The cold announced itself before the land did.
Aoi felt it settle into her bones as they crossed the last ridgeline—clean, deliberate, and familiar. Snow fell in thin, patient layers, just enough to soften sound without erasing it.
"This is as far as most people get," Aoi said, slowing her pace.
Shigen adjusted his grip on the strap of his pack, eyes scanning the valley below. "I'm guessing that's intentional."
She didn't answer.
Instead, she let her chakra breathe.
The change was subtle. A pressure shift. A refraction of light. What had been an empty valley resolved into form—stone terraces etched into the mountainside, structures half-buried in ice, pathways only visible once you knew where to look.
Shigen stopped.
"…That's not illusion," he said.
"No," Aoi replied. "It's memory."
They descended carefully.
No alarms sounded, but Aoi felt attention settle on them almost immediately—cool, measured, disciplined. She raised her hand slightly, palm outward, allowing her chakra signature to unfold just enough to be recognized.
The temperature eased.
Figures emerged along the ridgelines, masked and alert. Yuki shinobi—some seasoned, some young enough to still be learning restraint. No weapons were raised, but none were lowered either.
One stepped forward, her silver hair bound tight, eyes sharp.
"Aoi," she said. "You shouldn't be here."
"I know," Aoi answered calmly. "I didn't come to stay."
Her gaze flicked briefly to Shigen.
"I brought someone wounded."
The woman assessed Shigen in a single glance. "Nara."
"Yes."
Another pause.
Then: "Move. Quickly."
They were led into the compound, smaller than it once had been. Some buildings were sealed entirely, their entrances layered with ice and tags. Others bore the marks of hurried repair. The clan hall still stood, reinforced again and again, its walls thick with old chakra.
Medics took over without ceremony.
Their ice techniques were careful—temperature modulation, preservation, and clotting without rigidity. Shigen watched, impressed despite the pain.
"You don't waste motion," he murmured.
"We can't afford to," one medic replied.
As they worked, an elder arrived, his posture rigid with the kind of fatigue that came from years of vigilance.
"You were seen near the border," he said to Aoi. "Mist scouts have been mapping again."
"I noticed," Aoi replied. "They're patient."
"They're waiting for us to slip."
Aoi inclined her head. "Then don't."
The elder turned his attention to Shigen. "You brought an outsider."
"He saved my life," Aoi said evenly. "Twice."
As she lied to the Elder.
That earned Shigen a second look.
"Survival builds obligation," the elder said. "But obligation cuts both ways."
"I won't stay long," Aoi said. "Neither will he."
The elder studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Rest. Heal. Then leave before you are remembered."
Shigen was moved to a quiet room overlooking the valley. Snow drifted past the window in slow, deliberate sheets.
"You could've left me anywhere," he said quietly once they were alone. "Why bring me here?"
Aoi didn't look at him.
"Because you were injured," she said. "And because this land still knows how to keep people alive."
He considered that.
"…Thank you," he said finally.
She nodded once.
Outside, the cold held steady—not hostile, not welcoming.
Just watchful.
The Yuki clan still lived.
And that was precisely what made this place dangerous.