AN: This has been sitting in my drafts for about a year now, I thought I'd upload it and see what people think of it—if it's worth following up at all, tell me in the reviews. I haven't seen many male OC fics, and none at all from Iwa, and this idea has been following me for a long time. It'd be fun to see where it goes. Enjoy!

Edited by the incredible Iaso! go check out her story, Fade To Black if you like awesome SI stories with amazing writing and plenty of Shikamaru ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Word count: 3,882

Disclaimer of disclaimers: The story of Naruto ain't mine, but this fic, it's original characters and plot devices belong to me.

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Chapter One - A Dying Sunset

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The sun had just risen above the cold mountain tops of the land of stone, and Han, Jōnin of Iwa and Jinchūriki of the steam, was dead.

It had happened in the evening. His body had been found near the eastern gates, broken, beaten, hardly alive, but he had been breathing. Barely holding on.

He had dragged himself through the hard rocky terrain nearly twenty miles with an exposed abdomen, fractured skull and crushed rib cage, but he had put down an entire platoon of enemy Shinobi specially designed in taking him down. The bodies he had left behind said as much. To most, it looked like Han had been targeted by headhunters. Nin with specialized skill sets that went after high-ranking shinobi with the intent to cash in on the rewards posted by other cooperating countries. It was a common practice. Any talented Jōnin could fall victim to hunter-nin if caught unaware.

But it was Han. Human container of the five tails. He stood seven feet tall and had enough power to make mountains move with a single motion. The man was a legend, he wasn't supposed to get caught off guard. How would competing nations react if they heard Iwagakure was down one of their strongest warriors?

They couldn't let his name die with him the following morning. The five-tailed-beast would have to find a new host and another Han would have to be found.

"Records states that, while he had no immediate family of his own, Han does have a surviving cousin, my lord."

Ōnoki, Kage of Iwa for nearly sixty-five years, narrowed his eyes at the chūnin in front of him. "That's the best news I've heard all day, but why do you look so…" Ōnoki gestured up and down the assistant, "... put off?"

The assistant glanced down at the file in front of him, before passing it over. "He's… uh…" the young man cleared his throat. "Ishikawa Ken'ichi, age six, born out of wedlock to Natsuki Kojirō and Ishikawa Junko, who died shortly after childbirth. He currently resides on the southeast side of the city with his great aunt. He, uh, well, medical records existing in-village state that… well, he's—"

"Just say it." Ōnoki scowled, pulling the file closer to him.

The boy's picture was rather standard; dark hair, olive skin, features common to Iwa, if not the rest of the northeastern countries. Ōnoki took a second look, scanning the child's face and… the child had Han's eyes, that was for sure. A deep scarlet brown, unremarkable at first, but coupled with the boy's empty expression… they felt hollow, yet strikingly perceptive. His other features barely resembled Han's visage, but the Jōnin's face had never been closely documented by outside forces. In truth, the Jinchūriki's identity was hardly known within Iwa either; after his status as human container had been revealed, all he had been known for was his ability to keep the five tails contained, and his brilliant scarlet armor. And, well, those eyes of his.

No person alive forgot the intensity of Han's stare. Enemy and ally alike swore that his glare could make a mountain crumble under the pressure. It was one of the reasons why his loss was such a setback. Public liaisons went infinitely more smooth with a seven-foot behemoth staring holes in the back of their heads. He was the Hammer of Stone, unbreakable in battle, unyielding. One didn't have to know a thing about him, other than feel his presence as he entered a room, to know that he was an unstoppable force of nature. One of Iwa's finest weapons—

And now…

Ōnoki sighed and leaned back in his chair, the photo of Han's only living relative staring at him plain in the face. Scanning the paragraphs of written text underneath the boy's picture, it became clear what the chūnin was talking about.

"He's disturbed?" he observed.

"Well, it's not exactly proven yet by doctors," the chūnin said, sweating when he saw Ōnoki's scowl deepen. "He seems to test very well in civilian classrooms at least. If he showed any interest in shinobi culture I'm sure he'd be considered a prodigy with how advanced his scores are!"

"His guardian stated that the boy believes himself to be nineteen years old, a practicing novelist, and—" Ōnoki shook his head and tossed the paper aside. "He's completely disillusioned with reality and the state of the world… You're sure Han has no other living relatives to choose from?"

The chūnin fidgeted and looked through his notes again despite the fact that they both knew the answer to Ōnoki's question. "I—I'm afraid not, my lord…"

The Kage sighed. "Then there's no other vessel for the five tails." He shook his head and folded his hands on his desk, peering out the window as Iwa gradually began to wake up.

It had been five hours since Han's death. While Ōnoki would have preferred to give the man's corpse time to cool before discussing who would take his place, the fact that they now had a tailed beast and nothing to contain it with rushed matters. There was the safety of the village to think of, and the possibility that the Gobi could go running rampant across the country as soon as the seal keeping it bound to Han's body broke down.

And it would break down.

They had a day. Perhaps less, the way things were going.

Sealing methods hardly kept working when the very surface they were printed on deteriorated at just the same speed as the ink tattooed across it. Decaying flesh was not an optimum surface for keeping images and sealing arrays stable. They could only refrigerate and use chakra for so long before the Gobi figured out what was happening.

Usually, when a Jinchūriki died in the line of battle, tailed beasts died with them. After several years or several months, depending, the beast would reappear and be free to walk the countryside until it was captured again. This situation… was a little different. They had enough luck to get Han before his final moments and contain the beast inside him, but after he passed away, it meant they were keeping the tailed beast locked up in his body. Hovering between life and death. If the Five-Tails escaped, Ōnoki didn't want to imagine what sort of state of mind the creature would be in. If living chakra could speak—and they knew they were capable of it, despite being mindless beings of chaos that they were—the Gobi would most likely take one look at the world around it and try to tear the earth from the sky in its rampage.

It was a headache and a half of manage, but somehow, Ōnoki had to make things work. He could already feel his back stiffen and creak in protest to all the moving around he would have to do in the nearby future.

"Disturbed…" He sighed, running his hand through his beard, deep in contemplation. He took Ken'Ichi's photo out of the folder and held it up to the light so he could see it better. Soft face, rosy cheeks… Hollow eyes. Ōnoki gestured to his assistant's attention once again. "We'll find around this small issue. For now… I need some time alone to compose a letter."

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"Oh, fuck off."

Kitsuchi was a man of many talents. He had often been referred to as disciplined, patient, adaptive, and willing to cooperate in difficult situations, along with praising his humility and restraint when dealing with troublesome missions. Despite being the Tsuchikage's least favorite son in law, he was willing to fulfill whatever request the old man asked of him, especially if the mission was of the utmost importance.

Ken'Ichi Ishikawa was trouble the moment the two made eye contact.

"I'm going to close the door now, and you're going to leave me alone."

"Hey—!"

The boy was just a couple months past his sixth birthday; he wasn't particularly strong, and from what Kitsuchi could sense from the child's chakra coils, they had remained relatively untouched, with no history of training from what the jōnin could remember from his mission briefing. It took only a fraction of his strength to stop the child from closing the door on him, and the man shot Ken'ichi an unimpressed scowl when the boy tried to slam the door on his outstretched foot.

"Ishikawa-san, I'm here on behalf of the Tsuchikage, may I please—"

"I told you to fuck off. I'm not joining the academy, so you can just go back to your little friends from the recruiting office and tell them that you're going to have to postpone your group dick sucking session, I'm not buying into your system of oppression."

It was worse than Kitsuchi had feared. "I think you're misunderstanding the situation—"

"Oh, my bad—" The kid threw his whole body against the weight of the door crushing the life out of the jōnin's foot, but the older man seemed apathetic to the assault. Like a mouse attacking a mountain. It seemed only to aggravate the boy further. "Let the record state that I meant that I meant you'd be postboning the group sex you degenerates get up to after tricking children into throwing their lives away. You might have tricked the other kids, but I'm a citizen of the elemental nations, and I have a right to refuse your bullshit agenda—!"

A very long, aggravated silence followed, while Kitsuchi rubbed his temples and wondered where his life went wrong for him to get saddled with this mission, interrupted only by the sounds of an angsty six year old repeatedly slamming the door against the jōnin foot in an attempt to discourage him.

Eventually, the kid just got too tired to keep going and Kitsuchi pushed open the door to see Ken'Ichi struggling to catch his breath on the floor. The child looked up at him with weary eyes, his chest heaving in between deep gulps of breath. "Y—you're a freak. Do you h—have steel toed shoes or something? What kinda guy just lets someone wail on them like that."

"Was I supposed to get hurt by that?" Kitsuchi allowed himself the small pleasure of soaking up the brat's expression. The taste of defeat was all the sweeter on people who annoyed him, and this kid made the list. Keeping his face neutral the jōnin bent down so the two of them were eye level and tried again to appeal to the boy. "I'm not here to recruit you, the Tsuchikage specifically requested your presence—"

"—this isn't because of my poetry, is it?' the boy blurted out, quick to interrupt. A second and a vacant, questioning look from Kitsuchi later, Ken'Ichi continued. "I have a right to freedom of speech, just because it's anti-establishment doesn't mean The Man can silence me!"

'I am a man of discipline,' Kitsuchi had to remind himself as he ground his teeth together and stood up. People admired him. He was given this mission from his Tsuchikage because people respected him, and thought he could handle the job. He would not let his stepfather down.

Kitsuchi struggled with the desire to simply pick up the kid and carry him to Ōnoki's office. Preferably with a rag stuffed in his mouth. "This is a top secret matter pertaining to your family line. Is your parent or guardian present?"

"What, nana?" Ken'ichi's face suddenly went blank. "No, never. She's not here and she won't consent to you taking me away somewhere. Now, if that's all—"

"Kenta? Is someone at the door?" an elderly voice called from the back of the apartment.

Ishikawa's eyes were wide and his head snapped back to the sound of shuffling and joints cracking. "Nobody's here! Go back to your chair, there's nothing that concerns you at the door!"

"If I want to walk to the front door I won't have you trying to stop me—" The boy disappeared from Kitsuchi's line of sight only to reappear a second later, trailing after a old woman with comically wide circular glasses and a bun with far too many strands of white hair falling out of place.

Compared to her great-nephew, the two were polar opposites. While they shared the need to wear glasses, Kenta opted for sharp, hard-edged ones and kept his hair controlled, cut short, and—who decided to chop off all the child's hair into some sort of unfortunate… bowl cut?

Despite Ken'ichi's unfortunate… hair situation… The two were hardly looked like they shared anything in common. It didn't surprise Kitsuchi that they immediately started to argue with one another.

Maybe if he started over from the beginning that would calm them down?

"Ishikawa-san, I ask for your permission as Ken'ichi's guardian to relinquish him to me so that he may seek an audience with the Sandaime, as it of the utmost importance he does so immediately."

Silence followed.

"Say again?" The old lady smiled tightly, her wrinkled hand finding Kenta's shoulder and squeezing the boy's shoulder with a surprising strength.

Kenta's face was ashy, and he looked up at his guardian with a creeping sense of dread. "Nana, don't you dare—"

She didn't listen to him. "What do you plan on doing with him, if I may ask, shinobi-san?" Her eyes seemed to twinkle as if Kitsuchi had given her an opportunity she had long waited for.

"W—well, actually, it's not me who plans on doing anything, I'm just acting as the Sandaime's mouthpiece," he quickly said, backpedaling. Kenta stared both adults down with copper red eyes and a gaze so sharp it made Kitsuchi uncomfortable. "And I hardly think that the Tsuchikage means for you to sign over custody—"

"Nana," Kenta said between his teeth, a warning tone to his voice.

The old woman's glasses flashed. "But if I did have to sign something, would I have to go somewhere? Sign certain things? Or is this just word of mouth… I assume whatever you need Ken'ichi for has to do with his unholy heritage, yes?"

"Unholy heritage? Is that really appropriate…?" Kitsuchi shifted uncomfortably at their doorstep. "Maybe we could continue this conversation inside, Ishikawa-san, this isn't something that can just be talked about out in the open…"

"Just take him, he's yours." She pushed Kenta forward and outside the house. "You have no idea how much of a pain this kid is. Ever since he ended up in my care… mind you, I never asked to look after him in the first place. It's not my fault his mother went and got herself knocked up—"

"—okay, Nana, he gets it," Kenta said with a huff, staring at the old woman over his shoulder. He pointed to the doorknob as he stepped over the threshold and towards Kitsuchi's side, his arms crossed over his chest. "Make sure you remember the deadlock when you close the door and lock it. And watch out for that plant you knocked over while I'm gone."

The elderly woman harrumphed and bid the jōnin a pleasant goodbye before she slammed the door behind her.

Kitsuchi found himself gawking at the woman's chilling display of familial loyalty before he noticed the six-year-old by his side shake his head, the sound of deadlock clicking into place.

"She never remembers to lock the door when I leave," the child said, sighing.

"You… don't seem bothered by your aunt giving you away…? Just like that…?" The jōnin eyed the child with a cautious look.

Kenta pursed his lips and craned his head up to stare at Kitsuchi's face, outlined by the sun behind him. "You think you're the first person she tried to give me away to? Aunt Aiko is senile, she doesn't even like me on a good day. You're not that special."

Kitsuchi fought the urge to rub his temples again, but at least he had somewhat completed the first part of his mission.

"We're not going to be friends," Ishikawa said as the two of them left the tiny little apartment complex and made their way towards the Tsuchikage's office. His eyes roved over Kitsuchi's face and seemed to find something in it, as he eventually shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets, continuing. "But you can call me Kenta."

"Under normal circumstances, I would say that it would be nice to meet you," Kitsuchi allowed, nodding his head at the boy, "but coming across you has been nothing but a pain so far. If we speak after this, you will address me as 'sir', and leave it at that."

"Right, of course," Kenta said seriously, though the silence that stretched out afterward and his sarcastic expression spoke otherwise.

They walked quietly towards their destination, interrupted only by the sounds of other villages passing by.

Kitsuchi sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He felt kinda bad for being a hardass to a boy who wasn't even old enough to properly tie his shoes. Though, now that he thought of it, Kenta did seemed more mature than other kids his age. Perhaps he had to grow up sooner because of his aunt's failing health…?

"So…" Kitsuchi muttered, trying to fill the awkward silence that had settled in between them. "You write poetry..?"

Kenta's face lit up immediately. "I do! The one I'm working on right now is called 'Suffering, Thine Every Breath A Living Torture' and it's about capitalism and how it espouses a sense of false consciousness that allows the oppressed classes to accept and perpetuate their own subjugation. You wanna hear some?"

"No, I definitely do not, thank you, but—"

"The milk has curdled, gone sour in the carton, and yet The Man puppets the world, demanding that I see it as cheese—"

Kitsuchi didn't know what he did to deserve the Tsuchikage's wrath—or no, perhaps he did. Perhaps he went wrong first dating Ōnoki's daughter, or perhaps this was simply the old man's way of getting back at him for that one time he walked in on the two of them together. Whatever the case was—revenge, or a sense of vindictive sadism brought on by old age—he hoped that this was the only time he would have to bow to the Tsuchikage's will, because Kenta Ishikawa was…

"Oh tepid fate, how my production lays among a line like that of a machine, the system an ever cruel unyielding assault to my young mind."

… something else entirely.

The second Kitsuchi was done rubbing his temples and plugging his ears, he opened his mouth to tell the kid to tone it down when they got to the Tsuchikage, only—

"Shit!"

Kenta had slipped out of his grasp and snuck into the populated market of downtown Iwa, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust and the memory of his poorly constructed anti-establishment poetry behind.

Kitsuchi was already at his breaking point.

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The land of Earth was vast in size and diverse in culture, perhaps not as much as the Land of Lightning, with its rampant kidnapping and adoption policy, but diverse nonetheless. Among its inhabitants were people of many clans and statures, though their population consisted primarily of those native to the rigid landscape and large stone fixtures. They had a booming tourist industry that welcomed travelers from many distant parts of the globe.

While the land was often dominated by mountain ranges and large, barren swatches of land untouched by farmers due to its too-hard soil, many members of the country relied on the protective rock walls for shelter, housing, and protection from the elements. And so, it wasn't an unexpected sight to see windows and portholes within the mountains themselves, as a vast organization of buildings and homes were carved deep into the side of otherwise sheer cliffs and empty stone walls.

Roshi, Jinchūriki of the four-tailed Bijuu, was not unknown to these cliffside residences. The wooden bridges and elevations provided an exciting and interesting way to leave uncomfortable situations when needed. Angry ex-lover? Toss yourself out of a window. Disgruntled old landlord wondering where you've been for years? Toss yourself out of a window. Problem solved. Roshi was a paragon of avoidance tactics. Though he was known within the country as the container for the 'handsome monkey king' Son Gokū, Roshi enjoyed his privacy and the time he could spend alone, preferably in quiet contemplation.

The tap, tap, tap of a carrier bird at his window broke a six-hour session of silent meditation, and it was only until the infernal pest started scraping against the glass did Roshi exhale and get up to put the thing out of its misery.

He noticed the purple marker of the Tsuchikage attached to the bird, and quickly released the tag containing the creature's message, unsealing the scroll to read the scrawl that Roshi recognized as Ōnoki's writing style.

The letter was brief, and urged him to return to the capitol as soon as possible, only giving minor allusions to what was really going on. Roshi knew better than to accept the idea that the message wasn't in code—there were few reasons for the old man to contact him after the Jinchūriki made it perfectly clear that he wanted time and space away from Iwa to reflect on his actions in the past war. He had earned the time off, and while he knew that he was still a tool of the country, he also knew that the peace he and the other Jinchūriki shared were only an illusion. They were objects of mass destruction, meant to be called upon in great times of need. There were only a few reasons for the Tsuchikage to request the presence of Roshi on such a short time limit.

Either they were going to war again, or something had happened to the other Jinchūriki. And since Roshi had been operating near the border and had seen no tell-tale signs of conflict brewing, it could only mean that something had happened to Han.

There was a number of possibilities at stake. Roshi only hoped that Ōnoki's summons was well-intentioned as he hoped.

… but Roshi had been a tool of Iwa for over forty years. He knew better than to accept a cause at face value. Like the stone mountains, the country owed its namesake for, even the hardest rock was capable of concealing great sprawling cities. Anything could be lying beneath the surface.

What's really going on, Ōnoki?

One would have to wait and see. Thankfully, Roshi had learned to be a patient man.