For a long, brittle moment, Chiyo didn't move.
She stood frozen, staring at the familiar face—older now, sharper around the edges, and carved in something far colder than time.
Sasori.
Her grandson.
The boy she raised with wrinkled hands and soft hope. The prodigy who once crafted toys from chakra thread and laughed like he didn't know grief.
Now, he stood before her like a ghost wearing arrogance for armor.
"…Sasori," she finally said, voice low, gravelly, heavy with old pain, "what are you doing back in Sunagakure?"
She didn't shout. She didn't demand. Just asked—as if hoping, against logic, that there might still be a reason that didn't end in blood.
"And who," she added, her gaze sliding to the silver-haired stranger, "is that?"
Sasori's smirk widened like a knife smile.
"I'm honestly impressed you're still breathing, Granny," he said lightly. "Waiting for me to come back and bury you? Sentimental."
Cruel words, but she heard the crack in his tone. Saw the flicker behind the sneer.
He could hide behind puppets all he wanted—Chiyo had built the first of them. She knew the seams.
Before she could answer, Rasa stepped forward. No sentiment in his eyes—just fury cold enough to forge metal.
His gaze swept over the bodies in the sand—some of the village's best. Cut down like they'd never mattered.
"Sasori," he said, his voice like grit against steel, "you're a traitor. A killer. But walking into my village like this?"
He turned to Zeldris. "And you—I don't know what ditch you crawled out of, but if you think the two of you can stroll into Sunagakure and put your hands on our Jinchūriki…"
He clenched his fists. Gold dust rippled at his feet.
"You're either insane or suicidal."
Zeldris tilted his head and gave a warm, polite smile—like a waiter about to drop something lethal into your tea.
"Oh, right. Introductions."
He reached up and pulled off his hat, letting the moonlight hit his silver hair like a stage spotlight. His smirk never faltered.
"Name's Zeldris. Traveler. Bounty hunter. Occasional arsonist."
He gave a casual bow, just shy of mocking.
"Think of me as… outsourced chaos."
Both Chiyo and Rasa stiffened. That name. That face. He couldn't be more than seventeen—eighteen, maybe. But the way he stood there, calm and clean in the middle of carnage…
It wasn't bravado.
It was confidence.
The kind that came from surviving things you don't talk about.
Zeldris straightened up. "As for why we're here…"
He pointed lazily at Gaara, still standing silently behind Rasa.
"…someone paid me a lot of money to kill your son."
Pause.
"Or, well. Not your son, technically. More like his tenant."
His voice never lost that easy, conversational tone. Like he was ordering lunch.
Rasa's jaw tightened. His chakra began to coil. Chiyo didn't blink, too busy tracking every twitch from Sasori's fingers.
Then—
Sasori's voice cut through the tension like a violin string snapping.
"Well," he said, turning back to Chiyo, "since you're here… let me show you what I've been working on."
From within his cloak, he pulled a scroll.
Chiyo's breath caught.
"Don't," she whispered. But it was too late.
Thump.
His palm hit the scroll. Bang! A puff of smoke exploded onto the sand.
And from it—
A puppet emerged.
Ash-gray robes. Blue-black hair.
Unmistakable.
The Third Kazekage.
Their strongest leader. The man whose disappearance had thrown Sunagakure into chaos. The pride of their generation.
Now… a doll.
Rasa went still.
Chiyo's knees almost gave.
"You…" she rasped, "you turned him into a puppet?"
Sasori's grin softened into something almost affectionate.
"My greatest piece," he said. "His chakra. His weapons. His face—it all holds."
"A Kage turned into art. That's the dream, isn't it?"
Chiyo's fingers twitched at her side. Her chest ached. Not from fear—but grief.
"Why?" she asked.
And Sasori—he didn't answer right away. Just looked at her with a strange, hollow pride.
"Because puppets don't betray you."
"Because they stay."
Zeldris let out a low whistle. "Well, this got awkwardly personal."
He stepped back, gesturing with a flourish. "Don't mind me. Just watching history unravel in real time."
Rasa's shock had already ignited into fury. Gold dust spun around him like a desert storm waiting to break free.
"Sasori… what the hell have you done?!"
But Sasori was already in motion. Chakra threads lashed through the air as the Third Kazekage puppet rose into battle stance.
He smiled—small, cruel, and just a little sad.
"What I always said I would," he murmured.
"Create art that lasts forever."
He raised his hand.
"And now…"
"You get to be part of the gallery."
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