For three heartbeats, you stood perfectly still. Then you moved. The ornate hairpins clattered to the floor. You shrugged off the heavy outer robe, letting it pool at your feet like a discarded skin. From the bottom of your wardrobe, you pulled a simple, dark traveling cloak and a worn pack.

Essentials. A water skin. Dried rations. A pouch of ryo. A single, sharp kunai. You stuffed them inside with frantic, efficient hands.

The bathroom window, small and high, was your only exit not watched by guards. You pushed it open, the wood groaning softly. The drop to the garden below was farther than you remembered. You landed in a crouch, the impact shuddering up your legs.

Then you ran. Past the manicured gardens, over the high outer wall you’d scaled in secret for years, and into the embrace of the dense, ancient forest that bordered the Hyūga compound. The sounds of the wedding preparations—the distant music, the murmur of the crowd—were swallowed by the rustling leaves and your own pounding heart.

You ran until your lungs burned and the white makeup streaked with sweat and tears. Deeper into the woods, where the light grew dappled and strange.

It was there you heard them. Hushed, arguing voices cutting through the forest quiet. You slowed, pressing yourself against the broad trunk of a cedar, and peered around it.

A clearing. A group of nine figures, cloaked in black robes adorned with swirling red clouds. The air around them felt heavy, wrong.