THE KAZEKAGE'S SUMMONS
Primus Tower - Morning - Kazekage's Office
Primus Tower - Morning - Kazekage's Office
The morning light of Sunagakure's artificial sun cast golden rays through the towering windows of Primus Tower, warming the Kazekage's office with an illusion of surface-world dawn. Shin stood before the glass, his piercing blue eyes—forever marked by the Yurei Orchid's seal—reflecting the carmot-powered star that hung in their subterranean sky. Even after months of living beneath the earth again, the sight still carried a strange beauty. The engineers had done remarkable work mimicking the gradual color shifts of true sunrise, painting their dome in amber and rose.
He turned from the window and raised both hands, palms up. Chakra gathered at his fingertips, golden and warm, coalescing into two small forms. Desert finches materialized in a shimmer of light—perfect replicas down to the soft brown plumage and black-tipped wings. They chirped softly, tilting their heads as they oriented themselves to their creator.
"Find them," the Phoenix Sage said quietly, his voice carrying the calm authority that had become his signature since taking the mantle. "Yamashiro Ryuni of the Flamebearer's house, and Renmei Tsumugu of the Waterbearer's commune. Tell them the Kazekage requests their presence. Primus Tower, my office. It's urgent, but not an emergency—they should come properly prepared as fully fledged shinobi of Sunagakure no Sato."
The finches sang in acknowledgment, their voices eerily perfect. Shin moved to the window once more, unlatching it to allow the morning breeze—carefully circulated through the village's ventilation systems—to drift inside. The birds took flight immediately, their wings catching the sunlight as they dove toward the residential districts below. He watched them disappear into the maze of glass and stone, two golden messengers carrying a summons that would change the trajectories of two young lives.
The window remained open as Shin turned back to his office, allowing the recycled air to breathe through the space.
The office itself reflected its occupant—practical, welcoming, yet unmistakably purposeful. Shin moved through it now with the efficiency of someone who understood that small gestures created atmospheres, and atmospheres shaped conversations. He straightened the cushions on the low sitting area, adjusted the alignment of the scroll cases on his desk, and confirmed that the small brazier in the corner held sufficient charcoal should he need it for anything beyond the tea.
Tea.
Two ceramic kettles sat on a heating element near his workspace—one for green tea, another for a calming herbal blend made from desert sage and crystallized honey. Shin snapped his fingers, and a small, controlled flame appeared beneath each kettle, chakra-sustained and precise. The water would need fifteen minutes to reach the proper temperature. Genin deserved the same courtesy he would extend to council members. Perhaps more so—their nerves would benefit from the ritual.
While the water heated, Shin turned his attention to the refreshments he'd arranged earlier that morning. The low table in the sitting area displayed a careful selection: cucumber sandwiches cut into neat triangles, their edges still crisp; a plate of dorayaki, the sweet red bean pancakes that reminded him of his own academy days; delicate wagashi shaped like lotus blossoms; savory rice crackers brushed with soy glaze; and a small arrangement of honey-glazed pastries from the baker three streets down from the market square.
A smile crossed Shin's face as he adjusted the placement of a plate, ensuring everything appeared abundant but not excessive. He'd walked through the commercial district himself this morning—as he does every morning on his way to his office, visiting four different vendors to assemble this spread. Each purchase had been deliberate—the baker who'd lost her storefront in the evacuation and now operated from a stall, the confectioner whose husband had died in the recent battle, the tea merchant who'd given his entire savings to help fund the village's water purification systems.
His discretionary budget as Kazekage was substantial. He could have ordered catering from one of the established merchant houses, could have had servants prepare everything. But Shin had learned long ago that power meant nothing if it didn't flow downward, nourishing the roots rather than only feeding the canopy. Every yen he spent in those small stalls was a yen that stayed in the hands of the people who needed it most, cycling through the village's economy rather than consolidating in the vaults of those who already had plenty.
The Chikamatsu way, he thought, though he knew the irony wasn't lost on anyone. His clan had once been as guilty as any of hoarding influence and wealth. Wei's betrayal had taught them all what happened when the powerful forgot who they served.
The kettles began to whisper with the first stirrings of heat. Shin checked the time—perhaps twenty minutes before the genin would arrive, given how far each lived from Primus Tower. Time enough.
He moved to the east wall of his office, where carefully maintained planters housed a collection of vegetation that seemed impossibly vibrant for an underground city. Yurei Orchids—cuttings from the sacred plant his clan had protected for generations—bloomed in white and grey, their six petals a mirror of the seal across the nape of his neck. Beside them, desert succulents that required minimal water but maximum sunlight thrived under a dedicated photon infused carmot. A small bonsai tree, its trunk twisted with age, sat in a place of honor—a gift from Lord Takahashi after the council meeting.
Shin retrieved a watering can from beneath the planter stand, filling it from a pitcher of collected condensation. Water was precious, even here in their climate-controlled environment. The Renmei had taught the entire village that lesson well. He moved methodically from plant to plant, checking soil moisture with his fingers before administering careful amounts. The orchids received only a light misting—they preferred humidity to saturation. The succulents got barely a few drops. The bonsai required more attention; he'd been training a new branch and needed to check the wire placement.
As he worked, his mind drifted to the two young men he'd summoned. Yamashiro Ryuni—a name that carried the weight of the Flamebearer's passionate lineage. The Yamashiro were firebrands, zealots in the best and worst senses of the word. But they were also true, unflinchingly so. If Ryuni had inherited even a fraction of Lord Takeru's conviction, he would be a valuable asset. The question was whether that fire burned with purpose or simply burned.
Renmei Tsumugu—a child of the Waterbearer's clan, raised to understand scarcity and stewardship in equal measure. The Renmei were negotiators, thinkers, the calm voice in heated moments. But calm could become passivity if not tempered with courage. Shin hoped the boy had spine beneath the composure.
He set down the watering can and retrieved a small pair of pruning shears, carefully removing dead leaves from the orchids and trimming back an overenthusiastic succulent shoot. The repetitive motion was meditative, centering. He would need that center for what came next.
This mission was dangerous. B-Rank—officially within the parameters for experienced chūnin or even a team of genin with jōnin supervision, but this would be different. The Baron Twins had proven they fought without honor, without restraint. Sending children into that meat grinder went against every instinct Shin possessed as both a medical shinobi and a man who had sacrificed pieces of his soul to give life, not take it.
But war didn't care about his instincts.
The village needed intelligence. They needed eyes and ears in places where adults would be noticed, questioned, killed. Genin were an unfortunate necessity—young enough to slip through certain cracks, skilled enough to survive if things went sideways, and hopefully smart enough to run when running was the only option.
Twenty-three dead. Twenty-seven wounded. The numbers from the recent battle haunted him. How many more would there be before this war ended? How many of those names would be fresh academy graduates who should have had years of simple missions before facing anything like this?
Shin returned the shears to their place and washed his hands in a small basin, drying them on a clean cloth. The kettles were steaming now, almost ready. He moved to his desk and retrieved two files—thin dossiers compiled from academy records, clan reports, and his own observations during the few public events where he'd seen the boys in passing.
He didn't open them. He'd memorized the contents already. Instead, he set them aside and focused on the tea ceremony, measuring out leaves with practiced precision. Green tea for focus and clarity. The herbal blend for nerves and calm. He prepared both, setting them on the low table alongside the food.
Everything was ready.
Now came the hardest part... waiting, and preparing himself to look two young men in the eye and tell them he was sending them into danger that might kill them.
Shin settled into his chair behind the desk, folding his hands in his lap, and let his luminous blue eyes drift to the open window. Somewhere out there, two finches were delivering his message. Somewhere out there, two lives were about to change.
He exhaled slowly, centering himself in the way his medical training had taught him:
Calm
Steady
Present
Steady
Present
"Where water flows, life endures," he murmured, reciting the Renmei motto.
"Through flame, we are reborn," the Yamashiro words followed naturally.
Two clans. Two philosophies. Two young men who would need to embody both if they were going to survive what he was about to ask of them.
The Kazekage waited, bathed in artificial sunlight, surrounded by living things he'd tended with his own hands, and prepared to send children to war... or worse... death.