AUTHOR'S POV.
A restless wind swept across the desert, carrying grains of sand that hissed in the air. Under the scorching sun, a small mound of sand trembled—and from within, a girl stirred.
Her face was twisted in confusion, her eyes shut tight—not out of choice, but because the wind stung with sand. Her light-brown skin was dusted with grit, her black hair tangled and heavy with dirt.
She wore nothing more than a simple t-shirt and shorts. Slowly, she stood upright, blinking through the grit, her eyes barely open. But the moment she truly looked around, shock froze her in place.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. Hugging herself tightly, she trembled, her hands shaking uncontrollably. Fear clawed through her chest. She told herself this had to be a dream. Desperate to wake up, she struck herself again and again, but nothing changed.
Finally, she collapsed into the sand, overwhelmed. This land was unknown—its air, its silence, even its light. Nothing felt familiar.
Suddenly, a violent gust tore across the dunes, throwing sand at her in a blinding wave. She ducked her head, shielding herself, but grains buried her until she could hardly breathe. When she finally lifted her face, she gasped in horror, stumbling backward. Tears flowed harder, her chest heaving. But no sound left her throat.
"Who sent you here? Did you come to spy on the Sand Village?" A deep voice cut through the wind.
The girl raised her head slowly. Her eyes widened.
"No... no, this isn't real. This has to be a dream," she whispered shakily, barely audible.
"Don't make me ask again." A second voice rang out—sharp, commanding. A woman's voice.
She turned toward it.
"Temari..." the name slipped past her lips, trembling.
"Oh? So you already know us. Sorry, but we don't know you," Temari replied coldly.
"Enough of this. Let's bind her now." The boy with the puppet at Temari's side narrowed his eyes, voice edged with hostility.
"Silence." The same deep voice commanded, heavier than before.
From the boy's back, sand began to flow—thin streams like living liquid—crawling toward the girl. The grains reached her cheeks, gently absorbing her tears, then retreated back to their master.
Temari and Kankuro froze. Shock flickered in their eyes. Since when did a monster care for a stranger's tears?
"Who are you, really?" Kankuro demanded, disbelief tightening his voice.
"I... I am Ishani... Ishani Singh." Her words cracked out, fragile but determined.
"What kind of name is that?" Temari pressed. "Where do you come from?"
"India... and from the year 2026... I don't know how I got here. Please—I want to go home. Help me." Her voice broke, trembling with desperation.
"Don't listen to this nonsense. Gaara, I'm telling you—we should bind her now, or throw her outside the village!" Kankuro snapped.
"Kankuro!" Temari's voice cut like a whip as she swung her giant fan, the air crackling with force.
The girl raised both arms to shield herself. But before the strike could land, a surge of sand erupted behind her, pushing the blast far away.
Temari and Kankuro both froze, their eyes snapping toward Gaara.
They knew. He hadn't moved. This wasn't Gaara's will—it was Shukaku, the One-Tail, acting on its own. But why? Shukaku had never protected anyone like this.
"I don't believe she's a spy. And I don't think she's lying," Gaara's deep voice rumbled, his piercing gaze fixed on Ishani.
Descending from his floating sand, he approached her slowly. He extended one hand and lightly pressed a finger against her trembling arm.
Ishani flinched, bracing for pain—but none came. Instead, the sting of the sand softened. Thin streams flowed gently across her skin, layering like a second skin, soothing instead of tearing.
"Is it wise to go this far for an outsider? We don't even know if she speaks the truth," Temari muttered, her arms folded tightly against her chest.
"You both saw it. Shukaku protected her. It even lashed out when Kankuro threatened her. This has never happened before." Gaara's voice was low, commanding, final. "Enough discussion. We return to the village. The day is ending, and the desert is changing."
Temari and Kankuro exchanged uneasy glances, but neither argued. Without another word, the four of them walked together toward the gates of Sand village.
As they entered, silence rippled through the streets. Villagers stopped in their tracks, fear etched into every glance. A child running through the street was pulled back quickly into his mother's arms. Others stepped aside, pressing hands against their chests in quiet unease as Gaara passed—his presence heavy, his companions a mystery.
---
Gaara's house was built of sandstone, its walls sun-scorched on the outside yet cool and shaded within. The structure was as simple and austere as its owner, but inside lingered a heavy silence—one that seemed to carry Gaara's loneliness.
As they stepped in, Temari and Kankuro quietly retreated to their own rooms, leaving only Gaara and Ishani behind.
Without a word, Gaara led her down a narrow hallway to a small room. A plain bed stood against one wall, a table and wardrobe on the other, with a mirror reflecting the dim light. Sparse furniture, but clean and ordered.
"You can stay here," Gaara said, his voice steady, almost detached.
"Thank you... for trusting me enough to let me stay," Ishani replied softly.
She hesitated, then extended her hand. Gaara raised his own, and as their fingers nearly touched, the sand clinging to her skin drifted away—drawn as if by instinct—to settle against his.
When the last grain vanished, Gaara withdrew his hand and walked out without another word. Ishani closed the door, sat heavily on the bed, and covered her face with both hands. Tears spilled through her fingers. None of this felt real—yet the fear pressing in on her was all too sharp, all too real.
---
Morning came with the desert sun blazing, the streets of Sand village already shimmering with heat. Ishani followed a few steps behind Gaara. The eyes of villagers followed her every move. Mothers clutched their children close; others stepped aside with suspicion in their gaze.
Her chest tightened, fear swelling inside her, and she instinctively moved closer to Gaara as they walked.
At last, they reached the Kazekage's office. The room was carved from stone and sand, its tall windows pouring light across maps and scrolls scattered over a great table. Behind it sat the Council of Elders—Chiyo, Ebizō, and other senior shinobi—stern faces lined with distrust.
"So this is the outsider," one elder said, his voice sharp with disdain.
"Appearing suddenly in our desert, claiming knowledge of our names and our world," another added coldly. "This is not to be trusted. She should be imprisoned at once."
Ishani's heart pounded. Her lips trembled, but no sound came. Tears welled in her eyes.
"Guards," an elder barked, "bind her."
Ishani staggered back, breath quick and shallow.
But Gaara stepped in front of her. His hand rose slightly, the sand at his heels stirring. His expression remained stoic, but in his eyes burned an immovable resolve.
"She stays with me," Gaara's voice rang, deep and unyielding.
"Gaara, think carefully," Chiyo warned, her tone sharp. "This is not you speaking—it's the One-Tail acting through you. That is dangerous."
Behind Gaara's shield of sand, Ishani clutched her hands to her chest. Her fear softened, if only slightly. Her voice, weak and fractured, escaped in a whisper.
"...Why? Why are you protecting me?"
Gaara turned his head just enough to meet her eyes. For a fleeting moment, his expression shifted, and in his gaze flickered something fragile, almost gentle.
"Because the sand has already chosen you."
The chamber fell silent. The elders exchanged uneasy glances, but none stepped forward.
Then Chiyo's voice broke the quiet.
"Gaara... do you understand the danger of keeping this girl here? She claims to be from another world. How can we possibly believe that?"
"An outsider, shielded by Shukaku himself," Ebizō said, narrowing his eyes at Ishani. "That only makes her more suspicious. What if she's a spy? What if she holds sway over the beast inside you?"
Ishani shook, her lips trembling as tears slipped free.
"I'm not... I'm not a spy. I don't know why I'm here. I just want to go home."
"Words mean nothing, girl," Chiyo snapped, striking her palm against the table. "Sand village has trusted before—and we have paid dearly for it."
Gaara's eyes sharpened, voice slicing through the room.
"Then explain this. Why does Shukaku protect her?"
The council fell to whispers.
"Shukaku doesn't protect anyone. He only destroys," Gaara continued, his voice colder now. "But Ishani's fear, her tears—he responded to them. If she were truly a threat, Shukaku would have torn her apart."
"That is exactly why we fear her," another elder hissed. "If she holds influence over Shukaku, it could mean disaster. A new curse on our village."
Ishani's body broke into sobs. She hugged herself tightly.
"I didn't do anything... I don't know anything... please..."
Suddenly, sand erupted from Gaara's back, surging to form a barrier around Ishani. Scrolls and maps scattered across the table as a low growl rumbled from deep within—the voice of Shukaku, faint yet terrifying.
The elders stiffened. Chiyo rose to her feet, her expression dark.
"Gaara! Are you defying the council?"
"No," Gaara replied, his tone steady as stone. "I'm stating the truth. Ishani is no spy. Shukaku himself has proven it."
The room was heavy with silence.
At last, Ebizō's voice came, slow and deliberate. "Then what do you propose, Gaara? How are we to believe her?"
Gaara turned to Ishani once more. Her eyes were rimmed red, brimming with both fear and gratitude. Then he faced the elders again, his gaze unflinching, voice resonant.
"I will take responsibility. Ishani stays under my protection. She is my responsibility."
The chamber froze in silence. The elders looked to one another—some with anger, others with doubt, none with acceptance.
But Ishani, clutching her chest, felt something new stir beneath her fear. In this strange desert, in this foreign world—she was not entirely alone anymore.
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