The silence after the fight was heavy, a tangible presence that pressed on the chest.
The air was thick with grit and the copper tang of blood, clinging to the tongue and burning the nose.
Temari's last gust still whispered through the sandstone dome, the echo fading until all that remained was the slow, maddening drip of water somewhere in the shadows.
The sand bandit leader lay sprawled in the dirt, his massive frame twitching in the dim firelight. His chest was a ruin of cuts and ragged gashes, the broken steel, kunais, senbon and shuriken buried in him glistening wetly with Daiana's poison. A black puddle spread beneath him, pooling into the grit.
Shira stood over him, breathing hard, sweat mixing with the dust on his skin. His hands were clenched so tight his knuckles ached. For a moment, no one moved. Then Isan stepped forward.
"Check him."
Shira glanced at him, then crouched. He pressed two fingers to the man's neck. Nothing.
Still, Isan's eyes didn't soften. He nodded to Daiana, who knelt beside the body and gave it a quick, practiced search. She came up with a small pouch, coins, a few crude rings, and a folded scrap of paper stained with sweat. She tossed the pouch to Isan and left the rest.
"Dead.", she confirmed.
"Make sure.", Isan said flatly.
Shira understood. Without ceremony, he took one of the scattered kunai, and in a single motion, drove it into the bandit leader's throat. The sound was wet, final.
Only then did Isan turn toward the far wall, where the wooden pen stood. The rescued trainees inside had pressed themselves against the bars, wide-eyed, watching every moment of the fight.
"Let's get them out.", he ordered.
They crossed the blood-slick floor, stepping over twisted limbs and discarded weapons. The stench of death was worse here, heavier than the open desert, sweat, smoke, and blood baked into the sandstone over years. Daiana lifted the simple wooden bar securing the pen, and the door swung open with a creak.
One by one, the captured trainees stumbled out. Their faces were pale, lips cracked, eyes sunken from thirst. A few carried fresh bruises and cuts, but none were beyond help.
Shira and Daiana moved quickly, pulling waterskins and dried rations from their packs. "Drink slowly.", Daiana urged, guiding a trembling boy's hands. The sound of water being swallowed echoed in the cavern, loud, urgent, almost desperate.
The food came next: strips of dried meat, ration bars, flatbread, and cactus fruit. They ate slowly, each bite measured, as though afraid it might disappear.
Meanwhile, Isan moved away from the group, Daiana falling in beside him as they began sweeping the camp for anything useful.
The weapons came first, short swords, spears, battered shields, and more kunai than expected. Most were crude, but still serviceable. They piled them near the entrance for later transport.
They were joined by Shira and others. The food stores were meager but useful: sacks of grain, dried strips of lizard meat, and a few jars of preserved fruit. they found the clean water source, a large ceramic jar half-buried in the sand, cool to the touch. Daiana tested it for toxins, found none, and they began filling every empty skin they had.
Inside the leader's tent, they found little beyond a bedroll, a heavy chest with nothing but tattered clothes, and a low table littered with bones from the last meal. Isan took only what could be carried without slowing them down.
The air in the cavern was still thick with the aftermath of the fight, the copper tang of blood clinging to every breath.
Temari stood near the entrance, fan folded and slung across her back, watching the cleanup. Her eyes were unreadable as they tracked over the piles of scavenged gear, the line of rescued trainees, the dark stains spreading under the leader's body.
Her gaze slid to a shape crouched in the shadows along the far wall. Juro.
He had stayed apart from the others, half-hidden by a collapsed tent. His head was bowed, hands resting loosely on his knees, but his shoulders were tense.
Temari's eyes narrowed. She started walking toward him, steps slow, silent despite the grit underfoot. The set of her mouth was cold, her jaw tight.
Juro didn't move until she was almost on him. When he finally looked up, his face was pale, but his eyes were flat and guarded.
"Juro.", Temari said, her voice low and edged.
He didn't answer right away. The shadows shifted with the flicker of the firelight, cutting his face into sharp planes. When he finally spoke, it was little more than a whisper.
"...I… I am so---"
Temari didn't let him finish, cutting him off with a chilling indifference in her voice.
"We need to talk."