<6 months later>
The Raikage's office was warm that morning. The Third Raikage sat behind his wide desk, back straight, shoulders like a mountain range under his robes. A man of storms contained in flesh, his very stillness felt dangerous. Beside him, his long-time assistant Renga, a wiry man with greying hair tied back sorted through a pile of reports, flipping pages with that crisp, snapping sound that always seemed to irritate the Raikage less than spoken interruptions.
Killer Bee lounged in the far corner, his hat pulled low, legs spread casually. Even at his age, he had that swagger that made people either grin or roll their eyes. He hummed something under his breath, rhymes forming and breaking apart like waves... as he wrote something in his book.
And then there was young Ay. Not yet the future Fourth Raikage, but he already broad-shouldered, already quick to scowl. He sat on a low sofa near the desk, arms crossed tight, the leather creaking under his weight. He wasn't paying much attention to the paper shuffle or the old men's words. His attention was on the small bundle in Aya's lap.
Aya, radiant in a deep blue robe, leaned back against the sofa cushions with Kaien cradled in her arms. Six months old now, he was soft-cheeked and wide-eyed, his hair a dark tuft that stubbornly refused to lie flat. His mother's voice was a constant melody above him sometimes soft and low, sometimes rising like playful wind. She traced the tip of her finger along his cheek, down the bridge of his nose, to his tiny chin.
"You're pretending not to notice me," she whispered, lips curving into a smirk. "But I can see you thinking, little one."
Kaien didn't smile, but his gaze followed her finger with quiet focus.
Aya leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear. "If you keep staring like that, I might just have to kiss you until you giggle." She planted a quick kiss on his forehead, and Kaien blinked slowly, as if weighing whether to allow such an interruption to his thoughts.
"Yo, sis, give the boy some slack, let the little cloud nap in the sack," Bee chimed from the corner, not even looking up from fiddling with his rap book.
Aya shot him a look that mixed amusement with mild exasperation. "He's not sleeping. He's thinking. Aren't you, Kaien?"
Kaien made no noise, but his eyes were intent. She grinned. "See? Deep in thought, just like his mother."
The Third Raikage's voice cut through the gentle banter.
"We've lost more than we can replace," he said, his tone flat but carrying the weight of stone. "After the Second War, the treasury is hollow and our supplies are running thin. The shinobi corps are at half strength. And we will never see men like Kinkaku and Ginkaku again. Though they have disrespected the treaty between konoha and kumo. Their strength is real."
Aya's smile faded at the mention of the names. She had heard the stories since she was a girl about the two brothers whose bloodline and ferocity made them legends. In war, they were monsters in human skin, wielding the treasured tools of the Sage himself. They had held back armies, slaughtered Konoha's finest, and yet… they were gone. The details remained grim: their recklessness, their final stand, the bloody price Kumo paid to protect its borders. This is what was told.
Renga cleared his throat softly. "The loss of the Gold and Silver Brothers wasn't just manpower, Raikage-sama. It was morale. People believed in their invincibility. When they betrayed, some began to believe Kumo itself could fall."
The Raikage's hands rested heavily on the desk. "And so the enemy believes we are weak. The Daimyō will not grant new funds for rebuilding. If we want resources, we will take them from those who have them."
Aya shifted Kaien in her arms, her mind pulled between the hard words of her father and the soft weight of her son. Ay finally leaned forward, voice hard.
"Fath—Raikage-sama," he said, catching himself, "we can't sit still. Konoha and Iwa are bleeding each other dry in the Land of Grass. We move now, we can strike where it hurts. Take what we need. Recover faster than they can even stand."
The Raikage, not bothering about what his son just said, lifted his gaze from the paper in front of him and met his daughter's eyes. Kaien, feeling the shift in air, went very still.
Aya straightened, and her voice carried a sudden vitality he hadn't heard since before Kaien's birth. "Father, should we really get involved in war?" It wasn't doubt not exactly. It was calculation, laced with an unspoken plea: Do not waste lives for nothing.
The Raikage's silence was deliberate. Unlike his son, he didn't throw his decisions like punches. He let them build. He was calm, yes, but not gentle - steel sheathed, but never absent. When he did speak, it would be his final order.
<6 months later>
The Raikage's office was warm that morning. The Third Raikage sat behind his wide desk, back straight, shoulders like a mountain range under his robes. A man of storms contained in flesh, his very stillness felt dangerous. Beside him, his long-time assistant Renga, a wiry man with greying hair tied back sorted through a pile of reports, flipping pages with that crisp, snapping sound that always seemed to irritate the Raikage less than spoken interruptions.
Killer Bee lounged in the far corner, his hat pulled low, legs spread casually. Even at his age, he had that swagger that made people either grin or roll their eyes. He hummed something under his breath, rhymes forming and breaking apart like waves... as he wrote something in his book.
And then there was young Ay. Not yet the future Fourth Raikage, but he already broad-shouldered, already quick to scowl. He sat on a low sofa near the desk, arms crossed tight, the leather creaking under his weight. He wasn't paying much attention to the paper shuffle or the old men's words. His attention was on the small bundle in Aya's lap.
Aya, radiant in a deep blue robe, leaned back against the sofa cushions with Kaien cradled in her arms. Six months old now, he was soft-cheeked and wide-eyed, his hair a dark tuft that stubbornly refused to lie flat. His mother's voice was a constant melody above him sometimes soft and low, sometimes rising like playful wind. She traced the tip of her finger along his cheek, down the bridge of his nose, to his tiny chin.
"You're pretending not to notice me," she whispered, lips curving into a smirk. "But I can see you thinking, little one."
Kaien didn't smile, but his gaze followed her finger with quiet focus.
Aya leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear. "If you keep staring like that, I might just have to kiss you until you giggle." She planted a quick kiss on his forehead, and Kaien blinked slowly, as if weighing whether to allow such an interruption to his thoughts.
"Yo, sis, give the boy some slack, let the little cloud nap in the sack," Bee chimed from the corner, not even looking up from fiddling with his rap book.
Aya shot him a look that mixed amusement with mild exasperation. "He's not sleeping. He's thinking. Aren't you, Kaien?"
Kaien made no noise, but his eyes were intent. She grinned. "See? Deep in thought, just like his mother."
The Third Raikage's voice cut through the gentle banter.
"We've lost more than we can replace," he said, his tone flat but carrying the weight of stone. "After the Second War, the treasury is hollow and our supplies are running thin. The shinobi corps are at half strength. And we will never see men like Kinkaku and Ginkaku again. Though they have disrespected the treaty between konoha and kumo. Their strength is real."
Aya's smile faded at the mention of the names. She had heard the stories since she was a girl about the two brothers whose bloodline and ferocity made them legends. In war, they were monsters in human skin, wielding the treasured tools of the Sage himself. They had held back armies, slaughtered Konoha's finest, and yet… they were gone. The details remained grim: their recklessness, their final stand, the bloody price Kumo paid to protect its borders. This is what was told.
Renga cleared his throat softly. "The loss of the Gold and Silver Brothers wasn't just manpower, Raikage-sama. It was morale. People believed in their invincibility. When they betrayed, some began to believe Kumo itself could fall."
The Raikage's hands rested heavily on the desk. "And so the enemy believes we are weak. The Daimyō will not grant new funds for rebuilding. If we want resources, we will take them from those who have them."
Aya shifted Kaien in her arms, her mind pulled between the hard words of her father and the soft weight of her son. Ay finally leaned forward, voice hard.
"Fath—Raikage-sama," he said, catching himself, "we can't sit still. Konoha and Iwa are bleeding each other dry in the Land of Grass. We move now, we can strike where it hurts. Take what we need. Recover faster than they can even stand."
The Raikage, not bothering about what his son just said, lifted his gaze from the paper in front of him and met his daughter's eyes. Kaien, feeling the shift in air, went very still.
Aya straightened, and her voice carried a sudden vitality he hadn't heard since before Kaien's birth. "Father, should we really get involved in war?" It wasn't doubt not exactly. It was calculation, laced with an unspoken plea: Do not waste lives for nothing.
The Raikage's silence was deliberate. Unlike his son, he didn't throw his decisions like punches. He let them build. He was calm, yes, but not gentle - steel sheathed, but never absent. When he did speak, it would be his final order.