Chapter Fourteen: Turmoil

He stood in the field where the grass came up to his knees, wet with the dew that hadn't burned off from the morning. The sun was a pale thing behind the clouds, the wind blowing just hard enough to carry the scent of rain. Shisui was still, listening to the world come alive around him. 

He stood by a river, skimming stones across the surface. He watched them bounce once, twice, and then sink. The cold water rushed past him, carrying fragments of leaves and broken twigs, the detritus of a forest that, like him, was coming apart in slow, subtle ways.

The weight of things unsaid clung to him, and it seemed to cling to everything else too. It had been days since Fugaku's declaration. He had left the clan district early today, as he often did these days. Before the stirrings of the market and the chatter of the streets. He couldn't stand it now, the noise, the faces of his clansmen, the whispers behind his back. 

Traitor.

He had heard that word more than once, even if they hadn't said it to his face yet. But he could feel it. The way their eyes followed him, loathing him for choosing to defend the village—To defend them—instead of folding his arms and doing nothing like Lord Fugaku had ordered. Only his father and Itachi still spoke to him these days. In secret that is. No one could afford to be seen with a traitor. Not even them.

Shisui picked another stone. He turned it over in his hand, testing its weight. He thought about throwing it but didn't. There was something oddly comforting in the feel of it, solid and smooth against his palm, a constant. He didn't have many of those left anymore. His hand drifted to his side, feeling the edge of the kunai strapped to his hip. A gesture of habit, of reassurance. He pulled the weapon free and began carving tiny stars on its face. The act pleased him.

Itachi was standing not far from him, arms crossed behind his back, staring at the water with that same expression he always wore—like he wasn't really seeing the world in front of him, like he was looking beyond it. Itachi had a way of making everything feel like it was part of a bigger plan, like he already knew what would happen next. It was a comfort to most people. It unnerved Shisui more than he wanted to admit.

"Lord Fugaku is making a mistake," Shisui broke the silence, speaking more to the river than to Itachi.

Itachi didn't respond. He didn't have to. Shisui knew he was listening. Itachi always listened.

"The village isn't perfect. You know that. Hell, we all know that. But we're shinobi of Konoha. We've bled for it. We've lost brothers and sisters, and now we're supposed to turn our backs on everything we fought for?"

He flicked the engraved stone into the water. It sank without a bounce.

Shisui turned to look at Itachi, who was still staring ahead. 

"I think your father has lost his mind," Shisui said, not bothering to mask his frustration now. "He's so caught up in his pride, in this idea of what the Uchiha should be, he's forgotten what we are."

A pause.

"What are we?" Itachi asked.

Shisui frowned at the rhetorical question. "Guardians of the Leaf?"

Itachi didn't comment. His expression didn't change.

Shisui breathed in deeply, the cold air stinging his lungs. He didn't know what he was waiting for. Lord Hiruzen had given him a task. Why he was here killing time with Itachi was beyond him. Yet, he remained.

"They'll listen to you," the younger Uchiha said suddenly with a side-glance shot Shisui's way. "My Father does. So do the clan elders. They always have. Why not speak up? Why not remind them of what we are?"

There was a long silence. Then Shisui spoke. "Do you really believe that will change anything?"

Itachi didn't answer. Shisui knew he couldn't. Not truthfully. Shisui wanted to believe it. He needed to believe it because the alternative bore uncomfortable implications. Yet, deep down, he knew the truth. Fugaku's decision had set things in motion that couldn't be undone with a few words. Not even his.

Not even Fugaku's.

Still, he wasn't ready to admit that yet. Another silence. Longer this time.

Itachi didn't say anything. Shisui felt his gaze on him. Judging. Evaluating. He had thought, maybe, that Itachi would agree. That he would stand with him. But the look in Itachi's eyes told him that wasn't going to happen. He knew the look. The younger Uchiha was too caught up in whatever silent calculus he was doing in his head to care.

"...You're hoping I would stop," Shisui said after a moment, his voice tight. Realisation. "That I would return to the clan obediently. Aren't you?"

Itachi looked at him, and for a brief moment, Shisui thought he saw something flicker in those dark eyes. Guilt, maybe. Regret. But it was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by that same cold, uncaring calculus.

"It's not that simple," Itachi groused. The boy looked away, his gaze returning to the river.

Shisui stared at him. "It never is, is it?"

They both stood in the stillness, the water rushing on. Shisui tidied himself, brushing the dirt off his trousers.

"I have to go," he said, turning away from Itachi. His voice was calm. Composed. Not at all disappointed. "There's something I need to take care of."

Itachi didn't ask what it was. 

He didn't need to know.

A large wooden table stretched between them, its surface scarred and worn from years of use. The Raikage sat at the head of it, his massive frame slouched comfortably upon it, hands resting flat on the table, fingers twitching slightly. His eyes scanned the men before him, measuring them in the silence.

Darui stood to his left, arms crossed, his broad shoulders slumped in the manner of a man too tired to care but too disciplined to let it show. C, as silent as ever, kept his distance by the door, watching the shadows as much as the faces. Mabui stood to his right, clutching a file.

Across from them, three ANBU operatives knelt on the floor, their masks hiding whatever humanity they might have carried into this room. They were men without faces, men shaped by purpose, known only by their rank, alias, and the flicker of their eyes behind the thin slits of porcelain. The fire crackled behind A, and the wood snapped like bones underfoot. Burning.

They were waiting for his orders, A knew. They would follow them without question. That was their purpose. Their reason for existing.

His large hand swept one of the files to the centre of the desk, nudging it toward the ANBU leader. "Intel from the border. The Leaf is trying to hide something."

His voice was low, direct. No embellishment. He didn't need it. The ANBU leader shifted forward, taking the file but not opening it. He knew it wasn't for him to read here. Orders would come first. Questions, if any, came later.

"It's been days since they killed one of us," A continued. No one needed reminding of their Head Ninja's assassination. Konoha had played it well, feigning ignorance after mocking them in such a manner. He would have applauded the execution had Cloud not been the recipient. Alas, you didn't lose face in the shinobi world and just forget about it. You found a way to make it right.

"They're testing us," he continued. "Their actions can mean nothing else. They are scheming something. And I'm not going to sit around waiting for them to make the first move." A frowned, his eyes narrowing on the masked ANBU. "Your task is simple. Get into Konoha and reach out to our contacts, see what they've changed. See what's new. And if they've got any surprises waiting for us. In and out. No one has to know you were there."

Darui spoke again, repeating an earlier consul. "Raikage-sama… this could escalate things."

Annoyed by the pestering, A shot him a look. "If it escalates, it escalates. Stop whining. We're not afraid of a fight."

If Konoha thought they were going to catch him unprepared, they were in for a rude awakening. Whatever was coming, Kumogakure would be ready to meet it head-on.