The forest no longer whispered.
It screamed.
Steel rang against steel as Akari spun, deflecting a strike aimed at his flank. His opponent wore no village insignia, no colors—only charcoal-stained armor and a blank mask carved with a jagged crescent.
Another came from behind. Akari ducked low, sweeping the attacker off balance and twisting mid-air to plant a kunai straight into their shoulder. A cry—human, young. These weren't battle-hardened veterans.
They were trained… but expendable.
The skirmish unfolded in seconds, and Akari's squad followed his lead with surgical precision. Within moments, five masked shinobi lay unconscious, bound and bleeding beneath the trees.
Breath heavy, Akari crouched beside one of them. His hand pulled the mask off gently—revealing a girl, no older than thirteen. Her eyes were wide with pain, but not fear. Indoctrinated.
"What is your name?" he asked calmly.
She spat blood but remained silent.
From behind, a voice spoke.
"Children. Always the first sacrificed in secret wars."
Akari turned—Madara had arrived, draped in his black armor, his presence like thunder barely held in check.
"They attacked our land. Our outposts. They forfeited mercy," Madara said, eyes scanning the captured enemy.
"They were sent," Akari muttered. "They didn't choose this."
"Intentions die with the first strike," Madara replied coldly. "You hesitate too often."
"And yet I've never failed a mission," Akari countered, rising to his feet.
Their eyes locked. Behind their silence, tension crackled like kindling waiting for fire.
But the moment passed.
Later that night, in the council chamber of Konoha, Hashirama listened as Akari reported what they'd seen—the ruined dialect, the foreign chakra signatures, the age of the attackers.
"These forces," Akari said, "they're being created in secret. Trained beyond the Five Nations. Someone's preparing for a war none of us want to name."
Tobirama leaned forward, suspicion deep in his eyes. "Then we name it. We strike before we are surrounded."
But Hashirama raised a hand. "We don't feed fire with fire. We uncover the source. We protect what we built."
Akari's jaw tightened. He admired Hashirama's vision, but he knew what lay ahead would demand more than belief.
That night, alone on the village wall, Akari stood beneath the stars. His blade rested against his shoulder, and his gaze was distant.
He thought of the girl's eyes.
Of the foreign script.
Of Madara's growing power.
Peace, it seemed, was merely a breath between two battles. And the next breath was already fading.