Snowlight Valley welcomed no one.
The northern province lay cradled in mountain mist and distrust. Once home to four rival clans, it now sat under the shadow of the High Council, fractured and bitter. Smoke curled from watchtowers. Seals glowed faintly on checkpoints. Somewhere beneath the cold earth, old blood still whispered.
Daigo stepped from the convoy carriage, a ledger tucked under his arm and a traveler's robe draped over his shoulders. His spyglass was hidden inside the folds of his sash. He wore no headband. No insignia. Only a circular clasp marked with a faint seal—the mark of the Accountants.
He was here to audit.
To measure chakra flows. To assess seal compliance. To ensure that the High Council's policies had taken root in this stubborn patch of land.
A shinobi met him at the gates of the local administration compound. She was tall, severe, wrapped in dull grey armor with faint red script running along her sleeves. Her mask—white porcelain etched with ink-thin kanji—betrayed nothing.
"Accountant Daigo," she said without bowing. "You are late. The Dominion Arbiter is not patient."
"I wasn't told I was here to impress him," Daigo replied.
She didn't blink. "You're not. You're here to survive him."
The compound interior was all angles and sealwork. Genjutsu tags layered behind reception scrolls. Chakra suppressants woven into the paper walls.
A black banner marked with the High Council's sigil—a stylized eye wrapped in concentric seals—hung behind the meeting chamber.
Daigo was ushered inside, where the Dominion Arbiter waited. His name was Councilor Kuroji, a man who had once worn Kumo's flak jacket and now wore a robe of sealed ink threads. His voice was quiet, and therefore dangerous.
"I read your file. Tsuma Isle. You survived Instructor Vaslen."
Daigo gave a single nod. "I adapted."
"You did more than that. You turned the blade inward. Most don't."
Kuroji studied him. "You're young for an Auditor. The High Circle must see something in you."
"They see numbers," Daigo replied. "I'm good at making them behave."
The Arbiter smiled without warmth. "We'll see how good you are. Snowlight is a cracked mirror. The clans pretend to obey. They still conduct bloodline trials. They still chant their own rites."
He stood, motioning to a map covered in red chakra marks.
"There are places here that the Masked Guard should cleanse. But the High Circle wants a quieter resolution. That means you."
Daigo stepped closer.
"I'll need full records. Civilian chakra reports. Academy testing logs. Seal compliance forms."
Kuroji nodded. "And protection. You'll be assigned a Black Quill observer. They'll ensure the doctrine is upheld."
A flicker of annoyance passed Daigo's face. A doctrine-watcher meant surveillance.
"Of course."
That night, Daigo found his room—bare except for a desk, a bedroll, and a mirror marked with a genjutsu-detection seal. He unpacked slowly.
Spyglass. Ledger. A small scroll with a note from Sho.
Watch everything.
He lit a candle, opened his ledger, and began.
Week One: The Silence of Obedience
The numbers came slowly. Too slowly. Requests for documents were returned with half-redacted scrolls or nonstandard formats. Civilian chakra quotas were uniform to the point of suspicion. Seal compliance forms were missing stamps that should have been automatic. And yet, every street bore the eye of the High Council.
Daigo requested new inspections. He rotated district auditors. Every form submitted was matched with three from the previous quarter.
The falsifications became clearer with each fold.
He found student chakra reports where everyone scored within 3% of each other—across age, background, and clan. Not possible. Unless altered.
Week Two: The Pressure of Appearances
Councilor Kuroji stopped Daigo in the corridor.
"You are digging deep. Be careful."
"Truth doesn't respond to pressure. Only delay."
Kuroji's eyes narrowed. "The Black Quill reports that you've taken interest in Clan Akomizu."
Daigo didn't answer.
"They are old. They remember. That kind of memory resists erasure."
Week Three: Movement Beyond Snowlight
Whispers reached Daigo's desk.
From the south, Konoha had deployed a genin team under the command of Jonin Sarutobi Nao.
They claimed it was a diplomatic goodwill mission, but Daigo knew better. Where genin went, scouting followed. Where scouting followed, intelligence was gathered. The Hidden Leaf had begun watching the High Council's newest territories.
From the west, a former Iwa noble had denounced High Council seal doctrine at an international summit in Taki. His words were brushed off officially. Unofficially, Daigo received notice from his handler in the Masked Guard: "Do not let Snowlight become the spark."
Week Four: The First Crack
Daigo returned to the Southern Cluster, trailed by his silent observer. This time, he entered without announcement.
An elder of Clan Akomizu met him at the district shrine, robes worn thin, eyes glassy.
"You measure us with scrolls. But numbers forget what soil remembers."
"Then show me the soil," Daigo said.
He was led below the shrine. Beneath the floorboards, in a sealed crypt, lay a scroll untouched by the High Council. It pulsed faintly with chakra. Daigo knelt.
It was a bloodline record, written in the clan's ancestral script. Names crossed out. Symbols of power—of Kekkei Genkai—erased by order, preserved by ritual.
He stood slowly.
"This is sedition."
"This is truth."
His Black Quill stepped beside him. "Do you intend to report it?"
Daigo stared at the scroll.
"Not yet."
Back at his quarters, Daigo sat with the ledger open. Across the top of the newest page, he wrote:
The High Council asks for silence. Snowlight answers with a whisper. But under that whisper is a scream.