Night in Konoha had never felt so brittle.
The air was still, yet charged—like the silence before a scream. Akari stood outside the Hokage's council chamber, the scroll from the Land of Lightning now in Tobirama's hands. The Second Hokage read quickly, his eyes sharp and his mind already calculating.
"They're not declaring war," Tobirama finally said, voice crisp. "Not yet. But they're watching us."
Hashirama leaned back in his seat, the lines on his face deepening. "Then we show them there's nothing to fear."
"No," Akari interrupted softly, stepping forward. "We show them there's no weakness."
Tobirama looked at him carefully. "You're suggesting preemption?"
"I'm suggesting control. We can't allow the shinobi world to test our borders like wolves circling a wounded deer."
Silence followed, heavy and complex. The council exchanged glances. Even those loyal to peace now hesitated.
"I'll go," Akari added. "Let me speak with the clans near the Lightning border. If they're considering alliances, I need to know with whom."
Hashirama nodded. "Take only who you trust."
"And if they've already made their choice?" Tobirama asked.
"Then I'll make mine."
---
The journey east was swift. Akari moved like wind through the trees, accompanied by Rui and two seasoned jōnin from the Nara and Hyūga clans. The tension was palpable, but unspoken.
By nightfall, they reached a small outpost near the border. The village was quiet—too quiet.
Akari crouched by the edge of a burnt campfire, his eyes scanning the shadows.
"They left in a hurry," Rui noted, her voice barely above a whisper. "No signs of a struggle."
"Because they weren't fleeing from something," Akari murmured. "They were going toward something."
He found it moments later: a trail of disrupted foliage, leading north.
"Tracks are fresh," he said. "And they weren't alone."
Suddenly, a kunai flew from the treeline—Akari caught it midair.
From the darkness, figures emerged. Armor glinting under moonlight, headbands unfamiliar.
Not Leaf.
Not allies.
Their leader stepped forward, face hidden beneath a black half-mask, voice smooth as polished steel.
"Konoha sends a shadow before it sends a voice. You must be Akari."
"And you must be the one fool enough to speak from behind a mask."
The man chuckled. "We're not here to fight. Not tonight. Consider this… a courtesy."
"Courtesy from strangers is a knife with no sheath."
"Perhaps. But I offer this—your village's strength is admired. But admired strength draws envy. Tell your Hokage: balance only lasts while everyone stands on equal ground."
"And if that balance shifts?"
The masked man's eyes gleamed. "Then the world will finally remember what war sounds like."
With that, he vanished into the night.
Rui stepped beside Akari, pale.
"What now?"
Akari's hands tightened around the hilt of his blade.
"Now, we prepare Konoha for a world that's forgotten what peace costs."
The wind stirred again.
Not with fear—
—but resolve.