I am changing a very minuscule part of canon to fit my story

THE ILLUSION AMONG THE CROWS

Ozpin struggled to contain his excitement. Through what seemed like endless years of fruitless toil, he had held to the conviction that one day he would find a way to redeem himself for his part in the creation of the irredeemable monster he once called his wife. For the last ten years he had waited patiently, hoping against all reason that this latest gamble would prove to be decisive.

The failures had been galling, and had dented his confidence. Now, however, in one glorious moment, all was restored. He glanced at the other man with the mysterious coal eyes, and smiled.

"Where are we going?" Asked the man.

"To my library and workplace. There is something I am anxious for you to see."

Ozpin led the man along a corridor to a set of doors at the end of it. A press of a button opened it and with only a beckoning nod to him, he entered. Another press of a button and the door was sealed. A moment later and they were carried up the building. The man seemed untroubled by the enclosed space, though his figure tensed as the silence grew.

At last they came to a stop and the doors opened. Beyond them was a large room, with three chairs in the middle of which rested a table. A tall arched window showed a view of the distant sea. To the left was an opening, leading through to a library, the scores of shelves bent under the weight of the books upon them. Ozpin walked on to another door at the rear of the library. This he opened with a single palm on a device adhered to the wall.

Inside was windowless and dark. Ozpin instinctively flipped a switch. Golden light flickered alive in the room, it's glow casting aside the shadows.

"What has been removed?" Asked the man.

Ozpin smiled, noticing the rectangular dust patterns where objects had been taken down from the walls. "Just some paintings," he answered swiftly. "You are very observant." Moving to a desk, he reached down and lifted a light blue broad and flat sword with a brown talisman hanging from the bottom. Turning, he offered the object to his guest.

The man's face darkened and he stepped backward. "I do not want to touch it."

"Why?"

"It is a cursed blade. Where did you get this?"

"Is it not yours? It was buried with you in the tomb. It was laid upon your chest, your hands clasped over them."

"Even so, I… can't have it."

Ozpin took a deep breath. "But you know what it is?"

"Yes, I know," answered the man. "That is the Schichiseiken. Though I do not know why it was with me."

"It is possible you have a connection to it. But I doubt… there was never any mention of it in the texts I read."

A beat of silence.

"Do you know who you are?" Ozpin broached. "Or is it among the things you have forgotten?"

"I know my name, and of the stigma it carried throughout my life and to my grave. My identity was never hidden from me. I am Clan Killer Itachi, of the Sharingan."

Ozpin curled his hand around the sword's hilt.

"Do not draw that blade," said Itachi. "You do not know what it can do." With that he swung on his heel and walked back through the library. Ozpin placed the treasured tool on top the desk and ran after him.

Itachi paused, sighed, then turned. "Why did you bring me back, Ozpin?"

"You will understand why when you see the world outside the kingdom. There is a great evil there, Itachi. We need you."

Itachi shook his head. "I do not remember much as of yet, Ozpin, but I know I was never a savior. In every generation there are the prodigies, the average and the dead lasts. I may — just may — have been special in my day. But you must have men of equal skill in this time."

"Would we ever have enough of them," said Ozpin, with feeling. "There is a Great War — unknown it may be to most of the populace — being fought. We have a few doughty fighters, but we have survived this long for two reasons. First, the enemy toys with us. Second, we are protected by our auras." Ozpin hesitated, seeing the look of non-comprehension on Itachi's face. "Ah, but I see I am getting ahead of my tale. You have no knowledge of aura and the power born from it. I believe though in your time, the energy used was Chakra. Spiritual and physical energy melded together."

Itachi's eyes glittered in the light.

"You remember," asked Ozpin.

"No. But, yes, it is familiar."

"Only a handful of men in this world could fight against the evil and hope to survive. We are on the verge of becoming a defeated species, Itachi."

"And you think I can change this unhappy situation? Where is the army?"

"Vale has no army. Regardless, I believe you are the one man who can save us."

"Why?"

Ozpin shrugged and spread his hands. "I told you of the evil I fight. A fight that has spanned many years. I had begone to lose hope that humanity would win when I stumbled upon a book during one of my usual late night reading. In it was a map which showed the place where your body was buried. It was a cunning map. Delightfully conceived. And all who followed it found only an empty sarcophagus in a cave. Beside it was a shattered lid. So they went away, disconsolate."

"But you didn't?"

"Oh, yes, I did. Many times. I wish I could say that I deciphered the riddle of the map through the enormous power of my intellect alone. But I didn't. I had a vision — a dream, perhaps. I had been searching the cave again — my seventeenth journey there, I believe. I was tired and fell asleep. I dreamt of a being cloaked in white with a staff held in hand. He led me from the cave, down the arid wasteland at the foot of the mountains to a dry river bed. Then he spoke. 'The answer is here, if you have the eye to see it.' This was similar to what was written at the base of the map. 'The promised victory lies here, if you have the eye to see it.'

"I awoke with the dawn and walked out to the cave entrance, staring out at the land below. There was the dry river bed. Once the water had flowed, and the river had been bisected by an island. Now there were only two dry channels etching the ground on both sides of a high, circular mound of rocky earth. From the high joint of the cave it looked as if someone had carved a giant eye in the land. I cannot tell you how excited I was as I led the digging party across to the mound. At the center of it we dug. Some seven feet down we struck the stone lid of your coffin."

"I can appreciate your delight," said Itachi, "but I am finding this talk of my coffin unsettling. With all due respect, move on to the book."

"Of course, of course! Forgive me. The book, though faded due to time, was an account on some notable figures of your time. Your resurrection was noted in the pages. Along others. It spoke on how you were brought back to fight against your brother and his allies, but broke out of whatever hold they had on you."

Itachi said nothing for a moment. "Who was the man in your vision?" He asked at last.

"Some believed him to have been the first god in a time far before Remnant. Others say he was the human child of the god of light, the product of an affair between god and man. For myself, I believe him to have been a brilliant arcanist, possessing knowledge far above most beings, and a wise monk. A gifted man who was allowed to play a part in saving humanity."

"Did he have a name, this paragon?"

"Of course. Though he was referred to as the Rikudou Sennin, his real name — if I am not mistaken — was Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki."

All color drained from Itachi's face. "I know him. He came to me in the void."

The void was endless and impenetrable. A place were time held no meaning yet was eternal.

A valley opened up before him. But it was unlike anything he had ever seen. There was no majestic cliffs, no free-flowing waters or forest clinging to its sides. No. It was a desolate place. There will never be life there. He could see dimly; the pallid yellow of the cloudless sky bore down on him like coming twilight. Even though there was no sun. Even though the place laid between the darkness and light. In shadow. Though what casted that shadow, he didn't know, nor did he wish to. But the light was enough that he walked down the valley toward its end, toward the end, as it narrowed to a point where he did not know if he could go on, he could see them.

They stood along the valley's edge on both sides. High above him. Silent and unmoving. Figures, black. Hooded and cloaked, perhaps. But he thought not. They were the shadows itself. Their eyes were ever upon him, though they do not move. For they had eyes. Great pools of emptiness where their faces should have been. And they had spoken to him. In whispered words and phrases. In wisps of cool breeze that seemed to surround him, though the air was still and hot. What did they say? Could he know? Somehow he did. But whatever that truth may be, he could not bear to repeat it. He could not tell what could not be denied.

For a long time he had walked down that valley. Until at last, finally at the narrowed point, he had seen someone.

Tall and pale-skinned, with deep wrinkles and a strong jawline, an elderly man levitated. Below him, 10 black orbs floated in a circle round his form.