Author's Note (2020/01/30): At long last, I've finally brought myself to continue with this fanfic (sort of). Chapters will most likely be posted once a month at minimum, but this work will not surpass 20 chapters as I'm roughly aiming for ~100,000 words, so you can expect roughly 4,000-5,000 words a chapter. This fic is mostly a genfic as I wanted to write a story of the journey of Hashirama and how he ruled as the First Hokage (since there is not much clear canon to go from aside from the battles against Madara). I hope you enjoy! Feel free to leave a review, favorite, or follow (or kudos, bookmark, comment if you're viewing on AO3).

A Forest Hidden

Chapter 1
Senju of the Forest

Long ago, before the existence of the Five Shinobi Countries, the lands were locked into a state of bloodshed and ceaseless conflict. Daimyō enlisted their strongest clans to do battle on their behalf, claiming and reclaiming the borders from their bitter adversaries in a cycle of never-ending hatred. North and south, east and west, land and sea - clans all over the known continent used chakra as their weapons, with some possessing great power deep within their waning bloodlines. This era in history later became known as the Warring States Period - each of the proud shinobi clans flying their family crests upon their sigils, their armor, their mouths, and upon their blood that marked each battlefield.

Generations before the existence of Konohagakure no Sato, there were two powerful clans that dominated the lands to the far east, the rich forested region that sang the winds of spring - the Senju and the Uchiha. Bitter rivals and adversaries since the existence of shinobi, their blood ran cold with the memories of past conflict etched into their blades. Foils to their own prowess, it seemed as if dictated by fate that they threatened the existence and peace of the other. The breaths upon the common-folk who lived along the fields and markets spoke of figures mired in legends - the Sage of Six Paths, his disciples, his children, Senju, Uchiha. Without fail, the two rival clans were always connected by the tales of gods.

For hundreds of years, the two clans fought upon the lands of their predecessors, wreaking havoc on the lands which they lived, stirring warfare and terror against each other in an endless cycle. Over time, the bloodshed amounted during each great conflict, with clans being hired by the numerous daimyō and lesser lords to conquer lands on their behalf. One by one, the clans that marked their territories across the war-torn continent vanished with each generation, forgotten within the ceaseless bloodshed. Men, women, children, and all in-between fell victim to the scourge of the crossfires. Villages burned to the ground, farms were sacked, and some were sold to slavers across the silver water.

In this age, monsters walked among the earth. The feared tailed-beasts of legend occupied the far reaches of the land. Living in the great deserts of the west, the plateaus to the east, the waters of the south - the volcanoes, the mountains, the forests. Striking fear into the hearts of men, their shadows towered over all who attempted to seek them out. As men tried to claim their powers for their own, the beasts ran amok, destroying mountains and causing tsunamis in their wake. Not even the bravest of warriors have dared to quell the rage from the demons who strode before them.

Where this tale begins, after many centuries the great clans of old finally grew fatigued and stripped of their wills, forced to do battle on behalf of the lords who commanded them. To disobey was to accept death - and so many succumbed to the judgement of the sword. Out of the rising conflicts, an individual arose to quell the fighting and unite the clans of the east into a village of peace and prosperity…

Where it all began was deep in the hidden forest, within the land where shinobi used the flames of fires to quell their foes…

On that fateful night, the clan of the forest lay awake with grief. Within the confines of the Senju clan's head-household, the air fell silent in bitter mourning. Deep within the encompassing forest, their ancient settlement lay untouched, unmarked by those who sought to destroy their legacy. As guards lined the outer gates to the home, the faint orange dimming of the candle emanated an aura of unfulfilled existence. His life passed him by, predeceased by his sons, his wife, his parents, and his pride. On his deathbed beside a lit lantern and burning incense, the elder chieftain Butsuma lay injured as his eldest son sat at his side.

Long dark hair as black as brittle chestnut, onyx eyes, strong jawline, copper skin - his son was the purest of Senju blood in ages. Given the name Hashirama, the young man possessed his father's defined facial features, but lacked his stern and bitter approach to living. For the first time in what seemed centuries, a Senju awakened Wood Release, a long-forgotten kekkei genkai that was said to be the marking of a god - and Hashirama was called no such thing. In his father's eyes, only his great prowess and chakra made up for what he lacked in brute leadership. His expression of deep concern and sadness encapsulated that fact.

Bowing before his dying father, Hashirama closed his darkened eyes, shamefully holding back his oncoming tears. Thoughts of regret and despair entered his mind as he felt guilt swell into his throat. His father, his only parent and clan's only elder of the head-household was about to leave the world forever.

"Father," He spoke, his quivering voice low. "I'm sorry…! I should've been there in time…!"

"No…" Butsuma sighed, weakly.

As he breathed through his strained lungs, his bandages wrapped around his chest became painted with blood, its crimson seeping from each heave of his breath. Each gasp for air pulsated through his deep wound with a burning tinge of ache, the memory of the katana and its puncture still fresh in his mind. He knew it was the end - and he accepted it.

"My time has come, regardless of the Uchiha bastards who've done this. I've become old… I can battle no longer… Today, I welcome an honourable death… as a shinobi of the Senju…"

Footsteps suddenly came rushing down the wooden hallway, echoing the corridor beyond the sliding paper doors of the chieftain's resting chambers. Quickly, an attendant rushed in from the doorway with an anger-stricken white-haired man at his side, the pale red markings on his fair-skinned face appearing vibrant from the candlelit glow that enveloped the room. Known as Tobirama, he was feared by all as the fastest warrior in the land - his father's pride and his favorite child. As his elder brother, he inherited the strong chakra of the Senju, but lacked his kind heart and compassion for others. He was the perfect shinobi, built on strength and tactic - and there was none who despised the Uchiha for what they did to his family more than he did.

"Butsuma-sama!" The attendant panted. "Tobirama-sama has arrived!"

Appearing at his father's bedside, his dark eyes widened upon the glimpse of his fatal wound. Narrowing his glance bitterly, he bit his tongue, distraught from the sight of the once great and powerful leader defeated by their enemies under their noses. "Father!"

"Ah," Butsuma glanced towards them. "My sons… you are both now before me. Now I can tell you… what you must know… before I-,"

Suddenly, he began coughing, his chest heaving violently while he crumbled under the sheets of his deathbed. Regaining his breath, his body writhed under the blankets, his bandages' crimson shade becoming brighter. Blood dripping from the corner of his dry mouth, his breathing turned shallow.

"Father, you're wounded!" Tobirama shouted, leaning towards him. "You shouldn't be pushing yourself to talk! You're in no condition to-!"

"Tobirama!" Butsuma barked, weakly. "Bite your tongue...! You of all people must listen to my dying words… as your… father…"

Taken aback, Tobirama swallowed his pride, leaning away from him in a gesture of respect for his last rites. Regret painted his thoughts, wishing he were there to fight alongside him. Insisting to embark alone with the other shinobi clansmen towards the river basin, the Uchiha swarmed them in numbers inconceivable, the gleams of their blood-red eyes shining through the forest canopy above. If he were there, his father did not have to die. If he were there, he could have saved him. That was an impossible dream, as the god of death had other plans.

Accepting what was to come, Hashirama nodded once. "Father," He spoke, his voice calm and quiet. "You may speak. Let us hear what you have to say, as your honorable sons."

"Yes," Butsuma nodded. "What you must know is the line of succession… for the… Senju…"

His fading brown eyes looking at the ceiling above, they closed halfway as he thought of his clansmen. The pride and brotherhood he felt deep within his aging bones moved him nearly to tears. As if made from stone, he shed no evidence of that pride as he prepared his parting words to his surviving sons and line of succession.

"The Senju… We are a proud and mighty people, and we need a clan head who is wise and powerful…"

Slowly, he turned towards Hashirama - the son whom he called weak and impudent for crying over Kawarama's death years ago. The memory of cracking his brute backhand against his cheek etched into his broken thoughts, guilt tinting his glance at the strong young man before him. As a young Senju clansmen in his early twenties, Hashirama had proven himself to be a mighty shinobi capable of fighting for honour in his clan's name, living past the age of adolescence as a marker for his perseverance. Using his rare and god-like kekkei genkai to make the forest do his bidding, he quickly rose as a feared and respected foe - and the most powerful of the living Senju. As Butsuma looked upon his eldest son, he felt regret for treating him the way he did, knowing it was all but too late.

"Hashirama," He began, his weak tone becoming serious. "…You will now lead the Senju, until your death… You will be the chieftain."

Shocked, Hashirama's eyes widened from his words. Seeing the look of utter surprise etched upon his sorrowful expression, Butsuma returned his attention towards the ceiling, feeling his wound's pulse grow numb. His fingers at his sides turned cold from the night air. He could feel his light begin to fade, all essence of warmth slowly departing from his body as he lay drenched in the blood of combat.

"Those are my parting words to you... as your... father…"

Nodding once, Hashirama bowed his head to the floor, shutting his eyes in attempt to shield his oncoming tears. Acknowledging his father's choice and respecting his dying wishes placed a great weight on his shoulders. As his eldest born son and eldest surviving heir, he knew it was his responsibility to one day lead the clan as the head - but he knew he was much more suited as a pillar. Tobirama had the strength and leadership, he often thought to himself - but he lacked the compassion and wisdom of a peacekeeper. Becoming a leader of peace was always his dream - but leading the Senju was not. Begrudgingly, he accepted his sealed fate with clenched hands upon the dark green garb that clothed his lap.

"Tobirama," Butsuma continued. "Be at Hashirama's side… advise him… Be his right hand, and ensure order… I'm... counting on you... Do not fail me... Do not fail the Senju..."

Closing his eyes, Tobirama nodded. "Yes, father."

Sitting up from his bow, Hashirama looked upon his dying father with sadness. His dark eyes glistening with hidden tears, he gave a parting glance. "Father… you…-,"

"Now... I can finally... join... Itama… Kawarama…" Butsuma interrupted, his tone no longer weak but unafraid - surprising the brothers who sat at his bedside. "...and your... mother…"

As he looked to his dying father, Hashirama noticed a weakly curved smile on his greying lips. At the very end, he was a true warrior who did not fear the presence of death. The god of death welcomed yet another Senju to his table...

The evening when the late chieftain's funeral pyre was lit was a somber one. Their faces blank with worry and hurt as they crowded around the departed, the clansmen watched silently as the torch was passed between the clan's priest and the chieftain's surviving sons. Passing the torch to Hashirama, he took one final look upon his father's gaunt husk sheathed in his red-plated armor. The etching of the clan's crest was cracked upon his chest, the thrust of the katana visible from the corner of his eye. Taking the torch to its final marker, Hashirama witnessed as the flames rose along the throne of wood that lay underneath his father. Even in death, he appeared unafraid of his fate - to become one with the earth once more.

After he ashes were buried that following morning, the Senju of the forest gathered outside the clan shrine within the heart of their shrinking settlement. The shrine's red gates had lost their shine, but they did not lose their faith from the devoted clansmen who prayed at the steps of the altar. Leaving offerings of food and silent pleading, the clan-folk begged for the safe return of their sons from battle and the ascension of their lost loved ones to the Pure Land of legend. To die in the world of the shinobi was a given, but knowing how or when was a question left unanswered by the gods to which they prayed. It was said that shinobi who died in battle would enter an eternal realm of heavenly rites, fighting to their heart's content before the old gods and the new - while those who did not live by the confines of a warrior entered a blissful plane of calm and rest. Upon the shrine's altar was a polished statue monument carved into the likeness of a vulpine. Although cracked by the winds of time, its place at the shrine was an honorable one - suspected to pay homage to the great demon that wandered the outskirts far beyond the forest boundary.

Adorned in white robes, the clansmen watched as their eldest son of their deceased chieftain walked the upon steps of the shrine to join the ceremony. Pausing before the altar, Hashirama looked at the elderly priest with eyes drained of emotion. Turning to his people, he wiped his expression clean of his held sorrow and masked it with a stoic gaze, conveying his burning will to take on the weight of his clan until the end of his days amongst the living.

"All rise," The priest proclaimed. "For clan leader, Hashirama-sama! Eldest son of Butsuma!"

As the Senju rejoiced, Hashirama knelt towards the priest, prepared to accept the markings of his ancestors. Carefully, the monk drew inscriptions on the young man's blank face using a clay mixture from the elder tree that towered behind the shrine. Sprouting from the center of the settlement and adorned in hemp rope and white tags made from straw wrapped around its trunk, the tree was believed a guardian to the clansmen. Elders have spoken of the tree in tales of old, with some believing it to have been with the Senju since the beginning. For centuries and a millennia, it stood its ground for generations. As much as it was worshipped, it was also a burgeoning omen to its people, with some speaking of how its fall would signify when the end of the Senju drew near. Although its true age was unknown, its trunk was healthy and its leaves were always green and brimming with life. The sap and substance from its bark was very important to the Senju for its healing properties and its ritual significance - and their supply of alcohol for wedding ceremonies and the birth of their young. For the first time since his father's indoctrination, Hashirama was receiving the markings of the elder tree. It felt bittersweet to him, but he was prepared to welcome his destined fate with open arms.

Once the markings were drawn onto him, the priest bowed to him on the shrine altar. "Please accept this blessing of the gods of the forest. May the Senju prosper with the elder tree for many generations to come!"

Bowing in response, Hashirama closed his eyes. Holding back as much emotion as possible, but his sorrow was beginning to seep through the cracks of his calm exterior. As the crowd cheered while their new chieftain stood before them at the shrine, Tobirama stood idly by, understanding both the pain he felt on Hashirama's expression and the regret of their father's unexpected passing. His narrowed eyes of stern contempt conveyed what he wished he could say.

"Hashirama-sama!"

Alarmed by the voice, Hashirama turned towards the young man knelt beside the shrine. His Senju armor gleamed from the setting sun, while his distressed dark eyes expressed utmost urgency. Snapping out of his saddened state, the new cheiftain looked upon him. "What is it?" He asked, his expression stoic. "Have you news to report?"

Looking down, the young armor-clad man grit his teeth. "There has been a disturbance due south." He replied, sternly. "Jun hasn't returned from patrol along the clan's boundaries, and there was a skirmish."

"What became after?" Tobirama entered, pausing before them. "Who was involved? Was it the Hagoromo clan?"

The young man shook his head. "I… I don't know, sir." He answered. "I fear for the worst…" Clenching his tightened fist on the dirt as he suppressed his forthcoming anger, his teeth gnashed in his jaws. Despite this, his expression of frustration was painted clearly on his face of contempt. "…As the Uchiha were the ones our men were fighting!"

Shocked, Hashirama's eyes widened. An Uchiha ambush on the day of his ceremony, perhaps to finish the job they started - the first casualty of the head-household taken care of, now all that stood were his surviving sons. The Senju were just as a threat to the Uchiha as the Uchiha were to the Senju. The thought disgusted him and frustrated him, knowing exactly how might be behind the orchestration of treachery. There were no current contracts in place by the nearest daimyō, and there was an unspoken truce amongst the rival clans - every honorable clan knew this. The Uchiha did not give a single care, nor did the Hagoromo clan of the distant west.

Sensing the same feelings, Tobirama turned to him with a glance that was narrowed and stern. "Brother," He began. "What say you, as our new leader?"

Gathering his thoughts, Hashirama looked off in the distance, eyeing the outer boundaries of the Senju clan's settlements. His eyes serious and washed of emotion, he had this first act of cheiftain thrust upon him. "Tobirama," He spoke. "Let's prepare to embark. We're going to investigate this and stop the fighting if we have to."

"Yes, brother."

As they approached the barren hillside that early morning, a murder of crows cawed and mobbed by the marshy swamp that signified the end of the Senju's forest and territory. Their black feathers ruffling and coating the terrain with a dark canopy of death, the crows fought amongst each other for dominance of their chosen carcass - unshaken from the men who approached. Standing still before what they saw sprawled on the dead grass of the marshland, the messenger broke down on his knees, slamming his fists onto the earth below.

"Damn them…!" He cried out, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Damn the Uchiha…! Jun… How dare they…!" While he quivered in rage, his head hung low in shame, his tears falling onto the ground below. "Such a dishonourable death… How dare the Uchiha bastards…!"

Before them amongst the crow feathers lay their fallen slain comrade, Jun of the Senju. Having only just reached adulthood, Jun was amongst the few Senju ninja to survive long enough to see the eclipse of his adolescence. However, just weeks after his eighteenth birthday, his life was inevitably cut short by the rival clan that sought to massacre every man, woman, and child bearing the name 'Senju'. At their feet, his lifeless body lay on the cold ground, while his head was severed from the neck, laying beside his torso on a pool of blood. Death by beheading. The Uchiha did indeed show no mercy against the Senju. Even in combat, the Uchiha were able to provoke the ultimate dishonour by denying a proper warrior death. To sever the head of your opponent without the rite of passage was the gesture of a cowardly foe, and all Senju knew of it too well.

Kneeling down, Tobirama inspected his remains, his eyes narrowing as his fingers grazed the armor plating of the dead. "Beheading without the seppuku ritual is the most dishonourable way to die in this land," He spoke. "And the Uchiha did it just to spite us." Standing up, he turned to his elder brother, who stood silent as he looked at his severed and disgraced comrade. "And to think this happened the day you were announced as clan-head. Perhaps they knew and wanted to send a message?"

"Hashirama-sama," The messenger began, standing up. "We should go after them!"

"No." Hashirama answered, without turning to him.

"Why not?!" The messenger shouted. "They killed our guardsmen! We should track them and behead their guardsmen, to get even!"

"We will not stoop to their level," Hashirama asserted, turning to the young man with a serious glance. "Losing a comrade was unforgivable, but we can't rely on violence to solve our conflicts."

"Brother," Tobirama sighed, dismayed. "Don't tell me you're still contemplating forming an alliance with those savages?"

Hashirama whipped his head towards him after hearing his words. Solidifying his heel into the dirt, his anger rising. Within his veins, his chakra began to swell within him - his hidden strength seeping through the fragments of his armor. "Tobirama!" He spat. "Don't use such talk! The Uchiha are the same as the Senju, they are a family. They fight for the same reasons we do." Calming down, he retreated his stance. Glancing towards the feathers that adorned Jun's headless corpse, his eyes softened as he frowned. "But yes, I have not given up on my dream. Although they will be hard to convince, I believe after thorough persuasion, they can align with us to unite this broken and forsaken land."

"And if they refuse?" Tobirama asked. "What will you do then?"

After hearing his brother's question, Hashirama remained silent. Looking down with eyes closed halfway, his sadness and uncertainty rose into his thoughts. He planned with Uchiha Madara to create peace in the world, but things have changed. Madara was unreasonable and growing thorn in his side. Starting conflicts with other clans merely for the thrill of it, he was growing into a silent proprietor of tyranny - the young boy Hashirama once skipped stones with vanishing within the fiery winds of battle. The Uchiha were too proud a people to form an alliance, and he had to learn to accept it.

Noticing the long silence as the early morning winds swept by them on the barren hillside, the messenger looked to his leader. An expression of slight fear on his face, painted in the sorrow from losing his best friend - he was desperate for answers. "Hashirama-sama?"

Closing his eyes and collecting himself, Hashirama opened his eyes and turned to them. "In the meantime, we need to return Jun's remains to his family," He spoke. "So they can have a proper burial for him, as an honourable shinobi."

The young man nodded, his cheeks stained with dried tears. "Yes, sir."

Approaching the body of the dead, the crows cawed in panic while the armored men drew closer. The black of their wings formed a haze over the barren hillside as they flew, coating the early morning skies in the essence of death. Once more, the Senju began to prepare for yet another burial with no sign of the conflicts ceasing in the near future…