The road toward Iwagakure was not one of welcome.
For days now, the caravan had wound its way through narrow, steep passes—paths carved into the very bones of ancient mountains. The deeper they traveled, the more the earth seemed to close in around them, as if the stone itself watched their every step.
Even Kuro moved with deliberate caution beneath Hinata; her great frame unusually tense, each pawfall measured. Mitsue, coiled over her shoulders, remained unsettlingly still, tongue flicking at intervals as if tasting the thick weight of the air.
Ayaka had sensed the shift as well. The land grew quieter with each passing league. The rare patrols they encountered spoke little, their eyes sharp. This was a country that saw outsiders as potential threats—not guests.
At one bend, they reached a small outpost—a squat fortress of stone where several soldiers and Iwagakure shinobi manned the checkpoint.
Recognition flickered in their gazes when they saw Lord Renji. Without delay, a squad was assigned to guide the party the rest of the way.
From there, the true descent began.
For hours, they moved through what could only be called a labyrinth—a twisting, shadowed maze of stone corridors and high-walled paths. Strange winds whispered through the narrow chasms, bringing eerie sounds that seemed to shift and echo with each turn.
The group kept strictly to the main path—broad enough for carts and supplies, but unmistakably designed with layered defenses. Countless side passages branched away into darkness—tight, winding routes where no outsider would dare wander.
Traps, Ayaka had no doubt, waited there. She could almost feel the latent threat humming through the stone.
Few others crossed their path—only the occasional outbound convoy, eyes averted. No stationed guards here—just the knowledge that the stone itself stood ready to ensnare any who strayed.
Kuro moved with an eerie grace, every sense alert. His ears flicked sharply whenever they passed one of the many side passages, nostrils flaring. Hinata remained calm, one gloved hand resting lightly on his neck, her voice soft when needed to soothe him.
At her side, Renji rode with an air noticeably more subdued than during the earlier days of their journey. Whatever bravado had filled him when leaving his father's court had diminished beneath the cold gaze of the mountains—and beneath Lady Hinata's unwavering presence.
It was during one such stretch, where the wind whispered especially strangely through the stone, that Renji spoke—voice pitched just above the unsettling hum:
"You know," he began, casting a glance toward Hinata, "this maze wasn't always a path to the village. In the old days, before the founding of Iwagakure, they called it the Valley of Lost Souls."
Hinata tilted her head slightly, listening.
"The winds through the side passages—" he gestured vaguely, "—create sounds that twist the mind. They say those who stray too long lose all sense of direction... some even lose themselves entirely. Even with ears covered, the effect can't be fully stopped."
His tone was casual—perhaps too casual, as if trying to mask his own unease.
At this, Hinata drew Kuro to a slow halt for a moment, her gaze drifting toward one of the narrow offshoots where an escort shinobi stood silently watchful.
Mitsue shifted faintly, coils tightening against her shoulders.
Ayaka, observing from behind, couldn't help but smirk inwardly. "So even the young lord feels the weight of this place," she thought.
At last, after what felt like an eternity of twisting stone, the path widened. The final pass emerged—a narrow gap between towering cliffs.
And beyond it, at last:
Iwagakure no Sato.
A city of stone and shadow, forged into the heart of the mountains. Vast walls of living rock encircled it, their faces scarred and weathered by centuries of wind and war.
The gates—narrow and unyielding—were flanked by massive statues of old Tsuchikage, their carved gazes stern, watching all who entered.
Even from a distance, one could trace the tiered layers of the village—terraces of stone dwellings, narrow streets, iron-reinforced bridges. No banners, no color softened the sight: here, earth and steel ruled.
The caravan began its descent in silence.
There was no need for words.
<<<< o >>>>
The arrival within Iwagakure was much as expected.
No sooner had they passed through the gates than a detachment of Iwagakure shinobi awaited them, standing in disciplined formation. The response was predictable: a deep bow for Lord Renji, whose status was well known, and far more cautious, measured glances toward Lady Hinata and her companions.
Ayaka could not help but notice another detail: among the kunoichi present, several cast her surprised—and even respectful—looks as they noted her place beside her fellow samurai. A small, silent victory.
The formality of it all was no surprise. They were escorted first to a vantage point from which the heart of the village could be glimpsed—the sole building adorned with an unmistakable symbol: the seat of the Tsuchikage.
From there, they were guided to another grand structure, its halls rich with an austere sort of luxury. This, clearly, was the Daimyō's residence within Iwagakure.
The chamber assigned to Lady Hinata was enormous—its bed alone large enough to comfortably fit all five of them should the need arise. Such opulence spoke volumes about how little such comforts extended beyond these privileged walls.
When Lady Hinata announced her intention to rest before her audience with the Tsuchikage—a meeting said to be of particular interest to the old Kage—there was at last a moment to lower their guard.
It was Emi who broke the quiet first, voice low but light: "I must admit... the village is far more impressive than I had imagined. And this maze we crossed—what a tale it will make when I tell Ino."
Souta, still weary from the road, groaned. "You don't stop talking about her... I don't get it. She's only fourteen, hasn't even finished growing. What is it about her that fascinates you so?"
Emi huffed. "I'm seventeen. It's not such a big gap. Besides, she's more mature than most adults I know. I'm certain she won't disappoint as she grows."
Across the room, Kenshiro had been listening in stony silence. Now he glanced toward Ayaka, voice grave: "Forgive me if this seems forward, but... I believe it would be wise for you to remain within Lady Hinata's chamber while she rests. I trust neither this house nor young Lord Renji."
The room fell still.
Emi and Souta both froze, their banter vanishing. But it was Ayaka who felt the weight of the words most keenly. She should have thought of it first.
She gave a curt nod. "As you say, Kenshiro-sama."
The old samurai simply inclined his head.
With a faint sigh, Kenshiro added: "If a young samurai can entertain such... imaginative thoughts, how much farther might a spoiled lord go? Our charge is capable, yes—but it is our task to ensure she need not concern herself with such things."
No one disagreed.
Ayaka rose, already setting her stance for a long watch. For in a place like this, vigilance was worth more than any blade.