions answered. The area itself was nothing of importance to the village. It was just another frozen ruin, a tribe of nomads that had been captured by slavers and subsequently sold to the village many years ago. It was one of the last nomadic tribes to be enslaved in Earth Country before external slave traders had been contracted by the village and the Daimyo. Nearly forty years had passed since that time. Maru didn't expect to find much of anything despite needing conclusive answers. The scroll in his jacket pocket thwapped uncomfortably against his thigh, its weight a constant reminder of the horrible truth he was trying to so passionately disprove.

Maru came upon the ruins suddenly, the horse skidding to a stop at a sheer drop that bowled out to a flat floor of pristine white. Though the dawn had just come, it had shed enough light to where even with the large shadow that was cast upon the inside of the depression, the unmistakable signs of shattered tent posts and sundered carriages were visible. The horse panted heavily from the effort it had exerted to make this trip so quickly. Maru patted the horse on its neck, quickly dismounting and taking the feed bag from the saddle along with a metal pole adorned by a single hook. He slung the feed bag on the hook after stabbing the metal pole into the ground. There was plenty of snow on the ground, so the horse's thirst would not be an issue. As he turned to look at the town below, Maru found it difficult to step forward. His breathing was shallow with anxiety, and he was finding it hard to focus. There was no trauma to blame here for his fear. This was coming from... somewhere else. He couldn't even describe it. But he'd come all the way here. Why was it now that he was so afraid to move forward?

He couldn't admit to himself that he was scared of what he would find. And it was that stubborn pride that pushed him forward.

With a short hop, Maru breached the lip of the valley walls and he slid down. The camp that seemed so small slowly began to grow in his vision as he reached the bottom. It was still a ways away even when he came to a stop, knee-deep in snow. Undeterred, Maru plowed through, the ruins of the camp becoming more distinct with each step. The quiet that would normally be a source of solace only caused his apprehension to heighten as his steps were punctuated by the shuffling and crunching of the dense snowfall. He had been hoping that he'd see something that either immediately confirmed or debunked the insanity that his father's journal held within its pages, and he found his frustration mounting when that wasn't the case. He knew he wasn't like himself. Even before he'd started to get better, this would have been a particularly bad day. With Sayuri's support, he wasn't even able to recall the last time he'd coped this poorly. Every muscle in his body was tensed, each nerve firing indiscriminately like his mind itself was short-circuiting. His eyes felt unsteady despite being able to still see clearly, and he didn't realize it yet, but his hands were balled into white-knuckled fists.

Before he knew it, Maru stood in the middle of this camp. There was no way it would have fit a large population. At most, maybe thirty, forty people could have resided here at one point. He saw faded canvas and furs, whatever colors and dyes they might have had used had been bleached by the sun and doused by rain and snow. Maru began carefully inspecting the ruins, starting with the largest pieces of shattered pottery he found, the only pieces that stuck above the snow. His fingers traced over the tribal etchings and paintings. Though much of the glaze had worn away, it seemed that this tribe had used tools to carve depictions of various animals and natural forces into their ceramics before baking them. They weren't enough to compromise the piece, and they certainly didn't stand out from afar, but they were fairly intricate upon closer inspection. Still, he didn't see anything he recognized, lightly tossing it aside before finding the next one he could examine. He'd spend the better part of an hour scouring the pottery he found here. Much of the same imagery was repeated. It seemed that whoever had lived here, there was a consistent meaning to these symbols and images, though Maru could hardly imagine what.

His initial search bearing no fruit, he then turned his attention to the large overturned carriage, half-shattered and covered with a tattered burlap tarp. Or at least that's what Maru saw at first. But in stepping closer, he found that the burlap was merely an outer covering. Below was tanned leather, and while the exposed backs of the leather were just as bleached and tattered as the rest of the burlap, most of the hides that had been covered by the burlap still survived. Given the intense cold of the winters here, he wasn't particularly surprised that much of this was still in fairly good condition. Removing the covering. Maru looked inside, and though what he found still didn't provide answers, it made his stomach turn nonetheless. His eyes focused on what he could clearly recognize as a doll. It was missing its arm, and much of the straw that had stuffed it had turned to chaff and dust, but it was unmistakable. So, there had been children here. Suddenly the cold felt much more present, and Maru couldn't help a shiver that burrowed its way along his spine. Reaching down, he picked it up. The shape of the doll seemed vaguely familiar, but yet again there was nothing that truly stood out.

His first snapping sense of realization came as he carefully examined the rest of the carriage. The inside had been kept well-preserved due to the climate outside, and the imagery of monsters falling against spears was clearly evident. Maru remembered the lyre that Sayuri's friend had played in the market. Those monsters looked... frighteningly similar. A pit formed in his chest as his mind involuntarily started putting pieces of information together. There had been a reason why this place had been marked. This wasn't just some coincidence. Everything in that box had something to do with his father and his relationship with his mother. If this area was circled on a map, it meant something to them... or perhaps, something to his mother. He struggled to grapple with this understanding and the panic that was creeping into his chest. Roughly throwing the canopy of the carriage back over to cover it, he turned and walked away from it.

That girl's face was in his head again. Damn it. 'Get out. Get out. I'm not the same person I was before. I had no choice. I was just following orders. I didn't know before then! I won't go hating myself for this. I didn't hurt you. I treated you just like I would anyone else I don't know.' His eyes looked forward, trying to occupy his mind with something else, anything other than that haunting girl's eyes. The panic continued to mount in his chest, his breathing bordering hyperventilation, his skin crawling with needles. And then he saw it. A large pole that had been draped by a large fur-lined canvas finally slipped away, and at the top of the pole, he saw something that confirmed every single fear that had been haunting him since he read that damned journal. At the top of the center pole...

...It was a carving of a soldier, primitive with a spear and shield. The same carvings that he'd seen on that lyre... the same carvings he'd seen on his mother's instruments. This... this was where she had been living when she'd been captured. This was where her freedom was taken away, her heritage stolen from her. And Maru, willing or otherwise, had participated in that evil. As far as he was concerned, he might as well have put the shackles around his mother’s hands himself.

That pit in his chest started to burn like acid, and his hands began to tremble. Turning away from the camp, Maru’s coordination left him in his panic, his normal steady stride giving way to cross-legged stumbling. His vision quickly blurred as tears swiftly welled up and poured from his eyes, the young man quickly being eaten alive by his guilt. His feeble footwork soon failed not fifty paces from the border of the campsite and he hit the ground on his knees, sliding across the snow. Maru’s heart was punching through his chest and the burning pit simply would not go away. The images of that day he helped take those slaves to the village flashed painfully through his mind. He felt his composure and sanity quickly disintegrate as his breaths came in raspy, choking gasps and he rocked back and forth, hugging himself with equally unsteady hands. He needed to shout. He needed to hit something. He needed something to break.

”AAAAAAAHHHHHH!” A visceral scream ripped from his throat, his fists slamming into the ground beneath him full force. The earth buckled, cracked, and shattered all at once. Snow, ice, dirt, and stone rocketed high into the sky, the area around him practically exploding from the raw might of the mentally and emotionally broken child. His fists would plunge into the earth, again and again, the ground below splitting and fracturing beneath his unrestrained remorse, until his fists went numb and his body shook from the strain. His ears rang with a high-pitched whine from the violent turbulence, drowning out the sound of his heart shattering into pieces.

As the dust and snow settled, Maru sat on his knees, despondent in his grief, hunched over and sobbing audibly. His eyes turned skyward in search of an answer that he knew he wouldn’t find. Bitterness and spite boiled up within him, the encroaching silence rent by his agony. ”WHY, FATHER?!” he bellowed, voice echoing into the heavens. ”WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!”
”It was your mother’s wish, my son.”

Maru looked down slowly. He was standing in a pristine snowy field that stretched on forever. Not ten paces away stood the ever familiar face of his departed father, Hayabusa. It didn’t register to Maru immediately that his eyes looked profoundly sad, too absorbed in his own consternation as he was. Given this fact, his response after a long pause dripped with thinly veiled rage. ”…What,” he finally spat out, half a whisper and half a growl, compelling his feet to walk forward with the tears still streaming down his face.

Hayabusa shook his head, his eyes downcast as he recalled his wife’s words to him. ”I was against it. I wanted you to know about everything. I knew that it might be only a matter of time before you were forced to-“

Hayabusa’s words were cut short as his son’s fist slammed into his gut. Despite being a spirit, it still hurt, coughing up saliva and stomach acid as he lurched and hit the ground hard on his knees. Maru couldn’t tell what was blinding him more, his tears or the indignation he felt at the notion that his mother would ever say such a thing. ”How dare you lie in her name, you damn bastard! She’d never hide that from me!” he barked.

On account of the pain and trying to catch his breath, Hayabusa couldn’t respond at first. Slowly, he steadied himself, looking up at his son as he clutched his stomach. ”…Hit me as much as you want, son. The truth won’t change. I’m no saint. I failed you in many ways… but never once have I lied to you,” he grunted, his eyes unwavering in their conviction.

Maru roughly grabbed the collar of his father’s shirt and raised his fist, his arm trembling with fury. He wanted nothing more than to lay into him, to still try and deny this unavoidable truth, through brutal violence if necessary. But his eyes stayed his hand. Damn his father’s eyes, so full of sorrow and resolve, begging forgiveness for this sin of love. Shoving him away, Maru turned away, his whole body trembling as his own guilt continued to crush him. His whispered sobbing resumed with hushed pitches and raspy breaths. Hayabusa managed to stand back up on his feet, so desperately longing to reach out to his son yet uncertain as to how the gesture would be received.

”…Y-You saw what happened… What the village does. What I did,” Maru stammered, voice thick with grief. He sunk to his knees, weeping into the snow. ”…I-I can’t get their faces out of my head. They still haunt me every night. Those p-people, my people. I took their freedom away, I ruined their lives… for what? Loyalty? Respect? The glory of a damn village?! I was there… I-If I had known…”

Maru slowly sat back and drew his knees to his chest, leaning his forehead against them. Hayabusa looked upon his poor son, so brokenhearted, and reflected on how pitifully he had failed him in life. It was that regret that kept his spirit in this world. He would not fail his son again, not now. Slowly walking over, he sat down next to his son, squeezing his shoulder before embracing him, drawing him to lean against him with a single arm over his shoulders in a hug. Maru relented, accepting the embrace as he shook uncontrollably. ”Why, father? Why didn’t she want me to know?” he pleaded, too emotionally weak to do anything but beg to understand. His mother had been his world as a child. The notion that she'd kept secrets from him was just as painful as everything else he'd learned.

Rubbing his son’s shoulder, Hayabusa’s reply came just as softly. ”…Your mother loved her people, my son… But for how truly great her heart was, she loved you more,” he confessed. ”She didn’t want you to hate the village for what they had done. Your mother saw an opportunity for you in the hands of her captors. She wanted you to be free of the chains of her past, for you to have a fresh start. For you to have that chain around your neck, the son of a slave… Even I wasn’t certain if you’d be able to be a shinobi. And even if you had, you almost certainly wouldn’t have been treated the same as the others. She wanted the hard life to end with her and me, son. And I loved you both too much to deny her, even though I felt differently.”

Maru hated it. He hated everything he said. And he hated that, in his heart, he knew everything that he said was true. Maru had always done his utmost to endure in the face of adversity and strife, but at this moment, after years of persevering, he’d found his limit. He could not bear the unfairness of the here and now. And of all people, his father was the one comforting him. The resentment that he’d held inside for a decade finally started to release. For these few brief seconds, he felt inexplicably weak, like a long-held tension finally releasing. The child within him dared to speak, and he would not hold it back. ”…I wish you were here, Dad. I wish this wasn’t all we had left,” he whimpered, roughly wiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand.

Hayabusa’s lip quivered for a moment, nearly overcome by sadness himself, holding his son just a bit tighter. ”I do too, son,” he agreed. ”…But my time has passed. This moment is the only redemption this life will allow me. And there are others who care for you. One who loves you very much, even.”

Maru stopped trembling, his understanding immediate. Finally dropping one of his knees, he let his father see his face clearly. His cheeks were puffy from his mourning, but there was a faint smile on his face, growing wider by the second. ”Sayuri… You were right about her, Dad. She’s… the most wonderful person I’ve ever known. I love her from the bottom of my heart. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” He clasped his hands together, arms looping around one of his knees as he stared at his hands, his smile fading slightly as his fear got the best of him for a moment. "...What is she going to think when I tell her?"

Hayabusa shook his head. "That woman... she's a lot like your mother. If there is anyone who would be understanding, it's her," he reassured his son. "And you are my son. You've faced things that would have broken me... and things that did break me. I have faith you can overcome this, too, in your own way."

Beckoning his son to stand, Hayabusa picked his son up from the ground. Maru stood, his legs once again finding the strength to stand. It was as Maru turned to face his father that he noticed his outline starting to grow brighter. He seemed to notice it as well, his eyes accepting what it meant with a resigned calm. Maru knew that this was simply a vision in his head, a psychotic break onset by extreme stress. Yet Maru couldn't help but feel that this would be the last time he would really, truly see his father. He regretted not telling his father how he felt before he died, never reconciling the rift that had grown between them. Hayabusa sighed. "It seems I'm not long for this life, son. For what it's worth... I'm glad I got to see you as a man before passing on. You're a better person than I could have hoped you'd become... better than I could ever be. If there's anything I've ever told you that you should believe... let it be that."

Instinct told him that Maru had to speak now. If he didn't, he'd never get another chance. He stepped forward, and the confusion visibly flashed across Hayabusa's face. Maru wrapped his arms around his father in a firm hug one last time. "I haven't forgotten everything you did. I'm still angry about how you shut yourself off to me. I was still hurt by you... But I know you did everything you could to make me strong. I know you cared, deep down. And I'm sorry that I didn't try to understand your pain like I should have."

He squeezed his father just a little tighter. "...I love you, Dad."

Even as he faded into the ever-increasing glow of white Maru felt his father relax into his arms. Hayabusa's voice cracked, and his arms wrapped around his son just as tightly. "...I will always love you, my son... Thank you."

The world faded into a light of pure white.

Maru's eyes opened. He was staring at the sky, the sun cresting over the ridge as he stood in the crater of his own making. Whatever vision he had just had, he could tell he'd been here for only about an hour. The fact that he was still safe, and that his horse had remained despite the panic he'd likely caused the creature, was a miracle he would not waste by deliberating it any further. His muscles felt limp. When had he been sapped of his strength? Wait... no, that wasn't it. It was that he'd finally relaxed. The tension he'd held constantly inside of him was gone. Every emotional burden that he'd been carrying had finally been released. He breathed slowly. The air was crisper than he remembered. His skin tingled from the cold. It set his senses alive. The sound of fleeting birds echoed through the air. He didn't remember their songs sounding so clear, so pleasant. He knew that at some point the doubts would come back. Things wouldn't be perfect. His problems wouldn't be fixed overnight. But he had the hope that now, they could be fixed. And now, he had a goal.

Walking up the side of the crater, his eyes turned to look upon the camp one last time. What happened here couldn't be allowed to continue. He was Iwamaru. He was the son of a shinobi... and the son of a slave. He had committed the sin of taking the freedom of others. And he would pay penance for that sin... whatever that might take. He only hoped that his mother and father might look upon him with pride as they continued into the next life.

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