Chapter 1: Isonade (1)

The first time they met was in the middle of a thunderstorm.

There's four of them in this room, in this large, mostly-empty storeroom on the second floor. They're in a warehouse. They're in a partly-decrepit factory. They're in a toy shop. Kisame doesn't exactly know what it is, but it's a safehouse for them, the Akatsuki. His partner is lying on a cot, sleeping soundly, healing from his self-inflicted injury.

Itachi Uchiha sleeps like the dead when he's exhausted.

They've been fighting and running for three days straight. He doesn't want to think of it as escaping or fleeing, but that's what it is. They've been assigned to chase after a rogue shinobi from Iwa all the way to Kiri, but they somehow found themselves in the middle of a civil war between two smaller nations near Suna.

The two other people in the room, however, he isn't really sure. One of them's younger, the Asayake runt who turned to a life of crime when she ran away from home. She was a member of the Beniko Bandits, who've now been disbanded a few years since the eponymous leader's death. Now she's a member of them, an underling, caretaker of this house, the Toy Maker.

Tenkou Asayake is fifteen and she makes bombs, among other things.

The other person left is the one sitting in the darkness, probably asleep, probably healing. She hasn't said a word the moment she entered when the thunderstorm was just rain. She wasn't bloody or injured, but it looked like she had her fair share of battle. She merely stared at him then; wet hair and clinging to her face, mud staining the ends of her clothes, eyes as clouded and as gray as the sky. She's a physical fighter, just like him maybe, judging by the paired swords she carried. Only a samurai would have a pair and wear it like that, but he's never really seen of dealt with her kind before. But he's heard they're like the top dog in this food chain or mercenaries and as expensive as they can get.

So it's a wonder how and why one got involved with them.

Thunderclaps echo in the distance and the storm continues to rumble. It's going to be like this for a while, and the cold is rarely ever useful to help heal fresh wounds. He looks at the gash on his shoulder, smells through the gauze the pungent scent of the balm the Asayake girl had rubbed into it. Having injuries taken care of like this is rare, they're all used to tending to their own wounds, but he's appreciative of it, thankful even.

The woman's first words to him are, "She does quick work, the girl."

That's when he notices she shares the same injury, sleeve removed and arm exposed.

"She done the same for you?"

She hums in agreement. "After a while, you become careless and forget certain steps."

It's his turn to agree. "Stopping the blood's what's important."

"Fight long enough and cleaning becomes secondary." She nods, sniffing, "A luxury when it shouldn't have to be one."

He thinks she's bitter about that, thinks she's not really the type to get involved with people like them, but because of whatever circumstances… He shouldn't really pry, but he's curious. She must have some kind of story as to why she's lumped in with the likes of them, and the rain isn't going to stop anytime soon. And even if it did, he doubts the Asayake girl would allow them to step foot outside without having a bite to eat or glass to drink. She's a caring one, indiscriminately so.

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"Small luxuries." He says, not unfamiliar to what she means, "Sometimes we deserve them."

And she knows that too. She knows, and that's why she nods and tells him her name, "Shikaku no Shikai. I used to be an Amakuni."

He supposes that name means something, but he hasn't heard even a whisper of that name until now. He does the same.

"Hoshigaki Kisame. Used to be one of the Seven Swordsmen."

She blinks. That means she hasn't heard of that either. But she eyes the weapon leaning against the wall beside him. She eyes it warily, like a jeweler presented with a large, supposedly rare gem. Like it's unreal. Like it's impossible. Has she heard of Samehada before? Has she witnessed it before? He doubts she has. There's only a select few who've witnessed the Samehada and survived.

"The Samehada."

Huh.

So she might be one of them.

"Heard of it?"

She nods minutely, eyes still trained on the ridges of the sword. Analyzing. Taking it apart. Piece by piece. Scale by scale. She's never seen anything like it, maybe.

"There is a legend. It's made from the skin of a deity." She begins, sounding like some mystified storyteller, "Isonade, kin of the dragon god, Watatsumi."

He hasn't heard a story like this since he was young, so he listens.

And she continues, "Would you like to hear the story, Hoshigaki-san?"

The rain comes down heavier now. And thunder continues to rumble, closer and farther at the same time, echoing both outside and inside the room. Perhaps it's the god agreeing for him, but he's never really believed in the gods, so he'll take this story at face value.

"Just to pass the time, eh?" He settles against the wall.

Small luxuries, indeed.

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