From the Grass Wave Coast to the Forest of Death outside Konoha, three-year-old Kimimaro had kept the same expression: none at all.
He had watched the Kaguya Clan's compound come under attack, watched a ninja who controlled insects cut his clansmen down like stalks of grain, watched a silent, mute ninja head straight for the dungeon where he was imprisoned, then watched them fight one another. In the end, they had brought him before a boy of extraordinary standing.
Before this, Kimimaro had known only one thing:
Whenever he was released from the dungeon, he had to obey the tallest, most important person there and use his unusual power to kill people or creatures with certain recognizable features.
But today...
No one gave him orders. No one told Kimimaro to do anything or kill anyone. No one even needed the power on which his very survival depended.
Not even the Konoha ninja who had taken him away gave him a clear instruction. It was as though he was no longer a person, merely an object people fought over and snatched from one another.
For the first time in his three years of life, Kimimaro felt lost, helpless, and... a fear that welled up from the deepest recesses of his heart.
The object that had stayed with him longest was an earthenware bowl he ate from.
One day, however, when the clansman bringing his food took Kimimaro's bowl, it struck the dungeon's iron bars and chipped. The guard glanced down at it, then casually tossed it aside. It hit the floor and shattered into a pile of pottery shards.
The man brought a new bowl, filled it with food, and handed it to Kimimaro. Whether deliberately or not, he said, "Kimimaro, why keep something useless?"
Kimimaro said nothing. He merely took