The wind howled through the trees as Jace and Hamuri dashed between the shadows, slipping from one forest to the next. Their movements were constant—silent, focused, and relentless.
They were heading deeper into unfamiliar territory, following a path only Hamuri remembered.
The former shinobi moved with certainty.
“I know where they’re hiding,” Hamuri had said before they set out. “A ruined temple, swallowed by the Blackroot Forest. It’s where the Kokumei last gathered… and it’s where they’ll be again.”
Jace followed without question. His breathing was steady, his chakra contained, his senses sharp.
He now knew who the Kokumei were.
Twelve rogue shinobi. Former elites from different hidden villages. Each one had once worn a headband—now they wore masks, and the names of the dead trai
