The Third Great Ninja War had already raged for over four long years.
For many, it had become a blur of blood, smoke, and loss. But for shinobi like Okura, Zato, and Iwame, the war had been a crucible—one that had forged them from naïve rookies into hardened ninja. They had once stepped onto the battlefield as nothing more than newly minted genin and chūnin—barely more than children pulled from the academy and thrown into chaos. But now?
Now they were real ninja.
Their survival alone was proof enough. They had successfully navigated the treacherous territory of the Land of Fire, escaping with their lives when so many others had perished. But survival was only the surface. Their strength had evolved. Their skills had sharpened like blades against whetstone, honed by desperation, by battle, and by blood.
Even the village recognized their growth.Okura had been promoted to jōnin, a title earned through countless missions, strategic brilliance, and unshakable will.Zato and Iwame, once considered the weaker links of the squad, had risen to the rank of tokubetsu jōnin, special-class ninja with exceptional talents in infiltration and support.
They now stood on the border between the Land of Earth and the Land of Grass, guarding the edges of their homeland from a potential Konoha invasion. After the crushing defeat that Iwagakure's main army had suffered in the Land of Fire, there was little fight left. No orders to advance. No ambition to push forward. Just a quiet, grim vigilance.
But to their relief—and perhaps to Iwa's luck—Konoha did not press further. It seemed the Leaf had its hands full elsewhere. Maybe with Kumogakure, maybe with internal strife. Whatever the reason, there was a pause in the storm.
Still, peace was never a guarantee in war.
Their earlier deployment had not been so forgiving. When the Tsuchikage gave the command to begin the invasion of the Land of Grass, and soon after the Land of Fire, their team had been assigned to a critical position: protecting the supply lines. Compared to the front lines—where battles were constant, traps deadly, and rest rare—it was considered a "lucky" post.
Lucky? Perhaps. But war has a way of testing everyone.
Their missions were far from easy. One in particular stood out in their memories: a direct assignment to track and eliminate a squad of Konoha shinobi who were sabotaging infrastructure behind Iwa lines. The battle had been brutal—one fought in the shadows of a misty gorge, where screams echoed and chakra flared like lightning. They had been wounded, bled, nearly lost. But in the end, they succeeded.
It was officially recorded as a B-rank mission, completed without failure. In war, such clean records were rare—and well-rewarded. They were compensated handsomely. But such reward came at a steep cost. Every victory in the war carried the same shadow: a rising death toll.
Still, for ninja strong enough to survive, the war was a means to earn, to rise, to carve their names into the stone of history.
As the months passed, Iwagakure's army pushed further into the Land of Fire, capturing two cities. Morale was high. The wind, for a time, blew in Iwa's favor.
Team Okura was deployed deeper into enemy territory, still maintaining their role as guardians of the supply chain and hunters of spies. The deeper they went, the more fragile their position became. Yet, most days were quiet. No ambushes. No battles. Just long patrols, cautious scans of the forest, and the ever-present tension of what might come.
And then, everything changed.
First came the news: a devastating defeat at the third target city in the Land of Fire. A counterattack. A retreat. And then—darkness.
Konoha struck back.
Not with armies—but with precision. Their ANBU black ops descended like vultures upon Iwa's vulnerable infrastructure: outposts destroyed, supply lines severed, command posts reduced to ash. The heart of Iwa's invasion effort began to collapse. Communications broke down. Orders stopped coming. Confusion reigned.
It was during this chaos that Team Okura, by sheer twist of fate, was spared. While the Konoha ANBU unleashed havoc, they had been on a mission deep in the hills, tracking rumors of a rogue ninja with ties to the enemy. By the time they returned, everything had changed.
Their camp was gone.Their commanding officers—dead.Only a few scattered ANBU from Iwa remained, desperately trying to relay the final command:
Retreat.
No ceremony. No formal orders. Just one word passed from survivor to survivor like a prayer: Retreat.
And so they did.
Luckily, having been away from the front lines, Team Okura had a slight advantage. They were not surrounded. They were not wounded. Their supplies, still intact. They moved fast—through burnt forests, across rivers stained with ash and blood. Along the way, they encountered others: scattered groups of survivors, half-starved, many injured, all heading in the same direction.
The Tsuchikage himself had regrouped with the remnants of his forces, rallying what few remained for the long march home.
Team Okura joined him—silent, weary, but alive.
What followed was a grueling journey back toward the Land of Earth. The roads once paved by victory were now littered with loss. Food was scarce. Sleep, a luxury. Trust, a shadow. They had come to the Land of Fire as invaders, with ambition and pride. Now they returned as survivors—wiser, bloodied, changed.
But they were not defeated.Not completely.
Because they were still breathing.And in the ninja world, that alone meant they still had a future to fight for.