The journey homeward had been a long and silent affair. The pack of shinobi, stricken with grief at the loss of Kitsune and Masao, and burdened with the injuries sustained at the hands of the late terrorist organization known as “The Kingslayers”, found little solace in their self-imposed silence. Jo hadn’t said a word since Tenouza; rather, he spent the trip in a semi-comatose state. Pure muscle memory kept him on his horse, and the beast itself had little trouble following the rest of the group without his guidance. At night, he’d dismount and perform his camp-duties without a word; no protest, no affirmation. He hadn’t slept since arriving at the holy city, and the mental and physical exhaustion was starting to take its toll on the genin.
’No… chunin…’ Jo reminded himself. One of the final orders Masao had given through his will and testament was that Jo be promoted not only in rank, but also in title. He was now the Hand of the Merces Letifer, right hand to Do Natsu, the man Masao had chosen to replace him as Sennin of the Main Branch. Fancy words meant nothing when the man you had looked up to like a second father was dead and gone. Titles were of little import when you got to go home, but a teammate didn’t. He could’ve been deemed Raikage, and it wouldn’t have made a difference; he still had to go home to Saeko and tell her and Enishi of their fathers demise.
The gates loomed large ahead of the young man who only noticed his impending approach when the shadows gave him a chill. Mindlessly, he reached into his bag and removed his passport as he came within reach of the impossibly large wood and steel structure. Jo raised his fist and slammed it into the gate three times, then waited for someone to check his passport and let him in. Dark circles under his eyes and an exhausted slump of his shoulders showed his extreme weariness. He looked like he had aged several years since his departure; and I some ways, maybe he did.
{MFT: 355}
