The morning wind howled across the rugged terrain, sharp and unrelenting. Pale rays of sunlight spilt over the jagged peaks and scattered stone ridges of the borderlands, casting long, claw-like shadows across the uneven ground. The sky above, still bruised by the final traces of night, bore a soft amber glow near the horizon—a deceptive calm, considering what moved beneath it.
Six figures flickered across the rocks in a blur of movement—graceful, efficient, and silent save for the occasional whisper of displaced wind. Each wore the uniform of a long-range Kumogakure detachment: dark grey tactical gear and a single-strap flak jacket, almost white, built for manoeuvrability and speed. Dust kicked up beneath their feet, only to be swept away by the relentless wind.
On their foreheads, glinting in the early sun, were the unmistakable metal plates of Kumogakure shinobi—each emblazoned with the stylized cloud symbol that marked their village.
They said nothing, conserving breath and focus, their eyes narrowed against the chill. The youngest among them—a lithe kunoichi barely past her early teens—kept pace with the others, though her movements were a hair less fluid. Her nerves showed in the way her fingers occasionally brushed her kunai pouch, but her jaw was set with the same resolve as the rest.
Their leader, a tall shinobi with an obsidian complexion and short, neatly kept dreadlocks, took point. His name was Raiken, and his presence exuded calm confidence.
As they rounded a particularly steep bluff, their destination came into view.
Jutting out from the rock face like something born of the earth itself stood a structure, unlike any natural formation. The surface was smooth and sun-baked, giving off a muted, golden-brown sheen that seemed to reflect the morning light without glare.
It was massive—partially buried into the slope of the surrounding cliffs—appearing from a distance like an earthen wave frozen mid-crest. Its walls curved organically, not like something built with stone and mortar, but shaped. There were no sharp corners, no angular protrusions—only gentle arches and domes that made the structure appear as though the mountain had grown a semi-soft, hollow heart.
Towering above its entrance was a half-disc of polished black slate etched with countless intricate seals—defensive arrays woven from ink, chakra, and design passed down through generations.
This was no mere outpost. This was a fortress-bastion designed for stealth and survival—Kumogakure's first operating stronghold in a region thousands of kilometres from the Land of Lightning. It was the kind of place built by one with no time for beauty and all the time for efficiency.
The six reached the front of the structure without breaking stride, only halting as they approached the thick, arched gate flanked by two tall guards. These sentries wore the same garb, but unlike the group approaching, their gear bore faint etchings denoting their authority over the base's defences. They stood motionless, arms crossed over their chests.
"State your identity," barked one, his voice gravelly but alert.
Raiken stopped precisely three meters from them and did not flinch. The others halted just behind him, perfectly synchronized.
He raised his right hand and spoke crisply.
"Clouds drift in silence. Thunder speaks only to the mountain."
There was a pause. The wind gave a soft howl between the rocks.
The two guards remained silent for a moment longer, scanning him, then each other. One of them turned slightly and gestured to a silver orb embedded in the wall beside the gate. It pulsed faintly with blue light as the seals on the wall shimmered in synchrony, a subtle crackle of chakra thrumming through the air.
The orb stayed still.
"Hmph." The guard lowered his arm and stepped aside. "At least that proves you are who you say you are."
The younger kunoichi blinked at the orb, her curiosity getting the better of her. "What was that thing?"
The shinobi beside her, a stocky, older man with a scar running down his cheek, answered without breaking stride. "It's a chakra verification seal. The seals sense our signatures as we approach. If your chakra isn't encoded in the entrance matrix, it reacts—usually violently."
"So it's a back-up for the password?"
He gave a short grunt of affirmation. "It's a back-up that explodes."
The gate began to split open, the sound echoing across the ravine. As it parted, they stepped into the threshold of the stronghold.
Inside, the structure felt cooler, shaded from the harsh light outside. Bioluminescent seals on the ceiling lit the interior halls with a gentle pale glow. The walls were the same smoothed earth, reinforced with darkened metallic bands and chakra-threaded lines, pulsing faintly with energy.
The floor beneath them bore etchings of maps, troop paths, and coded messages written in ink only visible through certain dojutsu or chakra filters. The entire place was alive with the presence of wartime preparation.
"Where to?" asked one of the guards.
Raiken answered, "Storage."
The guards nodded and turned, leading them down a central corridor. As they walked, Raiken glanced around, eyes tracing the seals embedded in the walls, the graceful arches, and the gently pulsating chakra conduits.
"It seems the captain's really getting better at creating this," Raiken remarked.
The guard gave a grunt of agreement. "Took years to get him to use his kekkei genkai for something other than combat. Now he's building half the forward operations outposts with it."
"He always said he hated wasting potential."
They passed through several intersections—each guarded, each layered with more seals and silent mechanisms that hummed with unseen power. Occasionally, shinobi passed them—bearing scrolls, equipment, or tending to exhausted comrades sprawled on benches or leaning against walls.
Finally, they arrived at a large circular chamber near the stronghold's heart. The ceiling arched high above like the inside of a dome, etched with ancient sealing scripts and converging spirals.
This was the storage nexus.
Raiken nodded once. "Positions."
The six shinobi fanned out in a practised, precise motion—like petals unfolding from a flower. Each bit their thumb with a sharp snap of teeth, drawing blood. Without hesitation, they pressed their bloodied palms to the ground, and a low rumble began to echo.
From the six points of contact, black sealing marks erupted across the floor, stretching like a spider's web, interlinking, swirling, and converging into a massive, intricate summoning array.
A sudden, forceful WHUMP of chakra burst outward from the centre, kicking up dust and energy in a spiralling wind.
"Kuchiyose no Jutsu!" they cried in unison.
There was a violent POP!
A great cloud of white smoke detonated from the centre of the circle with an explosive hiss, engulfing the chamber in dense vapour. The walls shook slightly, the lights flickered, and the wind stirred the seals above.
And then silence.
Slowly, the smoke began to clear.
What emerged from the dissipating mist was a creature so massive it seemed to warp the dimensions of the room itself.
It was a sloth—but not like any seen in the forests of the Land of Fire. Towering, easily the size of a house, with thick, shaggy fur that cascaded over its sides in waves of pale silver and dusty brown. Its claws—each as long as a man's arm—were curved, obsidian black, and looked like they could rend through steel if provoked. Its face, however, was calm—peaceful even—with droopy golden eyes that blinked slowly, taking in the room with the patient gaze of something that had lived centuries.
A great harness was strapped across its back—holding sealed containers, scroll canisters, and weaponized gear. Along the side of its frame were thick belts of bandages, fuinjutsu markers, and boxes of rations. It was a mobile storage unit, a fortress in fur and flesh.
The youngest shinobi took a cautious step forward, her eyes wide.
"I-Is that…?"
Raiken smiled faintly. "This is our partner. His name is Kamebo. The Captain found him years ago—one of the last of the Grand Forest Sloths. Said he only contracts with those who can match his pace."
The sloth yawned, a low, guttural sound like distant thunder, then slowly turned its gaze to the kunoichi. After a long pause, it blinked.
"…Hi," it said in a voice that seemed impossibly deep and yet unbearably slow.
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