“The wind never stops in this damned place.”

The Fourth Kazekage, Rasa’s, voice was a harsh growl that barely rose above the constant whistling of the wind. The desert air, scorching and thick with fine sand, battered his face, a relentless sandpaper that seemed to want to erase any expression. He stood on the edge of a forgotten canyon on the border between the Land of Wind and the Land of Fire, a dead spot on the map that belonged to no one.

Two figures stood behind him, as silent as the rocks that surrounded them. Baki, his most trusted jōnin, kept his face half-covered by cloth, but his sharp eyes never stopped moving, scanning the horizon. Beside him, Setsuna, a silent assassination specialist from Suna’s ANBU squad, remained motionless, a statue of loyalty and contained danger.

“He should have arrived by now,” Baki said, his voice muffled by the fabric. “This is reckless, Lord Kazekage. Making a deal with that snake…”

“Recklessness is a luxury Sunagakure can no longer afford, Baki,” Rasa replied without turning. His golden eyes were fixed on the setting sun, which was bleeding over the dunes and staining the world a reddish-orange. “The Feudal Lord of Fire has cut our funding. Our missions are dwindling. Konoha prospers while our village withers under this relentless sun. The humiliation of dependence is a disease worse than any poison.”

His mind was a whirlwind of justifications and a bitterness as deep as the canyon at his feet. I’ve pushed for months for them to accept my children into Konoha’s Chūnin Exams, he thought, the memory of the political negotiations leaving a taste of ash in his mouth. A formality, I told them. A gesture of goodwill. And they bought it. A perfect excuse to infiltrate our greatest weapon into their own backyard.

He thought of Gaara. Not as a son, but as a variable in an equation of power. A monster contained in a fragile vessel, an ace up his sleeve that, if played correctly, would restore Suna’s honor.

“I don’t trust Orochimaru,” he continued, more to himself than to his men. “Trusting a snake is for fools. But I understand him. His venom is his hatred for Konoha. And my venom is desperation. Two venoms, Baki, can sometimes create an antidote. Today, we will ensure the dose is correct.”

Just as he finished speaking, the wind stopped.

It was not a gradual calm. It was an abrupt cut. The constant whistle that had been the soundtrack to their wait died, leaving an unnatural, heavy silence. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees.

Baki and Setsuna were instantly on guard, their hands on their weapons.

From the deepest shadows of the canyon, where a second before there had been nothing, five figures emerged. They slid into the light without a sound, as if they were part of the moving rock itself.

At the front was him. Orochimaru. His skin was pale, almost white under the evening light. His golden eyes, with their vertical, reptilian pupils, shone with an ancient and malevolent intelligence. A smile formed on his thin lips, a curve that promised nothing good.

“Lord Kazekage.” His voice was a soft, almost melodic hiss that nonetheless made the skin on Rasa’s arms crawl. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long. The beauty of the desert is so… absorbing.”

Behind him, four figures remained in a deadly silence. Rasa recognized them from the reports: the Sound Four. And a fifth, a young man with white hair and two red dots on his forehead, whose presence was as cold and empty as a corpse’s. Kimimaro.

“You’re late, Orochimaru,” Rasa said, his voice attempting to project an authority he didn’t quite feel.

“Patience is a virtue, especially when planning the fall of one of the great nations,” Orochimaru replied, approaching with a fluidity that was not entirely human. “I trust your… assets… are already in position within Konoha for the exams.”

The way he said “assets” instead of “children” did not go unnoticed by Rasa.

“Temari and Kankurō will play their part. And Gaara…” he paused. “Gaara is under control. For now. He will be the key, just as we agreed. When the signal is given in the final round of the exams, he will release the Shukaku. The chaos will be our cover to eliminate the Third Hokage.”

“Kukuku… your son,” Orochimaru hissed, his forked tongue darting out for an instant. “Such a marvelous and exquisitely broken weapon. A testament to Suna’s audacity. You must be very proud.”

The compliment was a silk glove filled with blades. Rasa clenched his jaw.

“Pride doesn’t win wars. Results do. Your Sound ninja, are they ready? My spies report that Konoha’s security will be tighter than ever during the exams.”

“My ninja are… very persuasive,” Orochimaru said, his smile widening. “They will enter the village as lambs, and they will become wolves when the time comes. The plan is flawless. Suna’s attack from the outside, the chaos from your Bijū on the inside, and my… personal touch… to ensure Konoha’s leadership is decapitated.”

As they spoke, their subordinates watched each other in a silent duel. Baki and Setsuna were as tense as bowstrings, every muscle ready to react. Opposite them, Kimimaro stood with empty eyes, a deadly calm. Beside him, Tayuya, the only girl in the quartet, smirked mockingly, and Sakon and Ukon seemed to vibrate with a contained, violent energy. The hostility was an invisible beast between them.

“There is one more detail to discuss,” Rasa said, trying to regain control of the conversation. “The division of the spoils. Once Konoha falls, the territory…”

Orochimaru raised a hand, a lazy gesture that nonetheless silenced Rasa instantly.

“Details, details. All in due time, Lord Kazekage. First, let us seal our pact. The confirmation that our two great villages, united by a common purpose, will march together to correct the mistakes of history.”

He stepped closer and extended his pale hand. Rasa looked him in the eyes. In those golden pupils, he did not see an ally. He saw an abyss. But he had already come too far. His village’s future depended on this pact. With a hesitation only he felt, he shook Orochimaru’s hand. It was cold. Unpleasantly cold.

“To a new era for Suna,” Rasa said, his voice firm.

“To a new era,” Orochimaru repeated, his smile reaching its fullest expression.

They held the handshake for a second longer than necessary. Then, Orochimaru let go. Rasa felt a wave of grim relief. The deal was done. The risk had been worth it. He turned slightly to give an order to his men, to signal that the meeting was over.

It was his last mistake.

There was no war cry. There was no warning. Just a sound.

A soft, wet sound, like a ripe fruit being pierced.

Rasa spun around. The air froze in his lungs.

Kimimaro was standing where he hadn’t been a second before. Behind Setsuna. A bone, sharp as a spear and white as ivory, protruded from the Suna ANBU’s chest. Blood soaked the front of his uniform. Setsuna looked at his Kage, his eyes wide with surprise and betrayal, before collapsing to the ground without a sound.

Baki reacted, a choked cry in his throat as he drew his blade. But he was too late. The members of the Sound Four moved as one. Tayuya unleashed a sonic wave from her flute that paralyzed him for an instant. It was enough. Sakon and Ukon struck him from two angles, and Jirōbō finished him with a punch that sent him crashing against the canyon wall. He fell as an unconscious heap, gravely wounded but alive.

The whole thing had lasted less than three seconds.

“Damned traitor!” Rasa roared, shock giving way to volcanic fury.

Gold surged from the sand at his feet, a bright, heavy wave that lunged toward Orochimaru.

“Gold Dust: Torrential Rain!”

Orochimaru didn’t even move. He simply smiled as the wave of gold approached.

“Naive,” he hissed.

Just before the gold crushed him, his body fell apart. It became a mass of white snakes that scattered, avoiding the attack with unnatural fluidity. The snakes regrouped behind Rasa.

“Did you truly believe I would share Konoha’s destruction with you, Rasa?” Orochimaru’s voice echoed from his new position. “This is my revenge. My experiment. You were just the key to open the door. And now… I no longer need you.”

Rasa turned, preparing another wave of his golden sand. But a shadow fell over him. Orochimaru, from above, had extended his neck grotesquely, his head descending like a viper about to strike.

“DIE!” Rasa screamed.

But Orochimaru’s mouth opened, and from it came not a sound, but a blade of pale light: the legendary Kusanagi sword.

The blade pierced Rasa’s gold defense as if it were paper. It ran through his shoulder and his heart with insulting ease. The pain was a blinding, white explosion.

Rasa fell to his knees, his own gold falling around him like useless rain. He looked down at the sword protruding from his chest. His last thoughts were not of hatred, but of crushing regret. He thought of his village, doomed. He thought of his children, turned into weapons for a purpose that would now never be fulfilled. He thought of Gaara, the monster he had created, who would now be another’s tool. His failure was absolute.

Orochimaru landed softly in front of him and withdrew the blade with a wet sound. Rasa collapsed onto the sand, the life leaving his golden eyes.

The Sannin knelt beside the body, his face a mask of cold satisfaction.

“Make sure there’s no trace of his bodyguards left,” he ordered his minions. “I… will put on my new disguise.”

Under the impassive gaze of Kimimaro and the others, Orochimaru placed his hands on the dead Kazekage’s face. Rasa’s skin began to bubble and melt under his touch, a grotesque sight. Orochimaru took a deep breath, and the essence, the face, and the identity of Rasa were absorbed into him. His own body reconfigured itself under the Kazekage’s robes, adopting his height and shape.

When he was finished, he stood up. He was a perfect replica of the Fourth Kazekage. He picked up the conical hat that had fallen in the sand and placed it on his head. He observed himself in the reflection of the Kusanagi’s bloodied blade. He saw Rasa’s face, but the eyes that stared back were those of the snake.

He approached Baki, who lay unconscious and badly wounded.

“Let this one live,” he hissed in Rasa’s voice. “He will need to tell a believable story about an ambush by Rock ninja. He will be a useful witness.”

He turned, his new figure silhouetted against the rising moon. His gaze drifted northeast, toward the distant Konoha.

Perfect, he thought, as a smile that was not Rasa’s formed on his new lips. Sunagakure’s participation in the Chūnin Exams has just been… secured. Now, to pay a visit to my old home. And to claim my future apprentice.