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Velan stood amidst the desolate desert, the golden sands strewn with the remnants of his recent victory over the Leaf shinobi. The bodies of his enemies lay scattered, their lives snuffed out with swift, lethal precision. With a practiced, detached efficiency, he sealed each corpse into a scroll, trophies that would secure his growing reputation back in the Hidden Sand. Soon, his name would echo in the shinobi world—a name whispered with dread and respect.

The harsh desert sun cast an unforgiving light across Velan's face, revealing every sharp edge and shadow. His dark brown hair, streaked with sand and grit, fell to his shoulders, framing his amber eyes, which gleamed with a fierce intensity. A jagged scar ran from his right temple to his jawline, a reminder of his own close encounters with death. His gaze was sharp, unyielding, and merciless—mirroring the desolate landscape around him. Built tall and lean, he was made for speed and precision, each movement deliberate and silent, a reflection of his mastery over both wind and stone. His battered Sand flak jacket bore the scars of countless battles, its fabric rough against his skin and dusted with the remnants of his victories.

Beside him, his two chunin teammates stood battered, their injuries evidence of the brutal skirmish they had just survived. Garana, a young woman with short, copper-colored hair and dark, defiant eyes, cradled her injured arm against her side, blood seeping through her fingers. Her shoulder armor hung loose, and her once-crisp flak jacket was dented and scratched. Despite the pain etched across her face, her gaze remained sharp and unwavering—a look of fierce loyalty and quiet resilience. She was agile, a talented kunoichi whose loyalty to the mission was absolute. Velan valued her tenacity, even if it meant using her as a shield in the heat of battle. He respected her strength, knowing she'd continue without complaint as long as it served the Sand's cause.

On her left, Ishiro stood, his posture tense, his expression masked with barely concealed bitterness. Short, spiked black hair framed his face, and his dark eyes, usually calm and focused, were clouded with fatigue and pain. A deep wound on his thigh stained his flak jacket and pants with fresh blood, each labored breath he took was filled with a sharp ache. Ishiro was stocky and durable, built for close combat, but Velan's decision to use him as a shield had clearly left him resentful. Yet he said nothing; he knew what loyalty demanded, even if it meant enduring the bitterness of being considered expendable.

Velan's gaze flickered over them, assessing their usefulness with cold detachment. He saw immediately that Ishiro was too wounded to continue. "You're done here," Velan said, his tone flat. "Fall back to the outpost and request reinforcements. Have them send another team to assist." His amber eyes narrowed as he added, "Our mission is to eliminate the Leaf scouts along the border. I expect support by the time I close in on them."

It was within the outpost's mission scope to prevent their position from being mapped, so Velan knew his request would be honored. Ishiro gave a stiff nod, biting back any complaint. He understood the reality of his role and what the mission demanded. Giving Garana one last, lingering glance, he limped off, each step leaving a faint trail of blood in the sand.

Velan's gaze shifted to Garana, who straightened under his scrutiny, her defiance unmistakable. She, too, had taken hits in the skirmish, but she held herself with pride. She knew better than to show weakness.

"Let's move," he commanded, his voice as harsh as the desert wind. "The Leaf scouting team is only a day ahead."

Just as he spoke, a swirl of smoke appeared beside him, revealing his familiar—a sleek black salamander with scales that gleamed in the sun, its beady eyes intelligent and alert. The creature hissed softly, conveying the information it had gathered. Velan understood instantly. His salamander had found what he was searching for: a Hidden Leaf team less than a day's journey away, mapping the Sand's positions and defenses along the border. Velan's lips curved in a faint, satisfied smile; the Leaf shinobi had no idea what awaited them.

He gave the salamander a nod, watching as it slithered back into the sands, vanishing like a shadow in the desert. The creature would continue to watch the Leaf team from a distance, gathering crucial information while Velan planned his approach.

As they moved forward, Velan felt the thrill of the hunt settle over him. Soon, the Leaf scouts would learn to fear his name. Velan, the wielder of wind and stone, the unrelenting storm of the Sand. And by the time he finished, the sand itself would be littered with his enemies.

Two days later, Velan and Garana had set up their position, hidden within the desert terrain, maintaining extreme distance from the Leaf scouts. His salamander had reported the presence of a Hyuga in the group—a fact that immediately shifted Velan's approach. The Byakugan would make stealth nearly impossible at close range. He cursed under his breath, adapting his tactics with a new level of caution.

Velan wasn't one to rush into disadvantage, so he bided his time, watching from a safe distance, awaiting the reinforcements from the outpost. He knew patience was often a deadlier weapon than any jutsu. As he anticipated, reinforcements arrived the next morning—a single chunin and two eager genin, their eyes wide with respect and wariness as they approached.

Velan wasted no time. The reinforcements were expendable, pawns in his larger plan. With the Hyuga's sight and likely another sensor in the enemy team, his chances of ambushing them head-on were slim. But with the right distraction and pressure from multiple angles, he might still catch them off-guard.

He glanced at Garana, her injuries mostly recovered, her gaze steady. Then he turned to the newly arrived chunin, a wiry, sharp-featured man named Kaito, and the two genin—a boy and girl, twins, who mirrored each other's movements with the same fervor.

"We'll be using divide-and-conquer tactics," Velan said, his voice low and unyielding. "Kaito, you'll approach from the west, drawing attention. Garana, take the north with the genin and create a diversion. I'll advance from the east, setting up the final strike with my salamander. Understood?"

Kaito gave a brisk nod, and the twins mirrored each other in silent acknowledgment, eager to prove themselves. Garana simply inclined her head, her loyalty and trust in Velan unquestioned.

Velan felt a thrill of anticipation as they set off, his mind cold and calculated. The Leaf team had scouted close to their borders for too long; it was time to remind them that they weren't safe, not in the sands, and not in the path of the storm he commanded.

His mind already envisioned the assault: the swift, brutal strikes, the precise use of his Stone Bullet Jutsu with his wind affinity to shred the enemy in seconds. No survivors. No mercy.

The Leaf shinobi wouldn't expect him. Soon, his name would be a whispered threat, a promise of death in the desert—Velan, the unrelenting storm of the Sand, the shadow of wind and stone who left only silence and blood in his wake.