Akula's first few steps down the stairs were easy, simple affairs, one step after another, but with every step down, the mist that swirled around the building filled her lungs with dread, her vision blurring with unshed tears as she tried to think of a way out.

No, that wouldn't work. Not that either. Perhaps... No, I'm probably being watched.

Her iron heart creacking with each step, Akula found herself staring at the gates to the ba*t, holding up the small piece of metal for the guards, who replied by opening the door, the heat washing over her like an unplesant wave of fire.

Stepping forward, she found herself staring at the back of a man, bent over an anvil, his hands stroking what appeared to be her sword with a tenderness that most parents did not give their children, his fingers dancing across the slender blade, as if saying his final goodbyes to a partner.

"Identify the blade for me." Akula said finally, wary around the Mizukage's agent, her eyes trailing the black, sharp blade and strange, almost bone-like hilt.

Slowly, the man turned back, and Akula noted his worn hands and unshaven face, the result of a lifetime working in the forges, fingers clutching onto the blade, as if unable to bring himself to part with his creation. The man hesitated for a minute, before his cracking voice spoke.

"I was not aware that a child were to do the grim deed."

"Too bad old man, my orders are absolute." Akula replied, hoping her sneer could cover her shaking voice. "And since when was I a mere child?"

"Ahh." The man looked sheepish for a moment, as if worried the woman would use his body to test her new sword out.

"Hand me the sword." She repeated again, stepping forward with an arm outstretched.

"A clean blade, forged slowly over several months using only the best metals." A voice sounded behind her, causing the assassin to whip around, a kunai in her hand.

"A hilt made from the bones of the dead Kagura clan. How very... Dark, yet fitting for a revenant." The voice continued, hidden from the shadows.

"And lastly, a wielder seeking nothing but death itself." At this, Akula finally managed to see the speaker, a hulk of a man, with large, powerful arms, a face that had stared into many a storm, and eyes that would have seen into any soul.

Pity then that Akula lost hers as a child, left broken by those she had once loved, the only reason she was able to stare back at the man, her voice like gravel as she replied.

"Fitting for Morningstar indeed."

As a reply, the man's eyebrows rose, his face mired in disgust as he took the bladde from the man holding it.

"It is incomplete." He announced finally, stalking from the room, gesturing for the woman to follow.

...

The room they had entered had a high ceiling, a visage painted above that lit up with every crash of lightning, briefly illuminating the artwork above, but either occupant of the room cared, both silent as the man opened a chest built into the floor, the hinges creaking as a stone tablet rose.

Akula was silent as she stared down a sea of magatamas, her eyes dismissing the lower quailty ones as the man before her continued to work, his fingers dancing as he pressed two dozen magatamas into the blade, before uttering a prayer.

Akula watched, uncaring as the man turned around and offered her the blade.

"It is done." The man said quietly, his face hidden by shadow, but suddenly illuminated, tears rolling down his eyes.

Akula felt the blade in her hand, built for her, fused with the most powerful magatamas Kiri had to offer, yet so empty and bitter. It was not meant to be her blade.

With a growl, Akula leapt forward with the blade, splitting the weapons master in two in a sudden attack, the man's tears being slowly overrun by his blood.

Akula left the weapons master where he had fallen, tossing the blade onto the ground where it deserved: In the *.

...

Hozuki citadel, outskirts of Kiri

Akula slipped into the citadel early, before the crack of dawn. Her family should have been sleeping, guarding the last of their treasures, stolen from the country that had given them everything.

Of course, the house had fled the moment the news that Mangetsu had fallen in combat. A scouting report to smaller local houses turned up blanks.

But Akula had seen Mangestu standing over the lifeless and broken body of a certain Ameyuri Ringo, had seen him toss her decapitated head into the sea, her body to a pack of wild dogs, had seen him bury the legendary blades within the pond in their backyard. If the clan had known the prodogy well enough, they would have scoured the compound a dozen times over for the blade.

But the clan didn't. They knew not of Mangetsu's secret compartments, which he had sealed with her standing guard.

If that was true, then Kiba would be waiting for her, the perfect tool to hunt down the traitors that stained Kiri with their presence.

...

The pond was the same as she had last left it, filled with none of the traps having been set off. Clearly her clan had not looked for the blade, and Akula paused for a moment, thinking of Mangetsu's genius ahead of time.

A small bell going off signaled the traps being fully deactivated, and Akula stood in silence as the twin Kiba rose from their watery grave.

This was going oh so very well.

...

A single red eye haunted the dreams of one Kenji Kurai as he rose from his rest, the Jonin of Kumo shaking his head as he rubbed his eyes tiredly. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't home, but rather in cool, dead Kiri, chasing a legendary swordsmith's final creation.

He was unauthorized, but the blade appeared in his dreams, his mind's eye, a sight that would be burned forever into his heart, like a phantom pain that he had never seen.

Morningstar will be mine Kenji promised himself as he looked upon the Village of the Hidden Mist.



AN: Tobi commands you to review.




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