Smoke drifted through Smokebush Hollow, curling like lazy snakes through the trees, tracing invisible loops in the morning air. In the clearing just east of the Seat of Stillness, Zassō sat cross-legged, one palm rested against the gnarled trunk of the oldest tree in the Hollow.
The bark was split, jagged in places. Moss dangled like gray hair from its limbs.
Zassō called it Ol' Barkface.
He leaned against the trunk, pipe hanging from his lips.
"I'm just sayin', man, I can't keep livin' like this," Zassō muttered. "One stump for a chair, one moss-bed for a mattress, and I'm still takin' cold water dumps in the creek."
"You ever try squat-shittin' in morning fog? Dew drip on your back midstream, ain't enlightenment, it's just cold."
The tree, as usual, said nothing.
But Zassō kept going.
"See, Barkface, what I need is infrastructure. A foundation. I'm talkin' plumbing, some nice wood floors, maybe a roof that don't whisper secrets at night. We start buildin' houses, latrines, a bathhouse, maybe even a smoke temple, and boom. High Village becomes real."
His hand patted the bark twice, reverent.
"But I can't do it solo. Dew's got moss to tend. Pebble out here arguin' with spirit stone. Hako's busy inventin' a new language or some shit. I need people."
He leaned back.
Eyes to the canopy.
"I need a blessing, Barkface. Gimme somethin'."
For a moment, only silence.
Then, the fog stirred.
They came through the northern trail in silence. One hundred eighty-five strong, ragged and soot-streaked, their eyes dull but alert.
At their head marched Reika, flanked by scouts. Behind her, Hana, walking on a damp moss, her gaze drawn to every pulse in the air.
They had sensed the Hollow long before they saw it.
And when the mist parted, and they stepped through-
Zassō stood waiting.
Arms wide.
Smile wider.
"Well damn," he said, voice echoing with delighted disbelief. "Look what the leafless wind dragged in. You folks lookin' for paradise?"
The scouts raised their weapons.
Chinoike warriors alert.
Zassō held up a hand, still grinning.
"Nah nah nah, put the steel down. Ain't no fight here. This Hollow's a peace zone. No clan beef, no blood feuds. Only fog, mushrooms, and good ass vibes."
Reika stepped forward cautiously. "You are… the leader?"
"Leader? Yea I'm the boss here. Title self-appointed. Whole system self-medicated."
He bowed slightly. "Zassō. First of the Rootless. Welcome to Smokebush Hollow. You got names?"
Reika glanced back at her kin.
"Chinoike. Survivors."
Zassō eyes twinkled. "Survivors? Good. I'm in the business of building with survivors."
He turned, gesturing grandly toward the inner Hollow.
"You can stay. Plenty of room. Plenty of trees. But it ain't a free ride."
He jabbed a thumb behind him.
"You work. Everyone pulls weight. We buildin' a village. And you follow rules."
Reika nodded, cautious but intrigued. "What rules?"
Zassō smirked.
That night, beneath a moon, Pebble sat cross-legged atop a mossy stone while the entire Chinoike clan circled around. Dew lit soft flame-lanterns. Chime beat a drum low and slow. The air was heavy with fog.
Pebble raised a painted stone.
"This is Law," she said.
No one questioned it.
She began to speak.
"Rule One: No killing unless the forest says it's okay."
"Rule Two: Everyone works. Even if your work is dancing in the fog, that still counts."
"Rule Three: You lie? The Hollow finds out."
"Rule Four: We don't run. We float."
"Rule Five: If you hear the willow whisper, listen. It usually has good advice."
Some Chinoike murmured confusion.
Others chuckled nervously.
But none objected.
They were too tired. Too grateful.
And strangely… too at ease.
Later that night, Zassō returned to Ol' Barkface.
He pressed his hand to the trunk again, pipe burning soft in his other hand.
"See what I'm talkin' about?" he whispered. "Ask and receive."
He leaned close.
"Thanks, ol' friend. Gonna name the new latrine Barkface Bathroom, in your honor."
A branch above creaked softly.
Zassō grinned.
"That a yes? Thought so."
He puffed smoke shaped like a cloud and exhaled it skyward.
Elsewhere
One stepped forward.
Uchiha Sadao. His armor scorched. His face grim.
Behind him, a body draped in black.
Daizen.
Dead.
Boiled from within.
They had traced the fleeing Chinoike all the way to the southern border. But when they crossed the final ridge, every trail vanished.
No chakra trace.
Just fog.
Unnatural fog.
Sadao narrowed his eyes.
"This forest… doesn't want us here."
One Uchiha nodded. "Should we pursue?"
Sadao turned away.
"No. We were paid to banish them. Not to chase them into death."
He glanced at Daizen's body one last time.
Then vanished into darkness.