I do not own any Naruto characters or settings.  I only own my OC, Musei Shiro.

This chapter does not contain any descriptions of blood or violence.

I hope you enjoy the story of Shiro, the Weeping Samurai of the Land of Iron!

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“Musei Shiro,” the tall shinobi grumbled. “Shidare no Bushi of the Land of Iron.”

Shiro stiffened from the title as she always did, but she hadn't heard her real name for tweve years, much less her surname. Something stirred inside her chest, bubbling and boiling with anger. Her perfectly smooth face cracked, a fierce scowl crinkling her ivory forehead and a dangerous growl rippled from her throat.

“How do you know my name?” she barked at them, her katana tip pointing at the two men. “How did you find me?”

“We just so happened to be nearby,” the towering blue-skinned man chuckled once more. “It was lucky of us really, since you're the one we're after this time.”

Shiro's eyes widened.

They were after her? Why would these people be after her?

“You're bounty hunters then,” Shiro snarled darkly, her obsidian eyes glinting in the pale light. “I'll have you warned, I've battled a little more than ten bounty hunters in the past three years, so don't you dare underestimate me, aku (scum).”

“Harsh words for such a little thing,” the raven-haired man suddenly murmured. His husky deep voice caught Shiro of guard, making her flinch at the sound. “I'll have you know Musei-san, that we're not those pitiful things called bounty hunters.”

“Who are you then? Why are you after me?”

The two men just stood there, their long cloaks rippling in the wind. The raven-haired man's eyes were glued to Shiro, her's stuck on his.

“We're from an organization," he finally said, raising his head from the tall collar that blocked the view of his mouth and nose, the snapping of buttons clicked in the empty snow, "called the Akatsuki.”

“Akatsuki...” Shiro mumbled the name on her thin lips. Her mind raced as she frantically tried to find an image to the familiar word. Her onyx eyes flashed open. “The organization of S-rank missing-nin?”

The dark-haired man nodded once.

“Hai,” he grunted.

“That means...”

Shiro gripped her exposed sword in her right hand and slashed out the other from its long slumber. Her dark eyes burned in fury.

“You're from ninja country.”

Both of their eyes widened as she unsheathed her second blade; never in her image as the Shidare no Bushi did Shiro ever pull out the other twin sword.

The white metal gleamed in the morning sunlight, reflecting pale death as it shimmered like the snow that rested on the ground.

“I see those katana are as menacing as the myths say.” The pale blue-skinned shinobi raised an eyebrow.

By this time, both of their conical bamboo hats had been shed, their coats unbuttoned and flapping in the breeze like wings.

The tall man's eyes wandered over to the katana in her right hand.

“Raiha,” he growled as his black eyes slid up and down the sword, “the Lightning Blade.”

“And Kyuminha...” the raven-haired man nodded at the left sword, “the Dormant Blade...”

“I see...” Shiro flipped the Kyuminha into a reverse grip and brought the hilt to hover across her face; the Raiha was also turned around into a reverse grip, the blade pointing downward as the hilt crossed its twin's fabric-bound handle in front of her. Shiro's onyx eyes hardened to stone and glinted like metal. “Even my blades have earned damned nicknames, have they now?”

“Raiha,” the blue-skinned man's black eyes flickered up to hers, “is the infamous white blade that murdered all of those innocent villagers, if I'm not mistaken.”

Shiro narrowed her eyes and furrowed her thin brows.

“Hai.” She forced the word through her clenched teeth.

“Then Kyuminha...” the man continued with a threatening tone. His large hands reached to his back, gripping a rather large hilt to an even larger bandaged sword. “Is the slumbering beast that is yet to be awakened.”

“The blades are only as vicious as their masters are,” Shiro snarled. “Don't test my patience.”

“Baka (fool).” The ninja's smirk dissolved into a frown. “You're the one who should be cowering. I can destroy you in an instant if I desired to, shojo (little girl).”

“We didn't come here to fight, Kisame,” the raven-haired shinobi growled sternly to his partner.

The large man just frowned and growled a little.

“Right,” Kisame grumbled and let go of his sword hilt, a very disappointed look spreading across his face.

“In speaking of which,” Shiro added in, her muscles still tense and her katana still held up in front of her face. “You never answered my last question: why are you after me?”

Kisame just scoffed and clenched his jaw. The ninja next to him remained straight-faced, his features were spread over with a sense of stillness that looked almost...tranquil.

“We have heard of your legendary myths.” the dark-haired man started, his long hair blowing calmly in the cold breeze. “Shidare no Bushi. The extent of your power rivals even the skills of Mifune-sama, the samurai general of this land. It's very clear that you're a strong warrior, seeing you've evaded any sort of arrest or capture for the last few years. So we have come here with a proposition.”

Shiro's ears pricked up from the word.

“Proposition?” the white-haired girl said slowly, her brows knitting together. “What's the proposition?”

“Well, since there are no openings in the Akatsuki at the moment,” he continued in his deep voice, which seemed a little annoyed, “the only offer is to become a direct follower.”

“A direct follower?” Shiro repeated the shinobi's words again. She scowled. “As in, literally following you around everywhere like a lost puppy? I don't think so.”

“It's more than that.” The raven-haired man blinked his dark eyes. “You would be able to fight alongside us, act as one of the Akatsuki even though you don't have a ring.”

“So basically...” Shiro swallowed and slowly began to ease her stiff muscles. “I'd be like your bodyguards.”

“Like we need any bodyguards.” Kisame scoffed, growling as he stared her down. “We are perfectly capable of defending ourselves from anything.”

“Demo,” the other ninja interjected, “the Akatsuki are planning to do something big in the near future, and it'd be very convenient if we had someone we could trust guarding our bodies while we're preoccupied somewhere else.”

“How do you know you can trust me?” Shiro's blades shimmered. “You don't even know me.”

“Of course we do.” The dark-haired ninja cocked his head to the side. His midnight orbs glinted in the light, reflecting a sense of mischievousness in his pale features. “You're Musei Shiro, daughter of Musei Daichi and Ayame. Your village was Umi Gai, located on the southeastern border of the Land of Iron, until it was destroyed twleve years ago.”

Shiro's brow creased even more.

“How do you know all of this?” she growled fiercely. “Who are you?”

But the shinobi ignored her questions, knowing she would be more interested in the information he was about to mention.

“And your sister,” he said darkly, “is Musei Yoru.”

Shiro's orbs flashed in anger as she heard the name, her legs instantly kicking off the snowy ground to launch herself at the man.

“How do you know her name?!” Shiro screeched as she slashed her blades.

The katana sliced through thin air as the two ninja dodged the attack, their cloaks rippling as they jumped into the air.

“Where is she?!” the corrupt girl bellowed again, whirling around to face the ninja behind her.

“If you accept your invitation,” the dark-haired man murmured from his tall collar, “I'll be more than happy to tell you what I know about her.”

Shiro scoffed and glowered at him, raising the two white katana blades before her threateningly.

“My sister.” Shiro scowled. “Where is my sister? What did you do to her?”

“We didn't do anything,” he responded coolly, “because we're not the ones who took her.”

“Where is she?!” Her white hair swerved as she thrust herself at them again, the tip of her white blade tearing the raven-haired man's black sleeve.

His eyes widened a little in shock.

“Tell me what you know!” Shiro screamed. She whipped around and lashed out her swords again, her charcoal eyes hardening to stone and burning with fury. “Who took my sister?!”

Kisame's large hand immediately brushed against the hilt of his large sword again as he leaped out of the way, but was stopped by his partner.

“Don't, Kisame,” he muttered.

“She's rampaging.” The blue-skinned man scowled. “At this rate we'll have no choice but to take her down.”

“That's not the approach we agreed on.” The ninja landed on the snow next to the larger man. “Remember what the purpose of this is.”

Kisame just growled and let his hand fall to his side, his wide-set beady eyes glaring at the infuriated girl.

Shiro's white kimono rippled in the wind as she ran at them once more.

“Tell me!” The twin blades' faces glinted in the rising sun, pure and completely wiped away from the immense bloodshed and destruction they had caused.

“If you agree to joining us,” the raven-haired ninja said again, swerving to the side to dodge the Raiha, “we'll work together in order to find your sister.”

“You know who took her.” Shiro swiped the Kyuminha at him forcefully, only to scrape the cold emptiness as she furrowed her brow even more. “Why aren't you telling me who took her?!”

“Agree,” the slick ninja demanded coolly, “and I'll tell you anything you want to know.”

Shiro's bony shoulders rose and fell dramatically, her chest heaving from such anger her body shook violently from the rage. Her pale face was contorted in such a way the girl was not recognizable as the Shiro she was a moment ago. Her feet were cemented to the ground, suddenly heavy and difficult to move as her bulging black eyes widened.

Her face relaxed.

“Whatever it may cost me...” Shiro lowered her blades, her onyx hues solemn and full to the brim with tears of longing. “I will take back my sister...just tell me...chodo (please)...that she is indeed alive...”

“Does that mean you accept?”

Shiro just stared blankly in the two ninjas' direction. Her empty gaze spilled over in tears as her thin pale lip quivered.

“Yes...” she muttered the single word, strangled and tormented.

The two shinobi stood there looking at her with plain expressions as Shiro's face was flooded in tears.

“Musei Yoru,” the black-haired man started, breaking the silence, “is currently with a man named Orochimaru.”

Shiro stared at him with a certain degree of naivety he questioned if the girl standing before him was the same one who had attacked him not a few minutes ago.

“Orochi...maru...” Shiro murmured, her body still from the shock.

After all of those years hunting down for even one lead of her sister's whereabouts...this strange man had finally told her.

“You...” The white-haired girl flickered her tearful eyes to the man's darker ones. “Who are you...?”

“My name,” the ninja took a step closer to her, his voice low and husky, his intense black eyes burning like flames, “is Uchiha Itachi.”

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