[Muramasa Uemon]

a voice from the past

---

'Minami'. A name that held some weight. Familial. Distant but... with so few friendly faces in the Shinobi World, the memory was welcome enough. His uncle had mentioned the family in correspondence recently.

Curious, he decided to seek them out. To see what had become of them. It would be a short trip either way. Mizu no Kuni did not hold many points of interest for him. Too far away from the mainland to serve any meaningful purpose in his mission. A passing peculiarity. Though if the Minami family were still there... that may well change.

Booking passage on a small trade ship was easy enough. To help pass the time he sketched in his journal, renderings of crashing waves. A far off storm. Fins peeking above the water's surface. Soon he was on dry land again. Then?

It was time to search. One of the locals pointed him in the right direction. A small port town near Kirigakure no Sato. Too near for his liking. After his experience in Amegakure he was in no rush to see another Hidden Village. If he made it the entire journey without running into a shinobi he'd be grateful. No hassle. No hyper scrutiny...

Just a visit with relatives. The damp of the island air caused some of his hair to stick to his face. Things had been so hectic lately that he neglected to cut it. Now it was long. Irritably he shook some locks from his view as he walked. 

Some time later a town came into view. Or rather... what was left of one. The wanderer's face turned grim. Gripping tightly the sageo that his sheathed black katana was slung over his shoulder from. He drew near, dark eyes scanning the ruined city as he slowly made his way through. Looking for any signs of life, a remnant of the Minami...

Anything at all, really. "Tetsu no Kuni isn't the only nation touched by tragedy..." The lone thought in his mind. No, cruelty it seemed did not adhere to borders. Solemnly he walked. Stopping every so often to inspect abandoned homes.

---

[Sora Minami]

Sora stood on the hill that overlooked the northern half of her first home and… watched. The ruined village was just that- a ruin, overgrown with weeds and the ever encroaching treeline, the harbor long since washed away in some storm, the houses little more than rotting carcasses of wood with a few piles of stone to indicate where a chimney had been. If there was anything of value left after the Nuke-nin wrecked the place, it had been taken when the Hunter-nin came calling. Anything else was either worthless or had been picked over so often by wanderers and bandits that it wasn’t even recognizable anymore.

It was hard to remember much about that day. She could recall some things; the smoke, the flames, the screaming terror that shattered her thoughts and buried her mind beneath a screen of misting red. But what she ate? The weather? What her mother wore, what her father’s last words were? All gone. Vanished, like mist. She didn’t come here often, hadn’t in years, but her recent trip to Bonchi no Kuni had been… less than helpful. No information, a great deal of frustration and confusion, with a nice helpful topping of violence to leave a wonderfully bitter taste in her mouth about the whole thing.

Suffice to say, she was not in a good mood.

Unbidden, perhaps unthinking, Sora found herself walking the path away from the village itself. She hadn’t entered the ruins in… ever, if she was being honest. Had only ever stood on the outskirts, lingering like some forgotten spirit of old. There was nothing there for her. Nothing but the ashes of a life she had never been destined to ha-

Someone’s here. In an instant, the woman froze, her mind going from morose and sluggish to alert and responsive faster than it took for her to take a single step. She had heard no noise, could not sense chakra, had more than the faintest intuition of another’s presence- but it was enough. She had not survived the Kiri Civil war by ignoring her instincts, nor risen to become a Jounin by not being cautious (and perhaps more than a little paranoid).

So, in a blur of speed, Sora did two things: first, she dre Samidare, sliding the elegant weapon free of its saya with nary a sound, the blade held loose in her right hand but ready. Then, she turned to face the village proper, sky blue eyes scanning, searching for a hint, a sign that she was wrong. But there was no sign. Because there, picking the ashes of an abandoned home, was a man. Foreign by the look of him. Carrying a blade, but no headband. And he was…

He was poking through her home.

Sora moved without thought, her hands coming up to form a Shunshin seal faster than they ever had before. She became a blur of speed, the world a smear of color around her as she exploded into motion, only to skid to a halt behind the man, Samidare drawn level with the back of his neck. She didn’t strike though. Not yet. The wounds of Takigakure were too fresh for her to resort to violence just yet. But she was close. So very, very close.

"You have one sentence to explain why you are here, foreigner."

Muramasa Uemon

[Muramasa Uemon]

unrecognizable now

---

Rubble. Scorch marks. Old dried blood. Something awful had torn through this city. And its inhabitants from the looks of things. One of the former homes caught his eye, his gaze falling to its foundations as he approached.

It had been burned down long ago. Maybe the residents had gotten out in time... but that would be an optimistic assumption. Something caught his eye as he looked over the bones of the house. Lettering of some sort though he didn't have much time to inspect it. A ping in his head alerted him to a sudden presence. Closing fast. Too fast. 

Shinobi. Or someone capable of their techniques at the very least. The wanderer took the short window he had to swipe a small orb from one of his pouches, slipping it up one of his sleeves as he remained facing away.

A Sensor Type, his ability to feel chakra would cue him in on when the stranger drew close. From there it was a simple motion to distract if need be. Then he could evade. Hide. Decide to flee or fight. Already his mind was racing, thinking of possibilities. Only the stranger's voice cut through. Harsh. Demanding. His brow furrowed.

Why was he here? "I'm looking for some relatives of mine..." Came his quiet response. Already his expression had grown steely. A hint of aggravation too. He nodded to the object from earlier. A shop sign, partially burnt.

Only part of the family's name could be made out now. "It seems they're gone." Slowly, the wanderer turned to face the stranger. Finding a katana at his neck. He did not flinch. Clearly not his first time having a weapon pulled on him. "Are all shinobi so hostile to travelers?" He asked, his tone walking a thin line between flat and derisive.

First Amegakure... now this. Aside from a scarce few his opinion of ninja had taken a hit over the past couple of weeks. However the blade held on him caught his eye. Even from a glance he could tell it was of excellent make...

...unfortunately he wasn't in any position to appreciate it. Instead, he stared at the woman. Dark eyes narrowed.

---

[Sora Minami]

How a man reacted when a blade was put to his neck told a lot about his character. There the hidden hand, perhaps holding a weapon of some sort, not used but prepared. The tone, riding the line between annoyed and hostile. The muscles, tense and focused, ready to snap but not committed to it just yet. The gaze, steel veiled by a thin veneer of formality. He was a soldier of some kind, someone who had seen and dealt death, though not a Shinobi. Ronin, perhaps or… Wanin? There were ninja who had no village, just a clan. Wanderers who acted as couriers and mercenaries to those who couldn’t afford (or didn’t want the attention of) the Hidden Villages. Still a potential threat, but less so. Then he spoke.

"...I see.” Sora said, lowering Samidare but not sheathing it. A believable enough reason, given the circumstances. People from all over the world had come to Mizu no Kuni to start a new life, before the war. Her mother had been one of them. She wouldn’t begrudge a man looking for his family, not when she had recently traveled to do the same.

"I thought you might be a scavenger of some sort, come to pick these bones for scrap." There was no point in giving him the true reason for her approach; it was personal, private, and far too emotionally charged to hand out to a stranger. She had learned that lesson all too well in Takigakure.

"And no, most of my colleagues are far less lenient than I am. They’d have just killed you on sight.” That brought a smile, wan and weary though it was. She really was a terrible Shinobi in that regard. Potential enemies were to be eliminated with extreme prejudice, without mercy or thought. Or so the manual said, anyway. She hadn’t been good at following those kinds of instructions lately.

Muramasa Uemon

[Muramasa Uemon]

lost in flame, salt, smoke

---

As the weapon was lowered, his face relaxed with it. Just a touch. Less reminiscent of a scowl. Not that he was the most expressive person anyway... but needlessly antagonizing someone who had a weapon drawn was never smart.

Like a true swordsmith, his gaze found the katana once again. "Quite the tool you have there." Now that it was angled downward he could see it more clearly. Forged by a proper artist no doubt. Intriguing... but he was not exactly here to exchange pleasantries. "No scavenging on my part." The wanderer responded, his voice even. It was a reasonable assumption he supposed. Did make him ponder his current state though... maybe it was the hair?

Unrulier than usual. Roguish maybe? "The more I become like Suppa the more it scares me..." A horrifying thought. One best buried deep down and promptly forgotten about. Mention of her colleagues' policy on strangers made his face go deadpan. "I suppose uh..." He blinked, considering his words. "...it's good that you found me, then."

All who sought to harm him would not find easy prey... but the last thing he needed was a pointless fight with shinobi forces. For his purposes, anonymity suited him just fine. To move unhindered was necessary for his goals.

Besides... ending up in those books hunter-killers carried would truly make him like Suppa. A fate worse than death.

The woman smiled, and the corner of his own mouth perked up. More of a twitch than a smirk. For a while there was silence... then his eyes fell on the shop sign again. "Do you know what became of this family?"

If he couldn't see them, maybe he could at least find some closure? Something to tell his mother of his father's kin.

---

[Sora Minami]

"Yes, Samidare is… quite a wonder." Sora said when the young man mentioned her blade, her fingers flexing along the hilt reflexively. The air was clearer now, the tension eased… but neither of them was quite ready to relax just yet. He, being a wanderer, had no reason to relax anywhere in a foreign place like Mizu no Kuni, and she? Well. She wouldn’t be able to relax until she put some miles between her and the memories this place held.

The Wanin spoke again, obviously surprised at the nonchalant violence that could have befallen him, but not thrown off balance. He would have defended himself, if she had attacked, but clearly didn’t want that kind of trouble hounding him. Kirigakure’s Hunter Corps was renowned the world over for a reason, after all. And that was if he somehow escaped. A large if.

"Yes, I’m… not near as bloodthirsty as some in my village." She said, her smile fading slightly as she twirled Samidare about, kissaki meeting koguichi in a kiss of wood and metal that was at once mechanical and expressive. She had sheathed her weapon thousands of times now, more than any person would dare to count, and the act itself was so automatic that she could do it one handed, without touching the saya, but she rarely ever did. There was a smoothness to the proper way, as if the ritual itself soothed her soul. Perhaps it was the symbolism of it all, but she found-

"...This family?" The question came out soft, bare above the chink of her tsuba hitting the koguichi, but to her it was as loud as the storm that boiled within. He had come to her house. Specifically her house. Looking for information. About her family. About her. "This family is dead, stranger. Only I remain."

Muramasa Uemon

[Muramasa Uemon]

two homes, both taken

---

Samidare she called the weapon. Early summer rain. "A proper name."

Fitting for a sword of such caliber. Doubtless, the waters it brought along with it were heavy and ran red. A downpour he could do without today. It wasn't often that he sought fights. So he was glad it hadn't come to that.

Previously one could cut the pressure in the air with a knife it was so palpable. But with conversation came understanding, and slowly but surely it ebbed. As she expertly sheathed her blade he too replaced his tool. Bending his wrist and allowing the orb from before to fall from his sleeve and into his waiting fingers. Back in a pouch after.

No explosives needed. At least not now. "Battlelust is a dangerous thing." He said as she spoke of her comrades. "Good for butchers and marauders, maybe." Telling of the shinobi lifestyle, he supposed. Violent. Scared.

In a world of paranoia and fear it made a kind of sick sense... but to the average person? It seemed mad.

The wanderer's dark eyes stayed fixed on the sign as the woman spoke. Nodding as she asked for clarity. This place was the reason he had come all this way. If it was for naught then he had no business here. 

She continued on, stating that they were dead. But just when all seemed lost her last statement caused his eyes to widen a touch. "You're..." Words trailed as he turned to her, looking over her face. "...one of the Minami?" It was like he was searching for some sort of clue or hint of times past... but nothing clicked. Not at present anyway.

For now he held back. At least until confirmation was received. Giving out personal information wasn't something he liked to make a habit of... but if she was indeed a member of that family? Then perhaps he could break his rule. 

---

[Sora Minami]

Sora stared at the man without blinking. His question was a simple one, but within it lay depths she had long tried to ignore. "The” Minami, he had said. Not "a” Minami. That implied numbers. Enough to warrant a true last name, enough to be considered more than just a family. Enough to be a clan, however small or spread out they were. Enough that they… they should have come. Not the boy before her; he was barely past his age of maturity, little more than a youngling. But his parents? Uncles? Cousins? None had visited. None had written. None had even bothered to check in on her parents in over twenty-five years.

"Yes." She said, staring down at the boy's cold, dark eyes. There was little resemblance between them, nothing to show that he was in any way related to her, yet something… fit. Trying to describe the feeling she had when looking at him, that sense of rightness that tried to seep in through the cracks in her soul, was all but impossible. She had but one word for it, a word she hadn’t used in decades. Not since her parents had been slaughtered, her team killed, and her spirit stained black by the Civil War.

"We used to live here. Before the Nuke-nin came." She pointed, gestured really, to the ruined home. It hadn’t been much, but it hadn’t needed to be, back then. Her parents made enough, and what material things they lack were made up for by simply being together. They hadn’t been prosperous, but they hadn’t needed to be. They’d been a family.

"Are you… also a Minami?"

Muramasa Uemon

[Muramasa Uemon]

a fractured family gained

---

Recognition. There was something behind her eyes that spoke of understanding. A glimmer... or maybe a glare. It said that his assumption was correct. And that she was considering the possibilities in her head. Same as him.

Sheer probability made it implausible. For two distant relatives to run into one another without knowing in this large and expansive Shinobi World. Implausible... but not impossible. As the realization dawned on him his dark eyes met hers. Sure they did not look alike, but the Muramasa of today were a far cry from the visage of Sengo. Their founder. So it was not completely out of the question. Especially if the Minami were of distant relation .

Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes... but that selfsame fervor of old. An unparalleled passion for smithing and a manic devotion to one's craft. He shook his head at her inquiry... then spoke. "My name... is Muramasa Uemon."

Even saying it made him want to flinch. How long had it been since he told someone his given name? Shiina knew it, as did Taki. And now a third. "I—" How could he put this? How should he? "...you and I are kin."

Quiet followed. Letting the words sink in. His own mind racing to provide an explanation. After some time, he spoke up again. "Distantly... as I've come to understand." Uemon eyed the woman, half in disbelief himself as he tried to form words. Yanosuke had been the only family he had seen in eight years. Now there was another.

Standing before him. But who was she? What sort of person? Things he hoped to come to understand... but for now, knowing that she was alive was enough. "I'm... sorry to hear about your family." He said, more softspoken.

Typical of his usual demeanor, the defensiveness from earlier seemed to fade. The wanderer's face grew sullen. As he looked back to the rubble his eyes narrowed. "Nukenin are responsible for this?" A quiet question. All he could think of was Suppa. A Nukenin from Takigakure no Sato who had taken pity on him as a child. Saved him...

...in a way. Taught him the shinobi arts. How to surveil, how to blend in... how to kill. Not like a samurai as Hanagisa had shown him, but a ninja. Suppa always said he was a bad man, but a young Uemon didn't care.

Never struck him as the type that was capable of something like this. But other Nukenin were. It was the harsh reality of this cruel and random world. For the time he remained quiet. Looking at the shop in somber reflection.

---

[Sora Minami]

The boy met her gaze squarely, his dark eyes mirroring her own wariness and disbelief at the sheer improbability of the situation at hand. Two strangers meeting in an abandoned ruin of a village just somehow happened to be related, however distantly it might be? It was more than just improbable, it was damn near impossible. It was a ludicrous idea, so beyond ridiculous that it somehow looped back around to being poetic without having to do any mental gymnastics at all. Of course I’d find my family when I stopped looking for them.

Sora listened as the young man gave his name, blinking in surprise despite herself. The Muramasa clan were small and scattered, but she knew of them. Their devotion to the craft of smithing was second to none, and though they had waned in both power and influence, they were still gifted craftsmen. It was odd to find one out and about, carrying a blade- and in such a manner that he seemed to know how to use it.

"I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me." She said once Uemon was finished, lips twitching into a slight frown at the information he’d relayed. A distant relation was more plausible, after all. And perhaps more helpful, given the lack of information on her father’s clan. "My father’s clan has proven… difficult to track down."

Sora paused, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear with her left hand as she mulled over how to explain what had happened. There was so much to say, so much to cover in that one night alone. How do you explain the death of a world, a hope, a way of life? How could you? Eventually, however, she found the words, lips parting in a quiet, tired answer that, strangely enough, lightened her with how simple and open it was.

"They died that same day. The Hunter Corps arrived two hours after they did. Killed them all. But by then…" By then the village had been destroyed, most of the villagers slaughtered. Her father butchered. Her mother taken repeatedly, then killed. "By then I was the only one left alive."

Muramasa Uemon

[Muramasa Uemon]

hope for the future

---

Understanding. About the best outcome he could hope for.

Surely it was just as much of a shock to her. Perhaps more. Though far away and out of reach, he still had family. A mother, three sisters, a brother. His uncle Yanosuke too. And now in a de facto way... Kota. 

But if she was the last of the Minami, she had no one. Truly alone. As much as he felt the same at times, he couldn't imagine that. Didn't even want to. "It was a surprise to me." Uemon said quietly. "My mother and father's families both hail from Tetsu no Kuni... I'd never heard of the Minami until a few weeks ago." At all.

A merchant family far away on an island country wouldn't have registered to them. Tetsu no Kuni's own isolationist tendencies likely didn't help either. Still... "I wonder if father knew..." A question he'd never be able to ask now.

Uemon adjusted the sword slung over his shoulder as he listened. Much simpler and less ornate compared to her own. He nodded intently, stoic face persisting as she recounted the events. "A tragedy." He said softly. A hint of a slowly frown forming. "Truly." Despite their dissimilar situations, he knew of loss. "You have my condolences."

To have a parent killed was... awful. Especially to witness it. As a boy he'd only caught a glimpse of his father's corpse. From around the corner of their forge. Just his legs. They'd been ushered away too fast for anything else.

Even his bones hadn't been laid to rest. Next to his father, or his father's father. One more thing for him to pursue...

...when the time came. "So..." He paused. It was a bit awkward but... he wanted to know more about her. The kind of person she was. "You became a shinobi after?" He nodded to her forehead protector. "Of Kirigakure?"

---

[Sora Minami]

Uemon seemed to understand. The loss of even one parent to tragedy was something a child should never have to go through, though every child did, eventually. It was shattering in a way few things could be- to have your whole world ripped out from underneath you, torn to pieces and violated before your very eyes, with the knowledge that you would be next. That nothing and no one was coming to save you, because there was no one to care anymore, even though you lived.

"Yeah, this is all very…" Sora began, frowning slightly as the young man spoke, adjusting the katana slung across his back. "Surprising.” The sword was simple, but that didn’t make it any less deadly in the right hands. He was young, filled with the curiosity that youth always provided, though it was tempered by loss. He was like a mirror, in a way; a different person with different circumstances who made different choices, yet somehow found his way onto the same road.

There was something in that, somewhere.

"The Hunter-nin who found me brought to Kiri." She said, shifting her weight back a half-step as she spoke. Uemon might have been family, but he was edging close to topics that no one had touched for a long time- that she had ensured no one touched, in truth. There were some things best left buried, after all. But she would entertain him. For now.

"I didn’t have much else to live for besides the village."
Muramasa Uemon

[Muramasa Uemon]

a two-way mirror

---

Grief. Rage. Negativity channeled into a pursuit greater than one's self— into a drive. To this... he could relate.

Living for himself had ended abruptly when he was only ten years old. Childhood ripped away in a brutal and unceremonious fashion. For eight years he had dedicated himself to study. Training. Seeking power.

All in hopes of one day righting that dreadful wrong. Killing the man responsible for his father's death. Anyone related to the murder as well. Hirohata Jinzashin was the first to fall... but he wouldn't be the last. Just recently he told his uncle that he only needed to kill one person. But deep down he knew it to be false. He was on a warpath...

...and gods help those who stood in his way. "I see." Uemon replied, his dark eyes reflective of her own. It seemed they shared more than just blood. A similar affect as well. However he wondered... did she possess the same wrath?

It is said that Muramasa Sengo was a near madman. If she truly was kin then that same fervor may lie within her.

Just as it did him. "I..." He paused, trying to parse his thoughts. "I'm not quite sure where to go from here." It was a conundrum. He'd sought her family out only to verify their status. Hadn't even planned on introducing himself. Now that they were gone and she was here, things had changed. "We may be family but..." Strangers. Still.

Expressing himself was difficult. Had been since his father was killed. Though he felt as if he should at least give it a try. "Would you care to walk with me?" A concerned glance at the shop likely gave away his intentions.

Surely this place was upsetting to her. It would be to him if he was in her position. They did not have to stay. Taking a few steps he gestured towards the road with his head. "Do you enjoy it? Being shinobi, I mean." Uemon asked, curious to learn more. The Muramasa had not been samurai in over a century. And none were ninja.

It interested him. As a boy he dreamed of being raised to the samurai caste like his clan's progenitor. But no longer.

---

[Sora Minami]

It was hard to remember that day. She should have been able to recall it better, should have been able to draw it with picture perfect clarity, just as she could the moment her Sensei and team were killed. But she couldn’t. The memories were foggy, clouded in emotion and pain and a searing numbness that seeped into her, even now. Because even when the rest of the village had crumbled in despair, she remained. She had lived. Had ran and ran and ran until her legs wouldn’t run anymore, looking for help. And when she’d found it, she’d followed them. Bigger, faster, stronger adults who had no reason to let her come with them. No reason to slow themselves down carrying a little girl. But they had. And she did.

And now, she was here, back where it all began.

"...Neither am I." Sora replied when Uemon spoke, her voice soft and crackling. There was a darkness inside of him, the same kind that had once been inside of her. A billowing tempest of wrath, channeled and focused down towards a singular purpose, like the honed edge of a blade. It let her push on when others fell around her, kept her moving when she wanted nothing more than to fall down from exhaustion, kept her fighting when there seemed no hope of victory. A kind of madness, in a way.

"...Sure." She said, following a few steps behind Uemon without so much as a glance at the ruins she had once called home. It had been twenty-five years since she had seen them, but the place held nothing for her now. Nothing but bad memories and a tangle of feelings she didn’t want to touch, let alone unravel. She walked in silence for a little while, allowing the memories to fade with each step…

And then, Uemon asked her a question.

"That is a… difficult question to answer." Sora said, glancing away from the boy. Even outside of Kirigakure, the Mizukage had eyes. Ears. Watchers and listeners, ready to report back anything they found useful. She had to be careful with what she said, even here. Even with family.

"I enjoy the feeling of strength, the sense of purpose it gives. But being a Shinobi? That is something that gives me pause." She stopped walking then, her voice flat but probing as looked at the back of Uemon’s head. "And you? How do you feel about it?"

Muramasa Uemon

[Muramasa Uemon]

window to a kindred soul

---

Taking note of her position he continued slowly on his way. She chose to walk behind, not beside. Wary. Smart.

It's what he would have done if their roles were reversed. For a time they moved in silence. No doubt both of their minds racing about the situation. The shock, the slim odds of it all. Flashes of the past. Questions of the future.

A lot to take in. Even more to consider. So he did just that. Quietly contemplating as they walked. Eventually the woman spoke her occupation. Describing it in a peculiar manner. "I think I know what you mean..." Uemon replied, thinking back on his own conversations with shinobi. It was not a life for everybody. And further...

...the entire system had insidious implications. Not unlike the training of young boys in his homeland to be kosho, and samurai after that. "Honestly... I don't consider myself shinobi." He said. "Not really, anyway."

Briefly collecting his thoughts, he continued on. "I was trained by one for a time." An old drunk Nukenin, more concerned with booze and women than anything else. He taught him well, despite his incorrigible and annoying ways. "Use some of the same techniques." Ninjutsu in particular. But samurai could wield chakra as well.

No, being a ninja meant more. He was neither spy nor assassin. Held allegiance to no nation or Hidden Village.

Hanagisa had trained him to be a soldier... and Suppa built on those foundations after her. But at the end of the day? "But I'm only a swordsmith's son." He said, thinking of his father. "Nothing more." A way of putting it.

Yet he was a warrior. His master made sure of that before she left. Something occurred to him, and he turned to glance at the woman. "Apologies... I forgot to ask for your name." Revelations were no excuse for impoliteness.

---