Snow blanketed the village in a pale hush, muffling even the sound of hurried steps. Akari stood atop the frost-covered watchtower, eyes narrowed beneath his mask as the horizon bled with the last light of day. Konoha had grown, stone by stone, tree by tree… but peace still felt fragile—like ice over rushing water.
Below, torchlight flickered in the training fields, casting dancing shadows. Uchiha patrols had become routine, but tonight's tension was different.
Footsteps behind him. Familiar. Steady.
"You're thinking too loud again," came a voice. It was Daiki, arms crossed, breath steaming in the cold. His smirk was slight, but real.
"I'm trying to see what's coming," Akari replied, his voice calm. "But the silence feels too heavy lately. Like the world's holding its breath."
Daiki leaned against the stone wall beside him. "That's because it is. You've seen the reports—minor skirmishes near the southern borders. The Wind Daimyō's envoy never arrived. Something's stirring."
Akari didn't respond right away. His eyes were fixed on the flickering lights of the far districts—still rebuilding from the last attack months ago. "Madara says we need to unify them. All of them. Before someone else does."
"And Hashirama?" Daiki asked.
A pause.
"He still believes in peace," Akari said. "But with Madara here, that peace has teeth. Maybe that's the only kind that works now."
The wind shifted, cold and dry. Akari adjusted the collar of his coat. "If this peace is to last, we'll have to carry the burden that comes with it."
Daiki's gaze softened. "You always say things like that. Like it's your burden alone."
"It's not," Akari said. "But I won't wait for fate to choose for me."
A burst of chakra flared in the distance—quick, controlled. A signal. Akari turned immediately, sliding down the ladder. Daiki followed without hesitation.
They reached the inner courtyard where three ANBU operatives stood around a young messenger, barely old enough to hold a scroll. His voice trembled.
"Urgent dispatch from the eastern outpost. Unmarked shinobi, coordinated movement. At least two squads. We suspect—"
"Sound?" Akari interrupted.
"No," the boy replied. "Not Sound. Something older. They wore no symbols. But their jutsu… wasn't normal."
Akari looked to Daiki. No words needed.
"Mobilize," Akari ordered. "Quietly. I want a full perimeter recon by nightfall. No alerts yet. We don't panic the village."
As the boy nodded and disappeared into the night, Akari felt the familiar pull in his chest—anticipation and dread tangled like roots underground.
He turned to Daiki, voice low.
"This… might be the beginning."
Daiki's answer was simple. "Then let's end it before it grows."