webAppInput

SceneIdQuery

myProfile

scene

query SceneIdQuery(
  $id: ID!
  $webAppInput: WebAppInput
) {
  myProfile(webAppInput: $webAppInput) {
    ...MyProfile_myProfile
    id
  }
  scene(id: $id) {
    ...Scene_scene
    ...SceneMedias_scene_16LRdq
    id
    order
    rating
    title
    seoTitle
    seoDescription
    isPublished
    isScheduled
    publishedAt
    content
    embeddedMedia {
      mediaId
      state
    }
    story {
      ...Story_story
      id
      isMine
      commentsAccess
    }
    prevScene {
      id
    }
    nextScene {
      id
    }
  }
}

fragment JobInfo_job on AiGenerationJob {
  id
  type
  status
  currentStage
  attemptCount
  maxAttempts
  lastErrorCode
  scheduledAt
}

fragment MediaStatusFields_media on Media {
  id
  status
  generationError
  activeGenerationJob {
    ...JobInfo_job
    currentStage
    id
  }
}

fragment MyProfile_myProfile on User {
  id
  name
  email
  isAdmin
  hasEverPaid
  isEmailConfirmed
  isEmailNotificationEnabled
  isTelegramNotificationEnabled
  isTempPassword
  avatar
  cover
  about
  contacts
  support
  telegramId
  vkId
  availableLimits
  frozenLimits
  urlSlug
  topUpPackages {
    id
    price
    currency
    toBalanceLimits
    bonusLimits
    totalCreditedLimits
    USD
  }
  availablePaymentProviders
  aiGenerationCosts {
    plan {
      size
      cost
    }
    characterSuggest
    ideaExpand
    sceneWrite {
      length
      cost
    }
    mediaGenerate
    animate {
      withoutAudio
      withAudio
    }
  }
  activeGenerationJobs {
    id
    type
    status
    limitCost
    story {
      id
      authorTitle
    }
  }
}

fragment SceneMedias_scene_16LRdq on Scene {
  id
  story {
    id
  }
  mediaAttachments(viewMode: READ) {
    id
    media {
      ...MediaStatusFields_media
      id
      type
      genesis
      previewSrc
      mediaSrc512: mediaSrc(size: 512)
      mediaSrc1024: mediaSrc(size: 1024)
      videoPosterSrc(size: 1024)
      sourceMedia {
        id
        mediaSrc1024: mediaSrc(size: 1024)
      }
      userPrompt
      finalPrompt
      rawPrompt
      mediaAttachments {
        id
        story {
          id
        }
        scene {
          id
        }
        character {
          id
        }
      }
      embeddedInScenes {
        id
      }
    }
  }
  embeddedMedia {
    mediaId
    state
  }
  sceneCharacterStates {
    id
    character {
      id
      name
    }
  }
}

fragment Scene_scene on Scene {
  id
  order
  displayOrder
  title
  rating
  isPublished
  isScheduled
  publishedAt
  minWaitersToPublish
  waitersCount
  readCount
  content
  story {
    id
    isMine
  }
}

fragment Story_story on Story {
  id
  title
  createdAt
  publicDescription
  type
  size
  narrativeType
  rating
  hasCharacters
  status
  isPublished
  isMine
  publishedAt
  likesCount
  favoritesCount
  displayDirection
  plotGenres
  settingGenres
  moods
  tropes
  displayContentWarnings
  sceneAtmospheres
  publishedStats {
    scenesCount
    wordsCount
  }
  author {
    id
    name
    urlSlug
    avatar
  }
  characters {
    id
    name
  }
  fandoms {
    id
    urlSlug
    translation {
      canonicalName
      id
    }
  }
  myState {
    isLiked
    isFavorited
    isWaiting
    id
  }
  lastPublishedScene {
    id
  }
}


The silence within the Kazekage office was heavy, pressed down by the weight of a thousand secrets and an equal number of administrative burdens. Gaara sat at his heavy wooden desk, the surface smooth and cool under his fingertips. His maroon robes felt like a second skin, the high collar brushing against his jaw as he lowered his head to read another document. The lantern flickered, casting long, wavering shadows across the paper, making the ink appear to shift and crawl. Outside the thick walls, Sunagakure was a hushed expanse of sand and starlight, a world locked in the grip of the desert night. He focused on the routine reports from the border stations, his eyes tracing the familiar loops of the scribes' calligraphy. His breathing was measured, a slow rhythmic intake of air that settled deep in his chest. Responsibility was not just a duty; it was a physical weight he carried, a phantom pressure on his shoulders. He reached for a bowl of green tea, the ceramic warm against his calloused skin. The scent of bitter herbs rose to meet him, grounding him in the present. He took a sip, the heat spreading slowly through his throat. He turned the page, the sound of parchment scratching against the polished wood echoing like a gunshot in the silent room. A report from a minor merchant guild centered on trade routes near the borderlands caught his attention. He paused, his gaze lingering on the official seal stamped at the bottom of the scroll. It was slightly off-center, the ink shade a fraction lighter than the standardized vermilion used by the administrative bureau. A ripple of sharp, cold awareness prickled along his spine.

He shifted in his chair, the wood creaking softly beneath him. He brought his fingers to the seal, running his thumb over the wax. It felt brittle, not forged with the precision of an official guild. His mind, usually occupied with grand strategies of village diplomacy, narrowed to this tiny, singular error. He compared the seal to an archived document from the same merchant entity retrieved from a wooden drawer earlier. The discrepancies were subtle, invisible to anyone who did not possess his trained suspicion. He exhaled slowly, his focus tightening until the rest of the room faded into a blur of grey shadows. The merchant guild was a front; he was certain of it. He began to apply a simple chakra-infused revealing technique, his fingers tracing the perimeter of the parchment. The hidden ink, invisible to the naked eye, began to react to the subtle vibration of his energy. Phrases emerged from the blank spaces between the lines of legitimate trade figures. He scanned the text, his expression remaining perfectly neutral while his thoughts raced through the implications. The message was a map, a hidden coordinate system listing supply lines and political nodes. It was not a merchant manifest; it was a blueprint for coordinated sabotage aimed at the Five Nations. A tightening sensation gripped his chest, an old, familiar reflex of survival. The desert winds outside seemed to howl louder, a low moan that vibrated through the heavy stone walls. He felt the weight of his own isolation as Kazekage. Who could he trust with information so sensitive that it threatened the fragile peace of the alliance? He looked at the window, seeing only his own reflection, the kanji for love carved deep into his forehead, a mark of his past and a testament to his present path. His pale skin looked almost translucent in the dim lantern light.

He stood up, his movements fluid and silent. The legs of his chair dragged against the floor, a scraping sound that made him wince. He walked toward the window, pacing the length of his office to clear his mind. Each step allowed the panic to settle into a cold, hard resolution. He was not the boy who once wandered the wasteland of his own heart; he was the leader of a village that relied on his clarity. Returning to the desk, he methodically gathered the papers, his hands steady. He needed an ally, someone who could see the pattern within the chaos without needing a full explanation of the threat. Shikamaru Nara. The choice felt inevitable, as natural as the shifting dunes. He moved back to his seat, the leather strap of his gourd ticking softly against the chair. He reached for a fresh scroll, his fingers finding the brush and the ink stone. He began to compose a coded message, his hand moving with deliberate strokes. Every movement was practiced, intended to be incomprehensible to a common spy. He wrote in the specific cypher reserved for high-level diplomatic communications. The ink flowed dark and wet, soaking into the fibers of the paper. He paused, looking down at his own hands, the skin pale and the joints slightly stiff from hours of motionless work. He did not know what the enemy’s next move would be, but he possessed the foresight to prepare. The plan for political instability was a viper, but he had already identified its head.

He finished the note, his signature distinct and final at the bottom of the parchment. He did not read it over; he trusted his instincts. He rolled the evidence and his message together into a single, compact cylinder. He stood up once more, his shadow stretching long and distorted across the floorboards. He walked to a heavy, iron-bound cabinet tucked into the corner of his office. The lock clattered as he turned the key, a harsh metallic sound that broke the monotony of the night. He opened the drawer, revealing the dark, hollow interior. He placed the suspicious scroll deep inside, pushing it past his own personal files until it was safely hidden behind a false back he had installed months prior. He locked the drawer again, the key vibrating against the wood of his desk as he returned it to its place. His expression hardened into a mask of stone, every feature set in granite. There was no room left for doubt or hesitation in his heart, only a cold, sharp-edged determination that radiated from him like the frost of a winter desert. He stood tall, his gaze fixed on the locked drawer, the weight of the secret now firmly beneath his control. He reached for the ink-stained seal of the village, turning it over in his hand. He would maintain his rigid, isolated facade until the moment of action arrived. The threat to the Five Nations was a shadow, but he was the wall that would block its progression. He did not allow himself a moment for reflection or a sigh of relief. The danger was not over; it was only beginning to reveal its face. He felt the cold iron of the desk handle under his knuckles, his grip firm and steady. He was ready for the next step, for the exchange of coded truths that would soon begin to unravel the conspiracy. His focus remained absolute, his internal state shifting from the shock of discovery to the calculated preparation for a war of shadows. He was the guardian of Sunagakure, and this was the burden of his office. He stood there, silent and still, the architect of his own silent resistance.

The silence within the Kazekage office was heavy, pressed down by the weight of a thousand secrets and an equal number of administrative burdens. Gaara sat at his heavy wooden desk, the surface smooth and cool under his fingertips. His maroon robes felt like a second skin, the high collar brushing against his jaw as he lowered his head to read another document. The lantern flickered, casting long, wavering shadows across the paper, making the ink appear to shift and crawl. Outside the thick walls, Sunagakure was a hushed expanse of sand and starlight, a world locked in the grip of the desert night. He focused on the routine reports from the border stations, his eyes tracing the familiar loops of the scribes' calligraphy. His breathing was measured, a slow rhythmic intake of air that settled deep in his chest. Responsibility was not just a duty; it was a physical weight he carried, a phantom pressure on his shoulders. He reached for a bowl of green tea, the ceramic warm against his calloused skin. The scent of bitter herbs rose to meet him, grounding him in the present. He took a sip, the heat spreading slowly through his throat. He turned the page, the sound of parchment scratching against the polished wood echoing like a gunshot in the silent room. A report from a minor merchant guild centered on trade routes near the borderlands caught his attention. He paused, his gaze lingering on the official seal stamped at the bottom of the scroll. It was slightly off-center, the ink shade a fraction lighter than the standardized vermilion used by the administrative bureau. A ripple of sharp, cold awareness prickled along his spine.

He shifted in his chair, the wood creaking softly beneath him. He brought his fingers to the seal, running his thumb over the wax. It felt brittle, not forged with the precision of an official guild. His mind, usually occupied with grand strategies of village diplomacy, narrowed to this tiny, singular error. He compared the seal to an archived document from the same merchant entity retrieved from a wooden drawer earlier. The discrepancies were subtle, invisible to anyone who did not possess his trained suspicion. He exhaled slowly, his focus tightening until the rest of the room faded into a blur of grey shadows. The merchant guild was a front; he was certain of it. He began to apply a simple chakra-infused revealing technique, his fingers tracing the perimeter of the parchment. The hidden ink, invisible to the naked eye, began to react to the subtle vibration of his energy. Phrases emerged from the blank spaces between the lines of legitimate trade figures. He scanned the text, his expression remaining perfectly neutral while his thoughts raced through the implications. The message was a map, a hidden coordinate system listing supply lines and political nodes. It was not a merchant manifest; it was a blueprint for coordinated sabotage aimed at the Five Nations. A tightening sensation gripped his chest, an old, familiar reflex of survival. The desert winds outside seemed to howl louder, a low moan that vibrated through the heavy stone walls. He felt the weight of his own isolation as Kazekage. Who could he trust with information so sensitive that it threatened the fragile peace of the alliance? He looked at the window, seeing only his own reflection, the kanji for love carved deep into his forehead, a mark of his past and a testament to his present path. His pale skin looked almost translucent in the dim lantern light.

He stood up, his movements fluid and silent. The legs of his chair dragged against the floor, a scraping sound that made him wince. He walked toward the window, pacing the length of his office to clear his mind. Each step allowed the panic to settle into a cold, hard resolution. He was not the boy who once wandered the wasteland of his own heart; he was the leader of a village that relied on his clarity. Returning to the desk, he methodically gathered the papers, his hands steady. He needed an ally, someone who could see the pattern within the chaos without needing a full explanation of the threat. Shikamaru Nara. The choice felt inevitable, as natural as the shifting dunes. He moved back to his seat, the leather strap of his gourd ticking softly against the chair. He reached for a fresh scroll, his fingers finding the brush and the ink stone. He began to compose a coded message, his hand moving with deliberate strokes. Every movement was practiced, intended to be incomprehensible to a common spy. He wrote in the specific cypher reserved for high-level diplomatic communications. The ink flowed dark and wet, soaking into the fibers of the paper. He paused, looking down at his own hands, the skin pale and the joints slightly stiff from hours of motionless work. He did not know what the enemy’s next move would be, but he possessed the foresight to prepare. The plan for political instability was a viper, but he had already identified its head.

He finished the note, his signature distinct and final at the bottom of the parchment. He did not read it over; he trusted his instincts. He rolled the evidence and his message together into a single, compact cylinder. He stood up once more, his shadow stretching long and distorted across the floorboards. He walked to a heavy, iron-bound cabinet tucked into the corner of his office. The lock clattered as he turned the key, a harsh metallic sound that broke the monotony of the night. He opened the drawer, revealing the dark, hollow interior. He placed the suspicious scroll deep inside, pushing it past his own personal files until it was safely hidden behind a false back he had installed months prior. He locked the drawer again, the key vibrating against the wood of his desk as he returned it to its place. His expression hardened into a mask of stone, every feature set in granite. There was no room left for doubt or hesitation in his heart, only a cold, sharp-edged determination that radiated from him like the frost of a winter desert. He stood tall, his gaze fixed on the locked drawer, the weight of the secret now firmly beneath his control. He reached for the ink-stained seal of the village, turning it over in his hand. He would maintain his rigid, isolated facade until the moment of action arrived. The threat to the Five Nations was a shadow, but he was the wall that would block its progression. He did not allow himself a moment for reflection or a sigh of relief. The danger was not over; it was only beginning to reveal its face. He felt the cold iron of the desk handle under his knuckles, his grip firm and steady. He was ready for the next step, for the exchange of coded truths that would soon begin to unravel the conspiracy. His focus remained absolute, his internal state shifting from the shock of discovery to the calculated preparation for a war of shadows. He was the guardian of Sunagakure, and this was the burden of his office. He stood there, silent and still, the architect of his own silent resistance. «The Kazekage's Cipher», part 1. Fanfiction — Naruto.

The Intercepted Scroll. The Kazekage's Cipher — Naruto fanfiction | Fanfica

The Intercepted Scroll

Hidden Leaf

Gaara, Kazekage of Suna, stumbles upon encrypted messages woven into post-war reports—a hidden conspiracy threatening the fragile peace of the Five Great Nations. Desperate for clarity, he turns to Shikamaru Nara, Konoha's sharpest strategist. Together they untangle a web of deception that leads closer to home than either expected. As allies become suspects and trust unravels, every decrypted clue tightens the noose. Can they unmask the traitor before the nations fracture into war again?

The Kazekage's Cipher — The Intercepted Scroll

Parte 1: The Intercepted Scroll