The fog parted first.
Not naturally—cut.
Kushimaru Kuriarare stepped through it like a blade passing silk, wire glinting faintly as it unspooled around him. His eyes moved once, cataloguing terrain, angles, resistance.
Jinpachi Munashi followed with less subtlety.
The ground trembled under his steps. Shibuki rested on his shoulder, its explosive tags ready for explosions.
"Well?" Jinpachi grinned. "Where's the screaming?"
Aoi answered them with silence.
She stood at the narrowest part of the valley, where stone rose unevenly on both sides, and meltwater carved shallow channels through the ground. No walls. No barricades.
Just her.
Kushimaru stopped.
"Yuki Clan?" he said calmly.
Aoi did not respond.
Wire slid forward, invisible until it wasn't—probing, testing, mapping the space around her. Aoi shifted her stance by a fraction, frost blooming underfoot as the wire passed where her throat had been a breath earlier.
Too precise, she noted.
Jinpachi laughed and swung Shibuki down, slamming it into the ground.
"Let's skip the warm-up."
The explosion tore through the valley like thunder.
Ice rose instantly—not a wall, but a layered bloom of compressed frost that absorbed the blast in stages, shattering outward instead of inward. The shockwave still threw Aoi back, pain lancing through her side as she skidded across frozen stone.
She rolled once and came up kneeling, breath sharp.
Kushimaru was already moving.
Wire snapped tight around her arm—caught.
Aoi didn't fight it.
She froze it.
Not solid. Brittle.
The wire shattered as she twisted, shards scattering harmlessly into the fog. Her counter came immediately—ice threading through the ground, rising in angled ridges that redirected Jinpachi's next charge just enough to force him to adjust.
"Annoying," Jinpachi muttered, hopping back as the ground betrayed him.
Kushimaru tilted his head slightly.
"She's not trying to kill us," he observed.
"No," Aoi said, voice steady despite the fire creeping through her muscles. "I'm trying to slow you down."
Jinpachi barked a laugh. "That won't save you."
"It already has," she replied—and slammed her palm to the earth.
Cold surged outward, not explosive, not sharp—exhausting. The air thickened, breath frosting instantly. The terrain softened into a treacherous half-freeze, demanding constant adjustment, constant chakra output.
Time.
That was the currency she was spending.
Kushimaru flicked his wrist, wire lashing from multiple angles now, a silver web designed to pin and end.
Aoi moved through it like a memory of snow—never where she had been, never fully solid. Ice mirrored her steps, leaving false impressions, false targets. One wire caught her shoulder, slicing deep.
Pain flared.
Her vision swam for half a heartbeat.
Inside her, something shifted.
She pressed a hand to her abdomen instinctively, chakra snapping inward—not panicked, but fierce.
Stay, she pleaded silently. Just a little longer.
Jinpachi roared and charged again, Shibuki swinging in a brutal arc meant to collapse the valley entirely.
Aoi raised both hands.
Ice answered—not as a weapon, but as weight.
The blast detonated—but the ground beneath Jinpachi gave way unevenly, ice shearing at precise angles, throwing his balance off at the worst possible moment. The explosion tore sideways instead of forward, ripping stone apart but sparing the escape routes hidden beyond.
Jinpachi slammed into the rock face, swearing loudly.
Kushimaru landed lightly nearby, eyes narrowed now.
"You're bleeding," he noted. "And you're slowing."
"Yes," Aoi said. "And you're still here."
That… gave him pause.
Another contraction hit—harder this time.
Aoi staggered, teeth clenched, ice flaring uncontrolled for a heartbeat before she forced it back down.
Kushimaru saw it.
Understanding flickered.
"…You're pregnant," he said.
Aoi laughed softly, breath shaking. "Congratulations. You've noticed."
Jinpachi stared. Then scowled. "This is stupid."
Kushimaru didn't answer. He looked at the land. The timing. The way the ice bent instead of killing.
Realization settled in like frost.
"She's not defending a settlement," he said quietly.
Jinpachi's grin faded.
"She's defending time."
Aoi straightened, blood staining the ice beneath her feet, cold biting harder now as her body fought two battles at once.
"Yes," she said. "And you're running out of it."
Far behind her—unseen, unheard—the last evacuation route sealed itself naturally as fog reclaimed the path.
The children were gone.
The women were safe.
Only the line remained.
And Aoi Yuki stood upon it—trembling, bleeding, unbroken—ice and will braided together, daring legends to take one more step forward.
They would.
But not quickly.
Not without cost.