The desert wind was dry and biting, carrying grains of sand like tiny blades against the skin. Akari adjusted the dark scarf wrapped around his face, narrowing his eyes against the endless expanse of the Wind Country. He rode at the front of a small, swift squad—elite shinobi chosen for their speed and subtlety. They moved like shadows beneath the sun, silent and watchful.
No banners. No declarations.
Just eyes and ears.
They were two days into enemy territory, following whispers of Suna's sudden withdrawal and troop movement. No one spoke much, not even around the campfires. The silence wasn't from fear—it was the silence of veterans who sensed something wrong before the enemy ever showed themselves.
Akari knelt beside a withered cactus as the squad paused near a stone ridge. He brushed his gloved fingers through the dust and found the faint print of a shinobi sandal. Fresh. At most, a few hours old.
"They're close," he muttered.
Behind him, Kaede—his second-in-command—crouched to examine the track. "Too clean. They wanted us to find it."
Akari's eyes narrowed. "A warning?"
"Or bait."
He nodded, standing slowly. "Then we'll take it. But on our terms."
They moved at nightfall, using the falling darkness as a veil. Akari led them along a canyon path that twisted like a scar across the desert floor. Hours passed in tense quiet until Kaede raised her fist. Everyone froze.
From the shadows ahead, voices emerged—soft but hurried. Akari crept forward until the shapes came into view: four shinobi in Suna garb crouched near a sandstone wall, drawing a strange symbol with chakra-charged ink.
Akari's eyes sharpened. It wasn't a standard seal—it pulsed with an irregular hum, almost like it was alive.
He gave a hand signal. His squad fanned out without a word.
Then it happened.
One of the Suna shinobi turned too fast, and for a heartbeat, their eyes locked with Akari's. Surprise widened the man's face—but that moment was all it took.
In a blur, Akari dashed forward. Steel whispered from its sheath as he knocked the man unconscious with the flat of his blade. The others moved to react, but Kaede and the rest of the squad were already upon them.
It was over in seconds.
Akari crouched by the symbol as the last enemy was bound and silenced. The seal was smudged but still faintly glowing. He reached out, letting his chakra brush against it.
A sudden spike of resistance jolted through his fingers.
Kaede caught his arm. "It's reacting. That's no ordinary seal."
Akari pulled back. "It's like it's… aware."
A scout ran up from the rear. "We've found more. Dozens. Carved into the rocks. Shallow canyons. Even buried beneath the sand."
Akari's brow furrowed. "They're marking territory—but not for battle. This is something else. A net. A ritual."
He turned to the bound Suna operative and knelt. "What are you preparing? Speak, and your life may be spared."
The captive glared at him. "You don't understand. None of you do. The winds are shifting. The Land of Wind belongs to no village now—it belongs to the spirit beneath."
Akari's jaw tightened. "Spirit?"
The man laughed bitterly. "You'll see. When the sun is swallowed and the sands rise, you'll see what you've disturbed."
Kaede moved closer. "He's delirious."
"No," Akari murmured. "He's afraid."
That night, they buried the symbols, masked the site, and took the captives under chakra suppression. But even as they rode back toward the Fire Country border, Akari couldn't shake the words. A spirit beneath? A ritual?
Something ancient was stirring in the desert—and they'd only scratched the surface.
Back in Konoha, he would need to prepare.
The storm wasn't just coming.
It had already begun.