Sarutobi Hiruzen had prepared himself for multiple worst-case scenarios he had imagined over the past few weeks.

However, the more they found out about the lights that were able to track the Hiraishin seals, the more worried he had become.

For one thing, he suspected Iwa’s involvement, as they had a history of antagonism towards Konoha—to say the least—and Minato himself. Finding out that the Tsuchikage was as confused as he was about the nature of the phenomena had only brought about more worry.

Dealing with unknown dangers was not something that a wise man, shinobi or not, was eager to do. Oh, it could be done, it would be done, if it was deemed necessary, but it wasn’t something to take lightly.

Then, while one of his best ANBU teams was tracking the—moving—source of the lights, his former student had sent a quickly-written report, complete with attached evidence, regarding a strange-looking ship that had anchored on the Earth Country’s shores.

A ship similar to another one that his students had stumbled upon thirty… eight years ago? Or was it thirty-seven?

A ship that, unlike the previous one, was still manned by weirdly-dressed men that had begun bartering for supplies with the locals. Paying in good silver, from what Jiraiya had written. And being cheated on the prices quite a bit as well.

Being tricked into buying cheap merchandize at bloated prices notwithstanding, the Sandaime was ready to bet his pipe that it came from the same land Minato had come from—whenever that may have been. Not being able to give the young man more information about his origins was just one item on his long list of regrets, yet no matter the map, library or archive he had checked over the years, he had found nothing.

After Minato’s death, he had given up. With Minato gone and the village in disarray, there was no point in chasing old ghosts.

Now though, a ship coming—probably—from the same distant shores had appeared just as someone had figured out how to track Minato’s seals.

Hiruzen had not kept his village safe from certain doom by believing in coincidence.

He had to admit that when he had been informed of the mission’s success and the capture of the parties responsible, he had dared to feel a little relief. The team would bring them back to Konoha and questions could be asked.

Using any possible means deemed necessary to ensure the gain of the answers.

Of course, Sarutobi was an old fool to expect things to be that easy. You didn’t survive as a shinobi for so long by hoarding large amounts of good karma, at least not usually.

He struck a match on the cell’s wall and slowly lit his pipe, eyes not moving from the prisoner’s own.

There were differences, of course.

The man in front of him was older, three scars were running on the right side of his face and he seemed to cultivate an appreciation for facial hair. Some of the people who got to know of this person's existence after they captured him had even considered the possibility that this man is a clone of Yondaime, done by Iwa in secret. He didn’t regarded those claims and thoughts. For they know too little about this man. But it is still too early to assume. That’s why he is here to get his answers.

Even so, the resemblance was uncanny.

The eyes, though… those eyes were completely different.

Minato's eyes had always been kind, warm and caring, unless the person under their gaze was a danger to the village. Then they would turn cold, made of steel and you just knew the man was going to do anything in his power to stop you.

However, the stranger's eyes reminded Sarutobi of an old soldier, a man that had seen too many things and had carried too many sorrows and regrets. There was also something that he couldn't really place, but it could've been because of the drugs keeping him subdued...

He also seemed more interested into the light bulb than him, for some reason.

There were other differences as well, which confused Sarutobi a little more.

Posture, body language and mannerism. Everything was wrong, the most un-shinobi he had seen in a prisoner whose capture had required the utmost effort of dozens of ANBU teams, which nearly caused them to fail.

But despite their success, the teams that were sent had numerous of injured – no death. Which made Sarutobi surprised as he is expecting some casualties on their side, especially when their operation was on a nation that was on hostile relation with Konoha. Upon hearing this, he started to suspect the authenticity of the thought that he was a clone made by Iwa. They were not known to be lenient to any captured Konaha shinobi.

Then it was also written on how the captains of the ANBU teams have unanimously reported that their enemy wasn’t even trying to kill them. It was actually hesitating to give them any fatal harm while defending himself and his companions where many times that it could have. They also noticed how their target seems suffering on some kind of headaches where it helped them capture him at the end. Some of these captain who knew the Yondaime even suggested the possibility that he was revived by the Iwa by some unknown jutsu instead but just lost his memories due to being brainwashed.

He would've almost bought it at face-value. Almost.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” he asked, not thinking that anything would’ve changed since the last attempt. “I am Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Sandaime Hokage. As you may have understood by now, you’re a prisoner of Konoha.”

At the sound of his voice the stranger looked straight at him once again, staring at him for a few seconds while visibly trying to balance his body, still numbed by the narcotic.

“Look, old man. I told you already, I don’t understand anything of what you’re saying,” the blond said in a tired tone. Sarutobi could understand most of the sounds but they made no logical sense to him.

He had tried in the last hour to ask the obvious questions to the man, but he had always answered in an unintelligible way.

The Sandaime was not a linguist, but he didn’t need to be to realize that this was not a weird-sounding accent. It was a completely different language. An unknown one.

While everything seemed to point at some unknown group from outside the known lands, he couldn't dismiss the chance that this was an incredibly contrived plot.

For all he knew Orochimaru—who was very aware of a few certain facts about Minato’s origins and not Iwa—could’ve been responsible.

"Bet you can't understand me either,” the man's gruff voice said. “Otherwise I would ask about those three magelings of mine."

The tone the stranger had used was detached, almost callous. Yet there was something hidden behind it.

Concern.

Was the stranger feeling concern for himself, or for his younger companions though?

"Pity," the Sandaime said, deciding that it was time to throw a little bait for testing the waters. "I was hoping you could tell us why you were tracking Minato's seals..."

At the mention of the Yondaime's name, the man's eyes shot towards him, comprehension clearly visible in them.

So, there was at least one word he understood. Which didn't really make sense.

How could someone from outside the Elemental Nations know the first name of the Yondaime Hokage, since it was Hiruzen that had given it to him? Or even know about the Hiraishin, for that matter. There was also the matter of how he had found one of those kunai, as well.

Ignoring the Minato lookalike, Sarutobi dismissed himself and his form exploded in a puff of smoke.

Back in the Hokage's office, the real Sandaime stopped reading some documents concerning the upcoming exams when he had the sudden idea of letting the original deal with the headache he was feeling.

He was still for a second before collecting his thoughts. Clone memory feedback could get confusing sometimes.

Sarutobi pinched his nose with a groan, momentarily forgetting about the stack of papers. Why did this have to get more and more complicated by the minute?

"Alright," he sighed placing the documents on the top of a neatly stacked pile. “Time to deal with this and get answers, no matter what.”

Quickly getting a hold of a blank sheet of paper and a few modules, the old Hokage started to scribble some specifications about the course of action in the prisoners' interrogations.

Specifically, adding a few unusual, rarely needed procedures.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

Conrad blinked as the old man disappeared, seemingly exploding in a thick whiff of smoke.

He had seen a lot of strange things in his travels—and that was the greatest understatement of the Fourth Era—but this was new even to him.

Some kind of local spell, maybe? The old man really looked like the classic figure of the old mage, with robes, weird hat and all.

Oh great. Now he was rambling on his own. Whatever the masked bastards had given to him, it really made it difficult to focus.

Since he didn't have anything better to do, he could as well get his thoughts in order as he waited for its effects to wear down.

He was a prisoner, that was a fact. The cell and the chains were a big giveaway.

The manacles needed a special mention though. There were some runes inscribed all around them, and if he looked at them closely he could see the faint, ghostly glow that they were emitting at regular intervals. He felt like a fool for not noticing it sooner.

Those bracelets, or to be more specific those runes, were sucking away his magicka.

Not completely, thank the Nines. It seemed that the ratio to which he was being depleted was slightly inferior to the one at which his magicka reserves were replenishing themselves.

Starting to throw magic without care as he usually did would leave him seriously depleted though.

Even if he was an untalented enchanter at best, he would've really liked to study how they worked. Containing spellcasters was always a problem back at home, unless you restrained them completely. Or broke their hands, or resorted to even more... drastic methods if you wanted to be sure. Then he remembered his fight with the Boar. That was actually a good restriction spell. It was strong enough to resist his vampire lord form. He made a mental note to ask about that later if his captors decided something better about him.

He considered himself lucky that they had limited his bindings to just these pair of glorified shackles.

They itched a lot, tough. Which was terrible.

Focus. You’re not senile yet, as nice as that would be. Focus.

Tapping to his magical energies wasn't different from the usual, manacles or not.

He could feel all the living beings around his cell. There were many, a few dozens at least. Some lingered around—guards? Other prisoners?—but there was a noticeable coming and going of people, especially above him.

Probably a keep's prison or a similar place, if he had to make an educated guess.

Even if he had left his cell using his magic or the Thu'um—thank goodness they hadn't gagged him—there was no way to tell where his students were. Especially if the guards were the masked freaks that had ambushed him in the forest. They now have the choice to take them as hostages.

No; Conrad knew that this would take subtlety, much more than he was used to...and wanted to. As much as he wanted to show them the total punishment for imprisoning a dragon, he must take this with patience. At least his interrogators were not torturing him or planning to castrate him...yet.

What really worried him was that the old man had said something about Minato. He finally had a clue. And from what he could see from the old man's eyes, even if he couldn't understand him, he was asking Conrad that is related to Minato. The way his luck went, the man probably had an ancient grudge against his brother.

Hopefully they wouldn’t let him starve at least.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

The tension in the room was palpable to every one of the people that had recently passed through it.

So palpable, in fact, even the villagers had started to gossip about what was troubling the shinobi of their village.

In truth, only the higher ranking individuals of the village were aware of the whole situation, though their subordinates had noticed that some had expressed their concern in the privacy of their own homes.

The rumor mill had done the rest.

The old Kage sighed, looking out over his village from his office window. He knew that the stories whispered on the marketplaces, bars and homes were either completely made up, or exaggerations of reality. He couldn't help but frown at the thought that just a bit too many were about the condition of his spine.

"Tsuchikage-sama...?" his secretary called meekly, daring to get Oonoki's attention after a few minutes of silence.

He turned towards his audience, the best shinobi of Iwagakure, who were all waiting for his decision on this delicate matter.

The investigation had led to nothing, even when he had sent his own teams beyond the border. Except for the discovery of an abandoned campsite. A campsite that had been attacked by probably forty to fifty shinobi. How they were able to cross the borders without being detected also gave him a headache. This also poses a doubt to their own security.

The attackers had been good at concealing their traces, cover any tracks and evidence of any battle that occurred, but Iwa-nins were not famous for their earth-based techniques for nothing. Creating rock spikes or throwing giant boulders at the enemy was just one of the many possible uses.

While the squad's tracker had not being able to discern everything that had transpired in that place, it was clear what direction the winning party had left toward, taking prisoners with them.

Konoha.

Which meant that whatever answers he may had hoped to get about this "Yellow Flash Sightings" were now somewhere behind the gates of their long-term adversaries.

Tree-hugging bastards.

"Are you sure that it was him?" the Tsuchikage asked, talking to the leader of the squad that had the closest contact with their target.

"Quite certain, Tsuchikage-sama," the kunoichi, Gareki Ishina said.

"Quite, you say? Do you mean that you have some doubts?" Oonoki asked, frowning. The jonin finched visibly at this, but didn't reply, avoiding the Kage's eyes.

The Tsuchikage knew that the woman was a loyal kunoichi, a veteran of the Third Shinobi War to boot, which meant that her opinion on this matter was highly valued. Sadly it seemed that her recent experience had awakened way too many unpleasant memories.

Especially those involving the Yondaime Hokage. Still, there were more important matters than a jonin suffering from post-traumatic disorder at stake, here.

"Well? We’re not getting younger, girl. Out with it!” the old Kage pressed on.

"I... I can't say for certain, sir,” the woman replied, quickly regaining her composure. “The man was old enough, he resembled the Y—that man a lot but more importantly…Those eyes, sir,” she finally said, frowning. “I saw them as he threw one of those kunai towards my squad. I would never mistake those eyes."

“The reports collected from various villages describe this man wearing a suit of armour, though,” one of Oonoki’s advisers said, seeing the discrepancy. “And neither he nor his companions were wearing any identifying insignia, or standard shinobi gear.”

“It may have been an undercover mission,” one of the other Shinobi in the room butted in. “Masquerading as mercenary escorting some customers, or something like that.”

“Why go in an undercover mission if you start to cast a jutsu that fires multiple lights in the Land of Fire’s direction?!” the councilor exclaimed in outrage. “That’s preposterous!”

“Enough,” Oonoki said, immediately silencing the argument before it could start. “No matter how we look at it or try to rationalize this, we need answers. Even if the trail seems to go straight into the home of our enemies.”

“I volunteer for the task, Tsuchikage-sama!” Ishina declared, taking a step forward. The Tsuchikage looked straight into her eyes, but she didn’t break eye contact.

“No,” he said firmly, considering the kunoichi’s past. “You’re too involved, you may be a liability for the mission.”

“I insist, sir,” she replied, surprising everyone in the room. The woman had guts, nobody would deny that.

“Oh? So, you think you can do better than me, youngster?” Oonoki asked in a mocking tone. “Do you think that you can take a decision for the best interest of the village?”

She better had a good reason to defy him, otherwise he would send her to teach the brats at the Academy.

“No, sir. I believe that not sending me with the team would be a great a waste of our assets.”

“A waste of our assets? You have a high opinion of yourself,” one of her fellow jonin said scoffing.

“Excuse me?” she exclaimed in genuine surprise, frowning at her colleague. “I’m the only one here who—”

“Just because you ran as everyone was—”

“Don’t you dare, you—”

“Stand down, both of you,” Oonoki ordered, defusing yet another argument before it could turn into a scuffle. “Gareki-san, you better tell me one good reason to send you on this mission, and do it now.”

"With all due respect, if we take in consideration the worst-case scenario, I have the most experience to deal with it,” she proclaimed, fully confident of her abilities. “I know what to expect and I will not be a liability to this mission. And more importantly, I should be sent because I will bring my team back alive, no matter what.”

“I see,” the Kage muttered, nodding solemnly. “Very well then, I suppose you should get acquainted with your genin at once if we want to be sure that our teams will be accepted.”

“My… my what?” the kunoichi asked in confusion, her confident expression evaporating at the unexpected news, much to the old man’s amusement.

“The Chunin Exams are an international event, after all,” Oonoki said, a smug grin forming on his face, before turning towards his secretary. “Procure me a list of the youngest shinobi among our forces of any rank. If they find even asingle trace of that blond bastard they'll report back immediately!”

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

"Isn’t it strange?" Naruto asked, slumped on the bridge's railing in an incredibly bored tone. He had spent the last hours pacing up and down the usual meeting spot, before finally give up because of the boredom.

"What’s strange?" Sakura asked from the other side of the bridge. "Kakashi-sensei is always late."

"No, not that," the blond said, looking at the bright and cloudless sky. "I was thinking about those lights. The ones from before that everyone was worked up over."

"What about them?"

"Well, they scared the whole village and kept coming for a while, but then they stopped all of the sudden," he murmured.

"Isn't that a good thing?" the girl asked. "I mean, it was obviously a jutsu… even if I never read about something like that in our books..."

“Of course it’s good," Naruto answered turning quickly towards the kunoichi. "It just bothers me how nobody is going to tell us anything about it!”

“If you’re so curious, why don’t you try to ask?” Sakura proposed.

“I tried to ask but I couldn’t even see the Old Man lately, he’s busy with something," he said, pouting as he laid his back against the railing, his hands coming up to lace themselves behind his head. "And neither Kakashi-sensei or Iruka-sensei would tell me.”

“If those lights have stopped, it’s probably because the responsible was dealt with,” Sasuke suddenly said, without looking towards his teammates.

“What do you mean, ‘dealt with’?” Naruto asked, looking at the Uchiha in confusion.

Instead of answering, Sasuke slowly turned towards Naruto and stared at him coldly. The blond’s eyes widened in realization, and so did Sakura’s.

“Way to ruin the mood for the day, Sasuke.”

“Excuse me if I think that an enemy was probably killed. Idiot.”

“Hey!”

“Maybe… maybe they have been killed, but don’t you think that the Hokage would want to find out why they did it instead?”

"You know, cute little genin shouldn't poke their noses in stuff that doesn't concern them," a familiar voice said behind them.

"YOU'RE LATE!" Naruto and Sakura immediately shouted, getting quickly over their sensei's sudden arrival.

"A nice lady asked me for directions, and—"

"LIAR!" the two loud twelve years olds yelled, interrupting the older shinobi before they could hear whatever half-baked excuse he prepared this time. Sasuke instead just sneered at his general direction.

"Alright, we had our fun. Time to start the morning training though. We've wasted enough time."

"And who's fault is that?" Naruto mumbled, glancing at him accusingly. It seemed that even Sasuke was agreeing with the blond, for once.

"After training, we'll go ask for some mission at the Hokage Tower," the jonin kept explaining.

"Oh great. More D-rank chores," the blonde groaned, while his teammates flinched at the perspective of another trash-collecting, fence-painting, cat-catching or other task a random villager needed that day.

"Maybe we could do some extra physical conditioning as well, once today's mission is over," Kakashi finished, taking his favourite book out of his jacket vest. A little exercise would do the kids good.

"What?! But—"

"NARUTO, SHUT UP!” Sakura scolded him. “Don't make it worse than it is!"

Kakashi ignored his students' antics as he led them towards their usual training ground, but he secretly understood why they were curious about the mysterious event. To tell the truth, he would've liked to know as well given the mysterious jutsu had something to do with his own sensei, or at least, his sensei’s signature technique.

The investigation was still in-progress though, and having been declared a S-rank emergency, it wasn't his place to question the Sandaime directly.

Although he could pester Tenzo a little about the prisoners that his team had taken back to the village, once his team had been entered in the upcoming exams.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

Conrad was sitting on a chair made of metal, of all things. It was incredibly uncomfortable, and he had the suspicion that it had been designed to be that way. On the other side of a polished table made of the same material, were two people: a man and a woman.

Besides the old man with a goatee, they were the first faces he had seen since waking up in his cell, and they were glaring at him like he was trash.

The man with the bandana was mostly unremarkable, except for the strong chin and the scars covering his face.

The woman, on the other hand, besides being very attractive, had purple hair.

Purple. Hair.

A dark shade, but still…

Purple.

Conrad had never seen—or heard—of someone with such a hair colour. It was probably dyed, but still… who dyed their hair purple?

The only accessory they both wore, besides pouches, was a metallic plate on their foreheads, similar to the one he had found on that skull. It had a different symbol though, which reminded him of a badly-drawn snail.

Hair colour and snails aside, they both gave him the same impression. They were professional, dangerous and used to situations like this.

At the corners of the small room instead, there were four of the masked guards. They may as well have been carved in stone from how still they were standing, but he could feel the barely held hostility against him.

It reminded him of that time he had stumbled upon a reunion of some Stormcloaks’ veterans by pure chance, a few years ago. This time though, there was no mead.

The room itself was very plain, besides one of those not-magical bulbs of light on the ceiling and a large mirror on one side.

He had no idea what purpose the mirror served, given the rest of the room, but he remained wary of it.

The now named Scars and Purple exchanged a quick glance. Then, the man took a thin pile of parchment out of a bag, each sheet no wider than his palm. He placed one on the center of the table.

Conrad's mind immediately took a double take as he saw it. On it was a perfect reproduction of the swarm of the tracking lights generated by his clairvoyance spell.

Then, Scar-face placed another paper right beside the first, this one picturing a single light passing close to a panicked person in a weird outfit.

Then another one, showing a different scene. And another one, and another one again.

Why would anyone paint that? Who would waste their time painting that to such detail?!?

Although, after a careful look, he had to admit that whoever the artist was really, really good. There were no brush marks or defects in the paint, and the surface was completely smooth.

Even if Conrad appreciated the art, albeit in such a strange form, he couldn't help but wonder what the point of it was.

“What’s with this guy?” the purple-haired woman said, arching an eyebrow. “It’s like he’s never seen a photo before.”

"We know you can't understand us, so that makes interrogating you quite difficult, no matter what ... measures we would employ," Scars said in a low, gruff tone, ignoring his companion and not breaking eye contact with Conrad.

The Nord had no idea what the man had said, but it sounded like he was trying to be intimidating.

How cute.

Sadly for him, he couldn’t hold a candle to most of the beings he had the displeasure of talking with. Especially because he couldn't grasp the unfamiliar language at all.

"We can still make you understand that we mean business though," the woman said, taking the remaining small paintings from her fellow interrogator and laying them on the top of the others with a wicked smile.

Conrad's blood froze.

Just like the previous ones, the image was perfect down to the most minuscule detail, almost like if a piece of the real world had been trapped on the small paper.

Ta'Sava was staring right at him with a worried and yet curious expression, his ears pointed forwards.

Sven had been painted mid-yelling, one finger pointed towards who looked at the picture. At his hands, manacles similar to Conrad's own were clearly visible.

Beta's eyes instead were red and puffy, like she had been crying for a long time, and she looked on the verge of one of those panic attacks she used to have as Conrad met her in the College.

And finally, the last painting, showing what was clearly a set of torturer's tools gleaming in the painting's light.

Conrad saw red.

Only when he heard his now broken shackles drop on the floor that he noticed that his right hand which transformed into a large monstrous arm with long fingers and claws. And how it lunged for the woman and held her neck, threatening to crush it. His eyes turned into a feral predatorial golden eyes.

Much different than his red-eyed vampire lord.

And now there was a blade pointed at the Nord's throat, heart, lung and liver, one for each of the masked guards present in the room. They were quick as ever that they all responded just as fast as he grabbed the woman’s throat.

Scars-face and Purple-whore hadn't even moved, not even flinched.

The woman herself was just surprised, but not in fear but interest. Her curving lips told him that she knew that he wouldn't do anything stupid to them.

Conrad cursed his previous decision. He is tempted to annihilate all of them entirely.

"Well... that's different. I'm pretty sure the Yondaime didn't have anything like that," Scar-face commented while running his chin.

"Could it be... that this guy has...?" the woman said hurriedly, pointing a finger at his face, with a frown on her while looking at him then to his transformed arms. What was her problem?

Oh right.

Anger, lack of control, dragon slitted pupils. Same old, same old.

Damn, he needed a drink. It had been way too long. He let go of her neck and transformed back his arm. The woman really are confident as she didn't even looked at him when he gave up her neck.

"No, there are no seals of any kind on his body. It may be a weird bloodline, though," the scarred man mumbled, looking at him pensively.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here, you filthy—" Conrad yelled at them, only to stop the long and creative chain of insults that he was going to point, then he felt one of the blades prickle against his skin, having been pressed against it a little more firmly.

Biting his lips, Conrad moved his gaze from the smirking woman to the paintings of his foolish students.

Even if he tried to use magic or the dragon shouts, he isn't sure if his students wouldn't get skewered like pigs if he made them very hostile to them. That’d be no help to himself or his younger companions. Or to his goal to find something on this blasted continent. If only his damnable brother didn't let him get captured–wait, wait, wait…Minato… his brother somehow tinkered his mind, which made him stop from almost killing those men previously.

Which means that Minato was protecting them from him.

Which also means that Minato was somehow NOT on bad terms with his captors.

Conrad's brain immediately went to overworking in creating some scenarios why the current events is happening. Many reasons were entering his mind with various causes and effect. But none of them were giving him the possibility that Minato was hostile to them. Although he never believed any assumption without any evidence, he is confident that these people were probably the closest ones to Minato. People who knew him not as an enemy but as friends or close acquaintance... or people.

Slowly, very slowly, he moved back to his seat with this realization, the guards’ weapons following his movements and yet not wavering in aiming for his vital spots. These guys were good, they could give the Thalmor's interrogation units a run for their money.

But he really hated their ignorance. Damn your people Minato.

Finally sitting down, he allowed himself to growl a little while giving a bad eye at the two people on the other side of the table.

They didn't seem to care. Bastards.

The guards didn't remove their weapons for a few seconds, just to be sure that he had calmed down. Apparently they were satisfied by seeing him boiling in rage inwardly though because they finally went back to their places around the room without saying a word.

Conrad really, really hated feeling in being restricted.

Not by these people, but by his decision and his longing to know more about his brother. If not, he would already have been sitting on a burnt ground.

“Very well, now that you know how things are—” Purple Whore chirped, reaching for the insides of her own coat. He made another mental note to remember her face. He is not someone who will let go of those who wronged him even if it’s just a misunderstanding or ignorance. Minato was the first Akaviri to know about his bad habit first hand.

Conrad clenched his fists, expecting another bad surprise.

Which turned out to be another stack of sheets, this time white as snow and around the size of a book. And a short, sharpened stick.

Conrad was at a loss of words. What was that all about?

His confusion was probably showing because the woman smirked a little before moving the stick on the paper, which produced some scratching noises.

The stick had a black point, and to the mage's amazement, a thin black line appeared where the stick passed. It didn't seem to be ink, maybe it was charcoal? No, the line was too clean and neat.

An instrument able to write so quickly and without having to stop to refill the ink like a quill... what would have he done to examine such a thing in a less hostile environment.

Purple finished her work and showed him the page with a grin.

Conrad was wrong, now he was at a loss of words. He wasn't even sure what he was looking at.

Seven runes of unknown meaning were present on the white surface, forming a column of single... letters? He couldn't make head or tails of them. It was then that he realized a terrible truth.

In this continent, he was technically an illiterate. For some reason, the notion of not being able to read was way scarier than that time he had dined with Sheogorath.

"Mitarashi Anko," the woman said, pointing at the symbols and then at herself, still grinning. The Nord, still a bit shocked by the concept he had just grasped on could only stare in confusion, not understanding on what was the point of this.

After a few seconds the woman tried again, pointing at herself and at the runes, spelling the sound of each of them. Either she was asking for something or she was introducing herself.

But why would an interrogator introduce herself, especially if they had immediately resorted to threats instead of playing good guard and bad guard?

Frustrated by his lack of response, the woman just went back to writing on the white sheet for a few minutes. Her companion just remained silent for the whole time.

"Mitarashi…Anko," she repeated slowly, like she was speaking to a particularly dumb child. That was not shocking to Conrad.

There was a humanoid figure scribbled besides the column of runes, but... it was incredibly wrong.

The head was oversized, as big as the rest of the figure's body. The eyes were bigger than they should've been, there was no visible nose and no lips around the grinning mouth. The limbs instead were small, and pathetically puny to look at.

Was this woman just bad at drawing or was it a peculiar style used in Akavir in these days?

It vaguely resembled her though, so at least he knew that she WAS trying to introduce herself.

"Anko?" he tried, pointing towards the woman.

"Yes, yes. Right. Whatever, let's just get going with this farce," said Anko muttered, while nodding. "Ibiki," she said pointed a thumb towards her silent partner, who gave a barely perceptible nod. After this she scribbled a few more runes, always on a column.

Conrad was ready to bet one thousand septims that it probably was the man's name.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what was supposed to happen now.

"Con—" he started, before remembering something. Hadn't Minato said how in these lands, they said the surname before the name? Yes, something like that.

Still sounded weird to him though.

"Harissen, Conrad," he said, pointing towards himself with his restrained hands.

She repeated his name as she wrote it, butchering the pronunciation spectacularly.

It was a start, at least.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

They were marching.

By hundreds, they were marching through the unfamiliar landscape, because their Kage had ordered so.

Among them there were veterans and rising stars among their village's ranks alike.

To ensure their village's victory, they would destroy their enemies without regret.

Then the screams started.

A flare of yellow, and a dozen comrades would die in the blink of an eye, mowed down like so many blades of grass.

Bodies were torn apart, gushing blood like discarded petals as blue spinning orbs mangled through flesh, muscle and bone alike.

Friends, allies and rivals were dying without even being able to defend themselves, attacked from an enemy that seemed to arrive from every direction at once.

Then those blue eyes locked onto her—

Ishina suddenly woke up, her hand tightened around one of her kunai.

Above her, she could see the canopy of the stars, and slowly looking around herself she recognized the spot where she and her team had made camp for the night.

The kunoichi let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Just a dream.

A dream of a distant memory.

The woman was aware that she wouldn't have been able to go back to sleep though, so she rose from her bed roll.

Her teammates, her 'genin', were all asleep besides the sentry standing on watch at a moderate distance.

They were not really genin though, but they were all young enough to pass for them. They had been selected taking in consideration their age, their skill and more importantly the fact that none of them were in any Bingo book Iwa knew of.

Which of course had led to—

"Gareki-sempai?" a girl's voice asked from the edge of the camp. "Is something troubling you?"

"I'm fine, Kurotsuchi. Go to sleep, I'll take over your shift," Ishina said, getting closer to the younger kunoichi. "That's an order," she added, seeing the girl's hesitation.

Kurotsuchi merely nodded before moving back to the camp and rejoining her teammates, while Ishina had taken her place, she couldn't help but wonder about her charges.

Powerful, well-trained enough to have a chance in this mission, and yet young enough to pass as a genin and not famous enough in the shinobi world to be recognized at a first glance.

That had been the criteria for choosing the fake genin. Which the Tsuchikage's granddaugther satisfied completely.

The fact that it added more weight on Ishina's shoulders was left unsaid.

She had no intention to fail, though.

In only two more days they would reach Konoha and then the mission would start for real. She would protect her charges.

And find the truth.

She just hoped to have at least a chance to get a shot at that cursed blond, if he was still alive.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

Conrad sneezed.

It had been happening a lot, lately.

Just one more reason to hate this place. The food had helped in that as well, but he supposed that no matter how foreign, prison food was still bad everywhere.

He was still not sure why the guards visibly flinched when he pierced his food with those stick he was given instead of a fork or spoon, though.

"Either someone is thinking about you, or you're catching a cold," Anko said jokingly. Since he didn't understand anything of it, whatever she found funny was lost on him.

The last day—judging by the number of meals brought to him, since there were no windows that he could use to judge the passage of time—had been very boring and yet stressful.

Most of the time had been invested into working with his interrogators to create a way to communicate, although it was not very complex and most of what was "said" had to be guessed with charades or visual aids.

And still he hadn't been able to find out more about this place or the magelings, besides the fact that they were the only reason he was collaborating with his captors.

He had only been “told” that they were imprisoned in the same place. If the woman's weird drawings could be trusted, of course.

Because judging by them, his students were either in various cells or inside some boxes with a lock.

This day had been the first of real questioning. For his part, Conrad had tried to answer all at the best of his abilities, if it was possible. Even if drawing with both hands chained was not exactly easy, he was sure that what he had showed them was enough to understand.

So far he had shown them a rough map of Tamriel and explained that he was a Nord, using the most typical Nord imagery he could think of. Who said that stereotypes were not useful?

His interrogators seemed confused by this though. Neither the map nor the other drawings seemed to mean much to them, actually.

Could it be that they didn’t know of the Tamrielic people at all? A lot could’ve changed from the times of their attacks against it.

Tamriel knew of Akavir, why shouldn't it be the same for the Akaviri?

True, the details their invasions on Tamriel’s soil were not common knowledge among the general populace, and the few known facts about the continent had so far—in Conrad’s personal experience—revealed themselves to be very probably a giant pile of intellectual garbage.

Before he could try to imagine a possible explanation though, Ibiki placed one of the paintings he had been shown the first time. The one with the light that was moving through the sky.

Conrad sighed. It seemed to be really important to them, for some reason that he couldn’t fathom.

Explaining it to them would’ve been tricky though.

Picking up the writing tool that he had no idea how to name yet—albeit he was partial for brush-stick—he started to draw doodles trying to imitate the local artistic style.

He sketched a miniature version of himself no bigger than his thumb, being sure to make it clear that he was casting a spell.

Classic mage doing his thing pose, with staff in his other hand. Then he added a ball of light similar to the one made by the spell. Even a child would understand that.

Under it, he made another sketch, this time him following the light, followed by quickly-drawn representations of his students.

Seemed pretty simple to him.

The expressions on Anko and Ibiki's faces as they looked at each other were not encouraging though.

"At least we know that the cat-boy is real," the scarred man muttered. "Doesn't really help, though."

"Can't we just give this guy to Inoichi and get over with it?"

"If mind probing was that reliable, the whole Yamanaka clan would never get out of T&I," Ibiki said, almost shoving a new painting on Conrad's face. “Tell us about this.”

It was the strange knife he had been guided to by one of the straying clairvoyance spell.

Because Minato's runes were inscribed on its handle. It seemed to be important for these people.

Deadly important, if they were threatening to torture kids because of it.

The thought that these people had some grudge against his brother is now replaced with the thought that they were trying to investigate a man who had the same face as their...friend? Husband? Acquaintance? Uncle? Relative? Whatever, but he has the same face as his bastard brother whom they also knew, and was carrying a weapon or knifey thing that was owned by that same bastard brother. A reasonable behavior for them. As he would do the same in their position.

But the language barrier between them is a frustrating thing.

If he managed to survive this, he would add it to the list of reasons to punch Minato for.

To explain why he had that knife though, he would have to start from the beginning.

Better avoid the part with the almost-death experience in the Soul Cairn though. One thing was answering questions, but just attempting to explain that would just create a lot more.

So he decided to start with his meeting with Minato, by drawing a miniature copy of himself standing besides a miniature copy of himself without a beard. And a cape with flames at the end of it. Or was it a coat?

Whatever.

This seemed to confuse the two interrogators, but he didn't pay them any mind as he kept going with his "explanation", starting to draw another set of figures.

Not being sure how to explain that Minato had messed with his head using this method, Conrad opted to draw Minato in a similar pose to the one he had used for his spell, and some lines to represent the spell around his own head. It wasn't the Alduin's Wall but it would do.

Finally, besides the four figures, he sketched the runes that Minato had planted inside his brain and for which he wasted months at the College of—

“IT’S A SEAL!” Anko yelled in an alarmed tone. What was her—

Something hit him. Even if it hadn't hurt more than a bee's sting, he could feel something going through his neck, as a numbing sensation spread through his body incredibly quickly. A poison? Were they killing him after obtaining what they wanted? Was he wrong after all?

Fuck. Fuck fuck...fuck.

He felt his eyes becoming heavy, but as his head started spinning his gaze fell on the woman’s spreaded arm.

Conrad tried to rise his arms to fry the purple-haired harlot but it was a losing battle against whatever poison he had been hit with.

“Bitch,” he gurgled lamely before losing consciousness, certain that he had failed his students. At least he would remember the face of the person whom he would punch before his brother first.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

After several minutes of pondering, Sarutobi decided that he needed an aspirin.

Also, he had decided to look for a worthy successor once the exams were over. He was really getting too old for this.

"So, there are no surgical scars or anything that would suggest that the prisoner's features have been altered to resemble the Yondaime's?" he asked, hiding at the best of his abilities the tiredness from his voice.

"No, sir,” the reporting chunin replied, skimming through the report from the labs. “Nothing at all... although we found plenty of scars on the rest of the body. None of them match any of the wounds received in action listed on Namikaze-sama's files. Although the lab found something else also on his blood."

"What is it?"

"Some kind of virus. Almost all of his blood samples carries these virus."

Sandaime immediately stood from his seat in worry.

"Does he gave some kind of disease? And is it contagious?"

"No, sir. At least the virus couldn't survive outside its host. But the lab still don't know how this virus could be transmitted. They are taking this with utmost precaution to avoid any unwanted outbreak. And it seems he is either an asymptomatic or immune-carrier," the chunin said.

It’s only natural for foreigners to bring new type of diseases wherever they go. In history, many ancient natives would die everytime a new foreigner would land on their shores. Sandaime is taking such possibility in consideration also.

"The lab also found out– although they still don't know why–but these viruses is somehow in mutualism relationship with his body. They coexist with each other inside his body while giving him some kind of inhuman type of regeneration and... mutations. On other hosts, it becomes aggressive and kills them."

"Like what the reports had said?"

"Yes, it seems it wasn't a transformation jutsu but a physical mutation of a human body with the help of the virus inside him. Same thing happened to him during the interrogation."

Sarutobi read it also on the papers at his table just this morning. How his entire arm had transformed into something demonic looking. The problems just kept on piling up. The only thing he is thankful on this is that nobody died...yet. The ANBU operatives who faced him also reported the lack of killing intent of the man towards them. Something which Sarutobi always took note of.

"As we get more answers, we also get a new wave of questions." Sarutobi pinched his nose in exhaustion of this new set of information.

"We can return from this topic later on once the lab discovers more about it. But what about the DNA tests I ordered?” Sarutobi wondered. “Any news on that front?"

"The lab is asking time for more time, actually,” the shinobi explained timidly. “They would like to run more tests to assure that the results they had so far are not a fluke."

"What are the results for that?" the Hokage asked, already dreading the answer.

"... positive, sir," the chunin replied, his voice no louder than a whisper.

For a whole minute there was absolute silence inside the office. The chunin didn’t want to dare to speak, and Sarutobi was too busy hearing the last, small piece of logic in the whole mess that this investigation had become shatter in tiny fragments.

Yes, he definitely needed to find a candidate to substitute him.

"Tell them to check for dental records, fingerprints and everything,” he sighed heavily, not bothering to hide how badly the news had been for him. “Better be sure. Is there anything else?"

"Just a note about how those vials that the prisoners were transporting left the eggheads baffled, sir. But they're still analyzing those and—"

"I see, keep me posted. You may go," the Hokage interrupted, quickly dismissing his subordinate who was very happy to leave the report on the desk and leave the office.

Once he was alone, Sarutobi allowed himself to pinch his nose in consternation...again. It had been a very, very stressful day.

Just before hearing this report he had received an official letter from Oonoki of Both Scales, the Sandaime Tsuchikage, concerning Iwa's last-minute attendance to the Chunin Exams, even if with just a single team. Literally, since if his patrols were to be believed, said team would arrive barely on time to register.

Being an international event created to show the villages' abilities to their most important customers—and secretly to substitute war among Hidden Villages—he really had no valid reason to deny them, unless he hoped to strain the already tense relation between Konoha and Iwa.

The fact that Oonoki would send a team to such an event held in a rival village after the capture of their latest "guests" was no coincidence, even if there was no evidence about it. Oonoki was not being subtle, though.

Thank goodness, there were no teams from Kumo. The last things he needed was more tension at the exams, especially since it would've been a personal matter for the Hyuuga clan.

His mind quickly came back to the issue of the prisoners, though.

He had hoped that by trying to establish a communication with the strangers, maybe even teaching them their language over time, he could get answers.

Instead, things looked ever more grim than before, with more unanswered questions. The oldest prisoner not only looked like Minato, could transform into some kind of demonic entity, and was able to track down the Yondaime's seals, he knew how they were created as well.

Too well.

Granted, Anko may had overdone it since what the man had done was just a simple schematic on a paper sheet but not knowing what the seal was, she had acted for the best.

Sarutobi looked at the sketch on his desk once again. It was crude, quickly done and not-functioning for obvious reasons, but the basics were there. There was no denying it.

The stranger, this... Conrad... knew the Hiraishin no Jutsu.

Why had he not escaped already, he had no idea considering that he may have used the array of seals created by Minato, which ironically had been fully mapped only thanks to that tracking jutsu being used for weeks. And taking his destructive combat skills and jutsu that is not like any jutsu they knew, this man is dangerous.

And now he was being told that the man had a DNA that was similar enough to Minato’s to cause panic in Konoha’s labs.

Who was this man? He would’ve liked to believe that a long-lost relative of Minato’s had just stumbled upon their village, but that option was not very feasible considering the knowledge about the jutsu that had granted to Minato the title of “Yellow Flash”.

Was he actually a clone of Minato like what others first thought?

This required using tougher methods, hoping to get answers quickly. If it turned out that Harissen Conrad knew about the Rasengan, he would not be very surprised.

There was another, more important question though.

Was the man aware of Naruto as well?

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

"YOU'RE LATE!" two voices yelled as one.

"I was lost on the road of life," a jonin explained lamely.

"LIAR!" was the prompt answer. It was incredible how synched those two could get when they were mad at their sensei.

"This may be a bit sudden but I've nominated you guys for the chunin exams," Kakashi said matter-of-factly, ignoring his students' outrage.

"What did you say—"

"Here's your applications," he said, interrupting his genin by handing them the papers.

"KAKASHI-SENSEI I LOVE YOU!" Naruto squealed in delight, hugging the man with all of his strength.

"Those are just a nomination though," he said once he managed to free himself, "It's up to you if you want to take the exam or not."

Kakashi stopped for a moment to make that sink in. His students were all reading the documents, but Naruto looked like this was the best day of his life.

Having done one small step closer to his dream, it was a given.

"Those who wish to take the exam should sign those papers and turn them in tomorrow, at the room three-hundred and one, that’s all," he quickly finished, before jumping away with a quick goodbye to his genin.

From here on, it was on their hands.

Maybe he could try to pester Tenzo about the prisoners, after all.

Just a little bit.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

Conrad woke up sneezing.

While he felt like shit, he was really surprised to actually be alive. Thalmors would never waste this opportunity to slay their most hated man.

The room he had come back to his senses was shrouded in complete darkness, and from the looks of it he was strapped to some chair. Ropes or belts, in addition to those magicka-sucking manacles that he had sported lately. Which were still itching a lot.

All his muscles ached, and his limbs felt like they were made of stone. He couldn't even move his neck properly.

If it hadn't been for his bindings he may had fallen from his seat, but he doubted that that was the reason for their presence.

His throat hurt like a bitch, which was kinda fitting considering how he had been injured there. No Thu'um, he would bet on that.

Purple-haired little shit. If she or one of her companions had touched one of the magelings' hair, he would raze the whole place on the ground. Not even a building would be spared.

Considering that wasn't even able to lift a hand though, it may prove to be more problematic than expected.

To complete the picture of how helpless he was, much to his dismay. Dizziness and headaches soon starts arriving. Any use of spells is out of the question now.

No Thu'um.

No spells.

Does he have to use again his vampire lord form?

Wait-shoudn't he be immune to this kind of poisoning or toxic effects due to the nature of his blood as a hybrid vampire? Why is his cursed disease not helping him?

Maybe it was a side-effect of whatever narcotic the woman had used on him. Difficult to say.

What had gone wrong though? That reaction seemed a bit of an overkill. What did those runes mean—

He sneezed again, louder than before.

Maybe it wasn't an effect of a lingering substance, thinking about it—

There was a sound like snapping fingers, and a bright light exploded above his head, blinding him temporarily.

He heard a door being opened and hastily closed again. Someone had entered the room.

Conrad forced his eyes opened, and remained baffled by what he saw.

Standing in front of him, wearing one of those snail-marked headbands, was another Nord.

Or at least a man that could've passed for one.

Was he a castaway that had gone native? The descendant of some legionary that had been left behind after the ill-fated "invasion" attempted by the Empire? Or even better, from nordic prisoners taken during one of the Akaviri invasions?

Conrad would've liked to ask if he would've been able to talk. And speak the local tongue.

One more thing to write in the punch-Minato-in-the-face list, he supposed.

As soon as their eyes met, the long-haired Nord started to do some gestures with his hands.

Conrad slowly went to sleep once more, this time without much of a resistance from his part.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

Inoichi was surrounded by snow and howling winds.

Unusual, but this was not the weirdest thing that had happened in his career of mind-walker.

Each mind was different after all, shaped by the experiences and the personality of its owner. Entering inside one to examine the memories that formed it was not like assuming the control of an enemy during a battle, something for which his clan was renown to.

It was a gradual, and potentially dangerous process. For both the person entering the mind and the one subject it. Especially the latter. If too pressure was put on the mind, consequences could be expected.

The Yamanaka examined his surroundings. He was not inside the mind yet, merely on its outskirts, represented here by a barren land covered by snow, a never-ending blizzard.

In the distance, though, there was a light, red and warm, barely noticeable because of the storm. His senses though were showing it clearly to him: that was were his entrance was.

He started walking towards the light, not being in a rush and ignoring the snowflakes hitting him. Cold had never bothered him anyway, and besides that, it was not real.

As he got closer, the wind seemed to calm down slightly,and the light revealed itself to be an old-styled torch attached besides the entrance of a cave that seemed to sprout out of nowhere, little more than a gap in the the ground.

It seemed that his way inside the man that looked like a badly aged Minato was a literal one.

Inoichi hesitated for a moment, then he grabbed the torch before starting his descent into the steep and dark hole.

The cave was very narrow, its cold and rocky walls forming a passage that kept descending down, almost like a drill, going deeper into the mind’s bowels. Which was not surprising since it was just a projection of the entrance created by his jutsu.

When he arrived at the end of the slope though, he stopped, taken back by what had been waiting for him.

The slide gave space to a small room, clearly not natural in the making. A massive door, made of rock and covered with elaborated decorations and flanked by two lit braziers was blocking his way.

Three rings, one inside the other, were clearly visible on the door and each of them were sporting a different symbol.

No visible lock, or hinges.

Inoichi was not surprised to find some form of defense, it wasn’t unknown to find obstacles created by either training or previous tampering—especially in victims of brainwashing.

Finding something able to actually block his passage just as he had started to enter properly in the man’s head? That was something else.

Mental training to counter interrogations? Defenses created with the use of fuuinjutsu? A particularly disciplined mind? Anko and Ibiki’s report mentioned a possible unknown doujutsu as well, could this be related? Those were all possible causes.

He was not the leader of the Yamanaka clan for nothing, though. No imaginary door would stop him.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

From behind the one-way mirror, Sarutobi was intently observing the ongoing interrogation.

Not that there was much to actually observe, since the prisoner was unconscious and Inoichi was in a status of trance, wandering the other man’s mind. Still he wanted to present, even if concealed behind a thin panel of glass, and hear the Yamanaka’s report as soon as the mind probing was over.

The door behind him opened, and he could hear the steps as a man walking with the help of a cane.

“Is it true?” the newcomer asked, stopping besides him, focused on the scene behind the mirror as well.

“I’m not even going to ask how you already found out, Danzo,” the Hokage said without sparing a glance to his old comrade.

"To think that the Yondaime was a foreigner... how could you choose him as your successor while being aware of this is beyond me."

"Foreigner? Minato knew nothing of his origins, just like us. He grew up here, he lived here and fought for the village and defended its inhabitants. Minato always considered Konoha his home. How does that make him a foreigner?" Sarutobi asked with a small smile, knowing that his old friend couldn't object to that.

"I'll concede that, but he's been dead for years. What about him, instead. He is not someone that has lived in Konoha, and from what I've heard..." Danzo said, letting his words linger in the small room.

"He may not even have lived in the Elemental Nations either," Hiruzen finished for him.

"Yes, I've seen those... maps he drew," the old war hawk mused, drumming his fingers on his cane's handle. "It could be an elaborate ploy. It probably is."

"Don't you think that I suspect as much?" Sarutobi asked, turning slightly towards the other old shinobi.

"Good, that means that you're not senile yet,” the bandaged man scoffed. “What do you plan to do, then?"

"I will wait Inoichi's response. Then... I will act accordingly," Sarutobi told him, looking right in his remaining eye.

Danzo nodded, accepting the Hokage’s decision.

Nothing else was said for the rest of the interrogation.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

He was lost.

Not in a literal sense, he knew the way back thanks to the mental link between his projection and his body. If he wanted, he could've just turned right around and back out the way he came to leave.

Inoichi had never seen a mind like this before, though.

It appeared to him as a labyrinthine series of narrow corridors, vast rooms filled with rock thrones and coffins, murals covered in strange glyphs, false ends and stairs that seemed to invite him to go forward, without actually getting closer to his goal.

Could it be that it was because of the different language the stranger spoke? A representation of how different his thoughts may sound to the mind-walker? Or was it something more?

Some parts had been illuminated by torches like the one he was holding or other light sources. Other had been pitch-dark and without its own light, proceeding would've been difficult, to say the least.

Then there were the traps.

"Traitor!" a ghostly voice yelled as the shinobi dived out of a swinging blade's way. Even if he couldn't understand what it meant, he could feel the rage put in the word.

Corridors full of pendulum-like blades, holes that shot barrages of small darts to their target, pressure plates that caused streams of fire to be hurled at him and any sort of contraption that in the real world would've been aimed to maim, cripple or outright kill him.

"Cheer up a little, Conrad. You're a freaking hero now!" another voice said as Inoichi dodged another attack, this one in an almost jovial tone, which was weird since the mind walker had a clear idea about what these things represented inside this mind.

They were memories. Unpleasant ones if he had to take a guess from their appearances.

While he had been tempted to examine them as he proceeded deeper in the mind, he quickly dismissed it after realizing how scattered they were, with no continuation whatsoever.

Memories were normally represented in clusters or grouped by some kind of internal logic, and for good reason. A memory was connected to another, in a long chain of events, emotions and perceptions.

Isolated memories were either forgotten or uncomfortable one. Or even things that a person was forcing himself to forget or not think about.

Being on a timetable, Inoichi couldn't afford to examine all of these. Once his chakra reserves were depleted, he would be forced to leave, so he wanted to find and examine the majority of the stranger's memories instead.

He could've checked those in another session, the man had a lot of—

Something twinkled in the dark, catching the light of his torch. And for once it wasn't a spiked ball on a chain or a serrated disk trying to cut his head off.

Getting closer, he saw that the shining object was a coin laying on the stony floor, like if someone had lost it. Inoichi knelt and picked it up, examining it. It was a perfect round coin, with no holes in the middle, that looked like it was made of gold. There was a man’s face on one side and a winged figure on the other, along with some writings Inoichi couldn’t read.

Briefly wondering why it assumed the aspect of a coin, he concentrated on the memory, using his clan’s techniques to see it as it was his own.

Inoichi found himself staring at a giant of a man, who was looking at him with his arms folded and an annoyed expression emphatized by the giant’s blue eyes. He arrived barely at the man’s gut, and suddenly felt small and vulnerable, but he knew that those were not his own emotions, merely the ones in the memory. There was also a strong sense of… shame?

“I don’t want to hurt someone, Father,” Inoichi said, albeit the language was not his own and he couldn’t understand what he had said. The voice, a child’s voice—a childhood memory, then!—sounded incredibly apologetic.

The giant, that was actually a very large adult, kept staring right at him before sighing. Was this man the prisoner’s father? They had the same eyes, and there were some other resemblances as well.

“Conrad,” the supposed father said, slowly. “We live in a dangerous land, and in dangerous times to boot. One day I may not be around, and you may have to defend yourself.”

The Yamanaka dismissed the vision, and in the blink of an eye he was back in the maze, the coin still in his hand. He needed more recent memories, but was this just another scattered memory or—

Something else twinkling down the hallway caught his attention.

Letting go of the coin in his hand, Inoichi went to inspect the new finding, and wasn't disappointed when it revealed itself to be another memoir. One of the coinage kind.

And beyond that, just a few feet away, there was another one. And another one.

Inoichi smiled. He had finally found a trail.It was just a matter of following it.

It wasn't a difficult task, since as he kept pursuing his target, he seemed to just stumble upon more of them.

Some groups had started to show up, indicating the presence of more complex memories.

Inoichi was advancing along the corridors like a hound, and the core of the prisoner's mind was his prey.

The coins began appearing more and more frequently, indicating that he was getting closer to his goal.

He turned through an open doorway, and froze.

In front of the mind-walker, a vast chamber extended as long as his eye could see. A forest of stone pillars grew from the ground, to disappear in the darkness of the ceiling.

Piles of money, despite filling the room, formed mounds that reminded the Yamanaka of the dunes in the harshest regions of the Wind Country desert.

Inoichi felt no shame in admitting that his jaw had dropped a little at the sight of such riches, even if he knew well that they were not real.

He shouldn't have been surprised by the contents of the mind's core, seeing how the memories had started to appear as coins, but he certainly wasn't expecting to find them in this amount.

The shinobi started to walk among the sea of memories, which glittered at the light of his torch. With each step, a metallic echo was created as the coins shuffled slightly under his feet.

There was not just cash and gold though. He started to notice weapons, shields, helmets placed among the riches, along with other seemingly random items, like bottles or piles of books.

What really impressed him, though, were the bones.

Popping out from the expense of coins there were large skeletal carcasses of some large animal. They were scattered all around him. He wouldn't noticed if he didn't saw the exposed skeletons before as others were mostly buried under the vast treasure. The closest to him was a skull, big almost as a wagon. It was long, with two large horns starting at his back and a mouth filled with teeth that looked like they could've been used as knives.

He surely wouldn't have liked to see how the beast looked when it was alive, if it was real of course.

Something about these bones didn't convince him, though. They didn't seem to fit in his mind, with its treasure theme.

The coins? One could argue that every precious memory should be treasured. The weapons and other equipment he had seen? They still fit, and could've been violent memories, probably fights. Even the books could fit, because every knowledge was precious, shinobi knew that very well.

However, these bones were completely alien in this mindscape.

Having finally accessed the mind's core, he knew it was time to start to investigate. And the large skull seemed the right place to start with.

Inoichi placed his hand on the skull's snout and reached for it, calling on its true nature.

The change was sudden.

He was not in the vast chamber anymore, instead he was soaring through the sky. He could feel the cold air, the wind around his body and he could feel how glorious it was to… to be alive again.

Before Inoichi could even start to ponder about the sensation, his view made a sudden turn downwards as the memory kept going. There was a large and lush valley under him, and much to Inoichi surprise, he could discern incredibly small details, like the single leaves on the trees, even if he was hundreds of meters above the ground.

Maybe this was the suspected doujutsu? It was like looking through the eyes of a bird of prey.

There was a sound like of leather whipped taut, and the owner of the memory turned like a bird in the sky. A new part of the valley was revealed to him, with a small village at the center.

Which was mostly on fire, the flames and the smoke clearly visible.

The owner of the memory was proud of this. The people that inhabited it were fleeing in every direction, and this pleased him. He was strong, and he knew it. It was his right to exercise his might upon those inferior to him, kill them and—

The mind walker quickly dampened the link by using the control the jutsu granted on this mind, trying to not dwell too much in those sensations. The emotions in this memory were much stronger than the ones he had experienced in this or other minds. He had really risked to go too deep there—

Pain, followed by a roar and fit of anger, strong enough to be felt even after the cautionary measure he had just taken.

The memory kept going, and he realized that its owner was being attacked by someone using a barrage of long-range fire and lightning jutsu.

Through his eyes, he saw that not all the inhabitants were fleeing. A solitary figure was standing in the small village’s square, fire dancing in one hand and a weapon ready in the other.

The man raised the latter, pointing it towards his flying opponent as if to challenge him, and thanks to the eagle-like vision Inoichi saw that the man on the ground was the prisoner he had seen in the cell! Just younger! Who the hell was this memory of—

Foolish Dovahkiin, he scoffed, changing direction with a flap of his wings—wings?! Even if he was Sahlo than Alduin, he was way Zol mul than the lesser Dov. He would Krii him with Yoland then he would Naak Du Kopraani—

Inoichi panicked, feeling that the memory was overwhelming him. Cutting off his connection to the scene, he found himself back in the treasure room, staring at the massive skull that seemed to mock him with its hollow eyes.

He had no idea how that was possible, but he knew one thing. What he had seen was not a memory of the prisoner, but a planted one.

That alone would've been enough to worry him since it was a clear evidence that the mind had been tampered with. The nature of the memory though—

A sound behind him distracted the Yamanaka from that line of thought. A tinkling of metal shifting over metal, growing into a crescendo of clinking.

Instincts kicking in, he quickly turned, wary of any possible traps or mental defenses he may have activated. In the distance he saw a new dune growing from the sea of gold, coins tumbling down like snow in an avalanche, taking everything in their path down with them.

Something emerged from the top, like a shark's fin in open waters, and an identical one joined it, very close to the first one.

It wasn’t a pair of fins though, but two horns, each as long as a short spear.

The Yamanaka leaped away, searching for cover behind one of the columns to hide himself from this unknown threat. The treasure showering down from the new dune had begun to slow, as a body covered in gleaming golden scales started to reveal itself.

A head rose up, massive and reptilian, and large leathery projections hurled coins in every direction as they freed themselves from the mass of treasure. Slowly Inoichi could make out a shape, though what he could see defied all logic.

When the tail appeared as well, there was no denying it.

He was looking at a creature of legend, a creature that existed only in myths and stories used to entertain children before they went to sleep.

He was looking at a dragon.

And it was bigger...much, much bigger than the Kyuubi!

For a second he thought if this could be some kind of last line of defense against a mental intrusion, but he quickly discarded the hypothesis. If that had been the case, it would’ve manifested itself as something artificial, like a barrier or the traps he had met or something else that could be explained as the fruit of some training or accurate preparation.

This was something that had the aspect of a flesh and bone being, besides its peculiar nature. And it had emerged from the prisoner’s memories, which meant that this could probably the man’s subconscious.

And it was turning its head toward his hiding place.

Two massive blue eyes with slitted pupils locked on him, and the thing spoke with a loud, cavernous voice.

“Koraav Hi, Mal Bron!”