After repeatedly confirming that Sasori of the Red Sand, like Uchiha Kawa, was indeed a missing-nin from Sunagakure and that his actions were entirely his own—unaffiliated with the village—both sides finally agreed to put the matter to rest, at least temporarily. The tension between Konohagakure and Sunagakure had cooled slightly, but diplomacy remained a delicate dance.
Just as the matter seemed closed, Chiyo of the Sand made an unexpected request. She wished to reclaim the remains of the puppets collected by Konoha during the battle. Her reasoning was seemingly straightforward: to analyze the materials in detail and, through that, perhaps deduce Sasori's whereabouts.
She made a solemn promise: if Sunagakure managed to capture Sasori, they would ensure a thorough interrogation, and any intelligence regarding Uchiha Kawa would be shared without reservation with Konoha. It was a gesture of alliance and trust—or so it seemed.
The Third Hokage paused to consider. The puppet remnants were, in his mind, little more than debris. If they could serve some purpose to an ally, then so be it. Beyond that, the alliance agreement compelled Konoha to assist Sunagakure in tracking down its rogue ninja. It was a matter of principle and political necessity.
"Let her have them," Hiruzen Sarutobi said, stroking his beard with a thoughtful gaze. "We have no use for them."
He ordered his men to package and hand over the puppet remains, as well as the mysterious iron sand that had also been collected. The iron sand was of unknown origin but clearly significant—possibly instrumental in the battle.
Chiyo received the crates with a visible exhale of relief. But deep down, she knew the truth. The puppet fragments were unlikely to yield anything meaningful. Sasori had been gone for years, and if he was still alive, he was certainly covering his tracks with utmost care.
What Chiyo truly desired—what she had orchestrated the entire exchange for—was the iron sand.
She and her brother Ebizo had recognized it instantly. The iron sand bore traces of Magnet Release chakra. Not only that, it was laced with poison—a signature of Sasori's lethal craftsmanship.
But Sasori shouldn't have been capable of using Magnet Release. He had never shown that ability. So why would he have so much iron sand? The answer came to them like a shadow falling across the sun.
Sasori had likely captured—or worse, killed—the Third Kazekage and turned him into a human puppet. That iron sand, infused with poison, was likely his way of replicating the Third's deadly jutsu.
They could not say this aloud. It was a shame too great to bear—the idea that Sunagakure's most powerful Kazekage had been slain by one of their own. Fortunately, the Third Hokage did not press them.
With their business in Konoha concluded, it was time to return home. But first, Chiyo requested the release of the captured Sunagakure ninjas.
The prisoners were being held in a fortified encampment near the border between the Land of Fire and the Land of Rivers. Strategically positioned, the camp ensured that Konoha forces could arrive more quickly than any Sunagakure rescue attempt.
Akira had just returned from testing his puppet clone when he was summoned to the Hokage's office. His orders were clear: accompany the Sunagakure delegation to the prison camp, oversee the release of the captured ninjas, and escort them all the way to the Wind Country border.
This was not just an escort—it was a precaution. The Sunagakure prisoners, after being freed from their seals, might seek vengeance on the still-recovering Konoha units. Skilled shinobi were required to deter such retaliation.
Orochimaru, too, was assigned to the mission. It made sense—he had long overseen the Land of Wind front and had a personal stake in ensuring things remained under control.
Akira, newly promoted to Jonin after proving his strength in the battle with Yekura, was also chosen. His reputation among the Sunagakure forces added to the deterrence factor.
He was joined by his team—Gujie, Hongdou, and Jifeng—as well as Orochimaru and three supporting ninja. A total of eight individuals, now entrusted with a delicate mission.
When the two groups met, Orochimaru's sharp eyes settled on Chiyo. An unreadable expression flickered in his gaze. Their last battle had been interrupted—unfinished.
Chiyo met his eyes, unyielding. She had been forced into retreat last time, but she knew it wasn't because of skill—it was her body, old and worn. In her prime, she had no doubt she would have bested him.
Before sparks could ignite into flame, the Third Hokage stepped in.
"We are allies now," he reminded them gently but firmly. "Let the past stay in the past. Orochimaru, accompany them quickly to the camp and release the prisoners."
Orochimaru gave a snake-like smile. "Ah, I had hoped for a friendly match with Senior Chiyo. But you're right, Teacher. Damage, even accidental, is not conducive to maintaining alliances."
Chiyo gave no reply, merely nodding with dignified restraint.
As the group made their way toward the camp, Akira couldn't shake a strange feeling. A familiar chakra pulsed faintly around Chiyo. After some subtle observation, he pinpointed its source: a scroll she kept close to her person.
Recognition struck him like lightning. That chakra was remarkably similar to the residual energy he had found in Sasori's puppet body. Could it be—the iron sand of the original Third Kazekage?
Akira's mind raced. He had been experimenting with iron sand himself, creating his own from decomposed metals. But none of it matched the finesse or responsiveness of the iron sand found in Sasori's puppet. It required more chakra to manipulate and lacked the fluidity of the original.
He theorized that this was because the original iron sand had been infused with the Third Kazekage's chakra for years. Like how Gaara carried his own sand—a gourd filled with material long bonded to his unique chakra signature—the Kazekage's iron sand had become attuned to its master.
For Akira, this was more than a hypothesis. It was a revelation.
His puppet, Sasori, needed that iron sand. He could manufacture more, yes—but cultivating it to the same level would take years of meticulous bonding and usage.
The opportunity was rare, and the desire to seize it burned within him.
He thought carefully. The safest time to act would be after the prisoners were released and the Sunagakure party had parted ways with him and Orochimaru. Then, only ordinary ninjas would remain—formidable, but manageable.
Facing Orochimaru directly would be suicidal. Akira understood this well. If he struck too soon, the puppet Sasori would be pitted against a legendary Sannin. Worse still, Akira himself would have to intervene.
No—the timing had to be perfect. After the border. After the separation. When the target was vulnerable, and the risk of interference was minimal.
And if things went sideways? He would strike, seize the iron sand, and flee. A gamble, yes—but a calculated one.
In the shadows of diplomacy and duty, Akira's ambition stirred. The iron sand, forged by a Kazekage, poisoned by a traitor, and now coveted by a puppet master, was more than a tool—it was a legacy. One he was determined to claim.
After carefully estimating the remaining chakra within the Regeneration Core's Yin Seal, Akira calculated that at least 1.8 'cards' worth remained. That amount should be just sufficient to deal with two elderly, weakened shinobi and a group of ordinary Sand ninjas in a short, controlled confrontation.
Because the human puppet equipped with the Regeneration Core functioned more like a living organism than a lifeless construct, Akira couldn't store it in a traditional sealing scroll. There was no way to simply stash it beneath a bed or inside a bag. Instead, Akira kept it hidden within the secure confines of his residence, shielded from prying eyes.
Now, under his chakra-fueled control, the puppet Scorpion stirred. It slowly crawled out from under the shadowed alcove where it had been concealed, rose to its feet with mechanical grace, and released the internal sealing technique. Akira infused it with chakra directly from his main body.
Then, with a flash of light and a surge of chakra, Scorpion vanished from his home using the Flying Thunder God Technique, instantly reappearing near Kikyo Mountain.
Kikyo Mountain, perched near the border of the Land of Wind, served as the perfect ambush point. Akira waited there patiently, watching and calculating. The Sand ninja convoy would pass near this region on their return to Sunagakure. All Akira had to do was bide his time.
He didn't yet know the exact route Chiyo and her contingent would take, but he would determine that after separating from them under the guise of returning to Konoha. Once their path was clear, he could act decisively.
Days passed. The journey from Konoha to the border between the Land of Fire and the Land of Rivers took time. The Konoha escort—led by Orochimaru, accompanied by the newly promoted Jonin Akira and his team—arrived at the edge of the Konoha-controlled border concentration camp. There, the captured Sand ninjas were being held under tight security.
Orochimaru stepped forward, producing documents bearing the Third Hokage's seal and signature. He handed them to the camp commander, who, despite recognizing Orochimaru immediately, still followed protocol and scrutinized the documents carefully. Once verified, the order was issued: release all Sand prisoners.
The Sand ninjas, bound by chakra-sealing techniques and restrained by powerful barriers, had endured nearly a month of captivity. When the barriers fell and they stepped into the open air, the elation was visible on their faces. They breathed deeply, tasting long-lost freedom, yet beneath their relief simmered quiet resentment toward Konoha for their imprisonment.
Though their barriers were undone, the chakra-sealing jutsu remained in place, limiting their ability to retaliate.
Ebizo stepped forward, raising his hand to quiet the murmuring crowd. He spoke calmly, his voice both stern and reassuring:
"Everyone, we are free now because Konoha and Sunagakure have formed an alliance. Do not act rashly. We are going home."
Cheers rippled through the crowd, cautious but sincere. Soon, the group began their march back, escorted by Konoha forces. Their path led them through the Land of Rivers, a buffer nation that had suffered the misfortune of being trapped between greater powers. The war-torn soil bore silent witness to countless battles, its people reduced to pawns in conflicts not of their making.
Eventually, they reached the border of the Land of Wind. Here, the final part of their release would take place—the removal of their chakra seals.
The Konoha escort had by now joined with reinforcements left behind to guard the border. Their numbers exceeded those of the Sand ninjas, ensuring safety in case of betrayal.
At Orochimaru's nod, the Sealing Team leader stepped forward. With practiced precision, he formed hand seals and shouted, "Release!"
One by one, the invisible shackles binding the Sand ninjas broke. The sudden rush of chakra returning to their bodies was a euphoric sensation. It was as though their blood was flowing freely again.
Ebizo turned to Orochimaru. "Now that our people are whole again, we part ways here. Let us hope that our next meeting is in a time of peace."
Orochimaru offered a serpentine smile but said nothing.
As the Sand ninjas crossed the border and headed toward the distant dunes of their homeland, Akira's mind shifted to more pressing matters. He observed their route from a distance, confirming that they would pass near Kikyo Mountain. It was time.
Within the mountains, his puppet Scorpion waited, dormant and silent. But Akira had already activated the chakra tether between the Third Kazekage's Iron Sand—sealed in Chiyo's scroll—and the puppet.
As the Sand convoy moved closer, Chiyo, who had carried the scroll on her person the entire time, suddenly felt it tremble. A strange hum pulsed through it, and it began to writhe with unnatural energy.
Her heart leapt in alarm. Had Konoha tampered with the Iron Sand?
Instinctively, she threw the scroll away. But instead of falling, it hovered mid-air and began to shake more violently. Cracks split across its surface.
Akira, hidden nearby, was intensifying the chakra infusion. The Iron Sand within responded to its familiar signature, the resonance building until—with an audible snap—the scroll burst open.
A wave of dense Iron Sand spilled into the air like ink in water, coiling and twisting with eerie sentience.
Gasps rose from the Sand ninjas. Before they could react, a figure appeared high above them, descending slowly from the sky.
A man in black, cloaked and hooded, floated with chilling calm, silhouetted by the sun. His presence exuded power. Shinobi capable of such flight were rare—almost mythical.
Chiyo squinted into the light, trying to make out the face hidden beneath the hood. Something about the figure stirred her memories.
Then he spoke.
"Granny Chiyo. I didn't expect to see you here."
That voice. It pierced through her heart like a kunai.
The cloaked figure drifted down until his face was clear.
It was him.
Her grandson.
Scorpion.
Her breath hitched. She took a step forward, lips parting, but no sound came out. Her eyes welled with tears.
This was the child she had raised. The one she had tried to save from loneliness by developing Reanimation Jutsu, a technique that could breathe life into puppets. She had dedicated her life to ensuring he wouldn't grow up hollow and loveless.
But before she could complete the technique—he had vanished.
Now, standing before her, taller and cloaked in mystery, was the very boy who had been her everything.
"What's wrong, Granny? Are you too overwhelmed to speak?" Scorpion said, his voice cold, mechanical.
The puppet wore his face perfectly. Crafted with uncanny precision, it mirrored Akira's mental image of Scorpion's adult form.
Chiyo didn't see the truth.
To her, this was her grandson, returned at last from whatever shadow he had vanished into.
She swallowed back emotion and stared into his hollow eyes.
"You've changed..." she whispered.
And so had the winds of the desert. What had once been a journey home was now something far more tragic.