Glass Trinity, Chapter 6: See in the Dark
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Tobirama was not one for seafaring adventures. For all his familiarity with water, he could not stand the stuff without the comfort of dry land beneath his feet. The barge that transported the Senju garrison from the mainland to the Land of Whirlpools was steady enough, but just the sight of those giant whirlpools across the seascape was enough to send Tobirama fleeing below deck.
"It's really something, Tobirama. You sure you don't want to have a look?" Sasuke made little effort to hold back his laughter from the other side of the the door.
"Hell no," Tobirama bit out.
"What would your people say if they knew their prince was afraid of getting his hands wet?"
Tobirama was about to say something unconscionably rude, but the barge lurched and his stomach lurched with it. He barely made it to the window in time. A school of fish tailing the boat attacked his churned up lunch with gusto, and Tobirama groaned miserably.
"Tobirama?"
"Just go away," he said, hanging his head.
A pause, then: "You just threw up, didn't you?"
"I said leave!"
Sasuke sighed on the other side of the door. "You'd feel better above deck. Would help ya get your sea legs."
Sasuke was having no luck with Hashirama's irascible younger brother, and he sighed. Nothing much had changed over the few years since the botched battle for Osaka Castle. Tobirama was still headstrong and uptight, and Hashirama maintained his carefree, do-gooder persona. Sasuke had found it remarkably easy to transition from his prior role as absolute leader to trusted right hand. Hashirama was a good leader, charismatic and equally relatable to hardened soldiers and lowly civilian laborers. Despite his mere seventeen years, Hashirama had earned the respect the Senju clan, from the highborn to the foot soldiers. Not without some help from Tobirama and Sasuke along the way, Sasuke liked to think. But Hashirama was a likeable guy, possessed of a manner of charm lost on most.
Something heavy fell against the door, and Sasuke sidestepped in time to avoid getting slammed in the face. Tobirama leaned against the handle in the threshold, his face wan and pale as a ghost. He burped and squeezed his eyes shut to stop any traitorous tears from falling.
"There, feel better?" Sasuke said, smirking.
"Shut up."
"Come on, you can hold my hand up the stairs if ya want."
Tobirama muttered curses under his breath and pushed past Sasuke up the stairs to the deck. Chuckling, Sasuke tailed the younger Senju brother outside. It was midday and the air was crisp and fresh, heavy with the smell of salt and sliced fish from the wares the barge carried. Tōka was busy speaking to Hashirama on the starboard bow, and Tobirama shuffled toward the pair on wobbly legs.
"Oh, Tobirama, you don't look so good," Tōka said.
"Really? I had no idea," Tobirama slurred bitterly. He put a hand on his aching head and leaned against the railing.
"Tōka, we can finish up when we arrive. Maybe my brother will have returned to the land of the living by then, hah!" Hashirama said, clapping Tobirama hard on the back.
Tobirama gagged and his eyes bulged. He dry heaved over the edge of the barge. Tōka ignored the interaction, long used to this type of behavior from her cousins.
"Sounds good. I'll be with the captain if you need me." Tōka left the three men to attend to her business.
"Found this one puking up his guts below deck," Sasuke said, grinning and leaning backwards against the railing on Hashirama's other side. "Reckoned he could use a little of that good ol' ocean breeze."
"It's wonderful up here," Hashirama agreed.
Tobirama groaned and flipped the two of them off, but he was paid no mind.
"So, Uzushiogakure," Sasuke said. "Can't imagine what such a small island nation's got to offer the likes of the great Senju clan."
"We're not so great as you make us out to believe, Sasuke," Hashirama said. "And besides, it was my brother's idea to make the journey. Isn't that right, Tobi?"
Tobirama, who had recovered somewhat from Hashirama's earlier friendly battery, righted himself and wiped his mouth on his blue sleeve. He glared at the two men who had done nothing to help his plight.
"Maybe not one of my more brilliant ideas, in retrospect," he said.
"Nonsense! I think your judgment's on point with this," Hashirama said. He gripped the handrail and looked out over the sea at the whirlpools that peppered the view, swirling down to darkness. It was a magnificent sight, and one unique to these waters. "Besides, it'll be a good opportunity to gauge what our sister clan has done with its newfound roots."
Tobirama had made the suggestion a year ago to take more permanent and reliable precautions with Senju clan secrets, forbidden techniques, and teachings when those secrets had been compromised in a midnight raid on their camp by rogue shinobi. Rumors said the Uzumaki could seal anything, tangible or intangible.
"I heard the leader can even seal a man's soul in a pot and fill him with another, like a monkey's or something!" Tobirama had said to Hashirama and Sasuke. "Imagine that! I'd like to use that on those damned Uchiha, turn them all into the shit-throwing gorillas they are."
Sasuke had not taken kindly to Tobirama's disdain for primates. It was a useful pretense, though. While the Senju had a real need to safeguard clan secrets, the prospect of a potential alliance was far more appealing and the true motive of this mission. The Uzumaki, however, were known to be a neutral party, and they were tethered to a feudal lord. Any alliance with them would come with constraining political baggage. Sasuke wasn't keen on politics. Hashirama had made him a general in his army, trusting his past leadership and military experience for the kinds of pyrrhic battles the Senju inevitably waged against the Uchiha. Politics were more Tobirama's thing, and he even had good ideas once in a blue moon. This, everyone was in agreement, was one of them. It was now up to the charismatically carefree Hashirama to make sure it panned out in their favor.
"Who knows? Maybe the clan leader will have some pretty daughters for you to pick from," Hashirama goaded his younger brother. "It's high time you thought about settling down."
Tobirama got that sour, incredulous look he got when Hashirama said something particularly asinine, in jest or otherwise. "Hashi, I'm fifteen years old. How on earth could I please a woman if I can't even grow a proper beard?"
Hashirama guffawed and slapped Tobirama on the back again, causing him to gag once more and dry heave over the edge of the barge.
"That's true! You always were so baby-faced. You get that from our lady mother, rest her soul."
Tobirama grumbled something, but it came out unintelligible as he continued to retch. Sasuke shook his head.
"I forget at times that you two are still boys. What's this world coming to when children are leading men into battle?"
Hashirama leaned on his elbows and stared over the seascape. In the distance, Uzushiogakure's rocky shores and verdant hills materialized on the horizon. He didn't catch Sasuke's expectant stare.
"I plan to be the last boy to set foot on any battlefield," Hashirama said, his tone even and sober, a chillingly far cry from his facetious prodding of Tobirama only moments ago. "This world will die along with us, and the next generation will have a new world to look after. I'll make sure of it."
Sasuke stared at his leader, so young and green in many ways, but wiser than most men he'd met in his vast travels around the continent with the Ten Heroes. Some people, he supposed, had something that set them apart, a touch of beautiful insanity that others recognized as true genius. Sasuke himself had never had that even in all his years as a leader. Tobirama didn't have it, either. Hashirama was an odd one, the person who made a room a little lighter when he walked inside, the person who turned heads and commanded attention. He was the beacon of hope people wanted to believe in. And he'd never asked for any of it. He wasn't perfect, and most of the time he bit off more than he could chew. Sasuke had learned this right away when he joined the Senju. Tobirama had struggled with it his whole life.
But what are leaders without their brothers, their generals, their lovers, their children? As though reading his mind, Tobirama straightened up again and put a heavy hand on Hashirama's shoulder.
"No, Brother; we'll make sure of it. Together."
Hashirama never took his eyes off the frothy sea and its many dark, swirling eyes that stared back at him. "Right."
"My lord, we'll be docking in ten minutes."
Hashirama, Tobirama, and Sasuke turned at the first mate's voice.
"Thank you. I suppose we should get ready," Hashirama said, smiling. The first mate excused himself.
Sasuke watched his young leader, curious. Gone was the faraway look in his eye, the one he got when he thought no one was paying attention. Like he became someone else, an older soul sagging beneath the weight of the world he foolishly assumed was his to bear alone. Hashirama took a deep breath and sighed.
"Ahhh, I feel so invigorated! It must be thrilling to live in such a place, don't you think so, Tobi?"
Tobirama's expression soured. "I'd rather not think about it."
"Aw, you're such a stick in the mud."
"Mud doesn't make me seasick."
"All right, children, get your things ready before Tōka comes back," Sasuke said in mock scolding.
Hashirama laughed and Tobirama rolled his eyes.
"Worst goddamned idea I ever had," Tobirama grumbled as he trudged below deck to gather his things.
"Oh, cheer up, Tobi!" Hashirama called after him, slapping him on the back once more.
Tobirama nearly tripped and shouted obscenities at his brother. Sasuke watched them go. Children, indeed.
The journey north to Kenshin Uesugi's stronghold was not long at the pace the Uchiha troupe set after docking on the mainland. Mito had traded her hand-painted kimono for more mobile leather and armor. Her long, red hair trailed behind her in a thick ponytail like a bloody lariat. She'd never been in a real battle before, but the longer she was around the Uchiha, the more she felt like there was no turning back. They practically breathed it.
General Satto and a small garrison of Uzumaki soldiers were with her most of the time. Mito was the youngest of their group and the only one without true combat experience. They tried to preserve court formalities, but it only served to isolate her more. She watched at night when they broke camp as her brethren shared battle stories or sparred. Whenever she approached, they stopped their activity and bowed. Yes m'lady, no m'lady. It was enough to drive her mad, though she knew they meant well.
The only thing that kept her going was the rational part of her that reminded her of her true purpose here: to liaise with Lord Kenshin on behalf of her father. Mito was the political clout, not the seasoned warrior. Everyone had a part to play, and she'd been eager to capitalize on hers at the dinner some nights ago. Now, she wasn't so sure.
The Uchiha stayed away from the Uzumaki. Shinobi clans were tight-knit on the mainland. Alliances were only as good as the blood that connected them, and the only blood that mattered was family. Still, Mito watched Madara interact with his adoptive father and did not know what to make of it. He was not family no matter how she spun it, and yet, looking in from the outside, it was impossible to tell otherwise.
"Don't you have papers to sign or something?"
The voice directly behind her startled Mito, and she spun with her hands poised to defend herself. Haruka gave her a weird look that barely concealed her smirk. Mito relaxed a little.
"You startled me," Mito said.
"Mistake number one, my lady."
Mito had never had many friends growing up. As the clan regent's daughter, she'd been isolated in her studies and her upbringing. With no siblings and her boy cousin too young to tell left from right, she'd learned how to entertain herself whenever she wasn't training with Satto. Haruka did not seem to have that problem, and it showed in the way she carried herself. Cool, confident, like she knew everything. Maybe she did.
"How do you know Madara, anyway?" Haruka asked.
She was pretty, Mito thought. Long, dark hair that she tied back in a braid, sharp eyes, high cheekbones. Royalty, through and through. She was also a seasoned warrior and several years Mito's senior. Maybe the rumors about those Uchiha eyes were true. Maybe they could see right through her to her soul.
"We met when we were children, at the beach. It was a campaign outside Uzushiogakure, before the village existed."
"Ah, that," Haruka said, tapping her chin. "I remember I didn't even know Madara existed back then. It was before my father took him in."
Mito peered at the older girl, trying to glean her true intentions. From the moment she'd met Haruka, she couldn't get a read on her. Was she the spoiled heiress, or the hardened soldier? Perhaps neither. The answer was no clearer now than it had been at the dinner in Uzushiogakure.
"And now you're promised to him," Mito said.
Haruka whipped her head around to lock eyes with Mito, and her eyes flashed red. "The only promise I've made is to win glory on the battlefield. I could care less for these idiotic political dances."
So that's it. Mito felt a tension leave her as a warm feeling touched her heart. Familiarity. Kinship.
"You don't want to go through with the arranged marriage."
Haruka didn't need to say anything. Princesses were all the same, it seemed, be they Uchiha or Uzumaki.
"I guess you would understand," Haruka said, her expression unreadable. "Marriage is just a tool for them to tie women down. Attach us to a man and we can't run off, not to battle, not anywhere. Funny, isn't it? They train us to fight and die for them, but all they really want is to lock us up in a lonely tower where no one can touch us."
There was nothing funny about it. Mito had never heard her own reservations so boldly voiced aloud by another in her position.
"But here we are," Mito said softly.
At length, Haruka nodded. "But here we are."
Haruka smirked, a sinister expression that only made her more beautiful. Mito had never much envied other highborn women since they all shared the same fate, but the burning in her stomach couldn't be ignored. It wasn't bitter, but it was hollow. A void Mito couldn't fill. Haruka was so...so unapologetic despite the gilded cages that entrapped them both.
"Then again, the tallest towers are often the best vantage points." Haruka gave Mito a once-over, her dark eyes lingering on the tantō at Mito's hip emblazoned with the Uzumaki clan's sigil. "Especially in battle."
Mito's heart raced at the prospect of battle, of a taste of the life she was not destined for, but that Haruka knew intimately she wanted to experience. "I'll be sure to remember that."
Suspended silence stretched between them, and Haruka laughed. She put a hand on Mito's shoulder, a friendly gesture, Mito liked to think. "I'm sure you will."
Haruka left to rejoin her clan mates, and Mito was left to watch from her proverbial tower, smiling for true.
Three days of travel by boat and by foot and Madara had not seen Mito once. He didn't seek her out, of course, why would he? But when he passed by the small Uzumaki garrison's camp at night, he would keep an eye out for a shock of red. This proved fruitless considering almost all Uzumaki had red hair. It was a fool's errand, besides. There was nothing to discuss with her. Haruka was the liaison with the Uzumaki, not him. This did not stop him from detouring as he went to meet with his lord father and the Uchiha military leaders in the off-chance that he might catch a glimpse of her.
"Looking for something?"
Madara tensed and put a hand on the chokutō at his hip out of habit, but relaxed at the sound of that voice.
"Haruka."
She watched him with her usual aloof boredom. Outside of Izuna and Tajima, Madara could count her as someone he had come to trust with his life. She'd been the first and last of her siblings to treat him with genuine kindness upon Tajima's adoption. She'd taught him how to sit up straight, hold his silverware, and read between the lines during her father's council meetings. She had taught him how to be an heir when she, for fault of her gender, could never be.
Haruka was a sister to him, a mother figure, and his betrothed. In a world where titles meant everything, Madara had never cared for them with her, nor she with him. She was simply someone he could stand to keep close without the edge of a sword between them. While Madara had no interest in marriage, he understood the formality of the process and, especially, its importance for him, of all people. Better Haruka than one of her younger sisters, none of whom even bothered looking at Madara if they could help it.
She smirked. "Careful now, I might be jealous."
Madara glared at her. "You would sooner bed a sword than a man."
She laughed. "You know me so well. But just think of what they would say. 'Princess weds her own katana.' The scandal I would cause."
"They'd say you're compensating for something."
"Yes, you."
Haruka put a hand on Madara's shoulder. They were about the same height, which reminded Madara of how young he still was. Haruka had seen more battles than he had, and she wore the Uchiha fan proudly. It was no wonder their father had put her in charge of her own squadron and trusted her military expertise as much as he trusted that of his seasoned generals.
"Anyway, Father wants to speak with us and Izuna. I'm off to find Izuna now. Have you seen him?"
Madara shook his head.
"Well, make yourself useful and help me look. You know how Izuna likes to steal off by himself, the little fox."
"I know."
"Good." Haruka let her hand fall and walked past Madara. "By the way, she's on the east side of the camp training."
Madara looked back at Haruka over his shoulder. "I'm not looking for her."
Haruka had already skipped away and didn't hear him. Madara frowned and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his gi and he stalked off. Haruka was odd when she wasn't fighting. Madara was well aware of her disdain for the institution of marriage as it related to a princess, forced into wedlock without any other recourse in life. Madara didn't see the big deal. Marriage was a contract, a natural part of life even if he didn't care for it himself. It wasn't the end of the world, as Haruka would opine sometimes in private. Women's troubles, he supposed.
Without realizing it, Madara's feet had taken him to the eastern edge of the camp. The sun was setting and the first campfires crackled to life behind him as Uchiha and Uzumaki soldiers prepared their evening meals. Tomorrow, they would arrive at Lord Kenshin's stronghold, receive their orders, and finally head into battle. Madara was eager to flex his sword arm against an enemy other than the Senju. Before he could dwell on that thought, the sounds of battle drew his attention to a thin forest marking the edge of camp.
The closer he got, the better he could hear. Someone was slicing through wood and beating the ground, stepping lightly. Curious, Madara approached through the trees. Mito was alone in a hollowed out clearing among the trees, and she was spinning. Madara halted his approach and activated the Sharingan to better see her in the encroaching darkness among the leafy trees.
She wore boiled leather and whalebone armor over light blue training gi. Three crude sparring puppets stood at equidistant locations, and she was twirling in front of the centermost one. He'd never seen anyone move like that before, like ribbons in the wind. Her red hair spun with her in a long ponytail, a trail of blood, as she hit the puppet with her tantō and open palm in succession. Breaking out of his reverie, he stepped forward and made his presence known.
Mito slowed her movements and slumped a bit, panting. But when she saw that her visitor was Madara, she lit up and smiled.
"Madara," she said, pushing sweaty bangs out of her eyes. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Princess," he said, looking her over.
She'd exerted herself, perhaps having trained for a couple of hours. Her cheeks were prettily flushed with exertion, and he could almost see her blood pumping with his Sharingan, the little bursts along her exposed skin.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
Mito gestured at the puppet she'd been assaulting. "Training. I couldn't just sit still and wait for tomorrow."
"I've never seen anyone train like that."
"Oh, right, I suppose you wouldn't have. That was a special type of kata native to the Uzumaki. We don't teach it to outsiders, so that's probably why you're unfamiliar with it."
"How does it fare in battle?"
"Well, I suppose. Most opponents aren't used to it, though I can't speak from personal experience much."
Madara circled the small clearing, and Mito followed him with her eyes. "From what I could see, that style leaves you open to attack from a skilled swordsman. All that spinning should make you dizzy."
Mito smirked, and Madara stopped. He remembered that look from when they were younger and she'd surprised him by sealing his father's tantō in a seashell.
"Whirlpool kata mimics the whirlpools that surround our village. From a distance, they look like they can't do much just spinning. But if you get too close, you're sucked in. Once it pulls you under, there's no coming back."
Madara wasn't sure he bought that, but he was intrigued enough to hear her out. "Show me."
"Really?"
Madara assumed a defensive position, one palm out and facing Mito. "Really."
Mito sheathed her tantō and crouched low, lower than a soldier with any desire to defend herself ought to. Madara said nothing, more interested in watching her discover her own weaknesses than pointing them out himself.
"Okay," she said. "Here I come, then."
She whirled, and Madara moved to block. With the Sharingan, he could be superhuman, predict his opponents' moves before they could deliver them. In a way, he could see the future and divert its course. How frustrating—how fitting that he could not do it with Mito now.
He saw her duck and he jumped, anticipating that her extended leg would knock him in the ankles to throw him off balance. Instead, she sprang back on a hand and swung her leg up in a swift arc, hitting him square in the chest and knocking him backward. She left her midsection open to attack, and with her ankle in his grasp he saw an easy opening. Too easy. Mito never broke her fluidity and let him pull her ankle to the side. With her other hand, she pushed off the ground and flew toward the sky. Doubled over, she twisted away from Madara's searching hand and grabbed his wrist. Connected at two appendages, she used her momentum and his weight to soar over his head and toward the ground, rolling when she landed.
Madara picked up on her movements just as she executed them and rolled with her, forced to release her ankle in the process. Mito was on her feet just as quickly and spinning toward him. Madara feigned to the left and avoided an open-palmed strike that would have hit him in the chest. The look of surprise in her eyes was enough to take advantage of the moment, and he grabbed her arm and pulled.
It was his mistake.
Like water, she moved with him and around him, enveloped him. Instead of blocking like any trained shinobi should have, she let him strike her shoulder and fell back with the blow. Her free hand grabbed onto his shoulder, and she kicked her legs off the ground, up and over his head. Before Madara had a chance to extricate himself, she flipped him over and he landed hard on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Mito's arm was stuck underneath his shoulder blade, but her free hand had found his heart and lay flat against it. He couldn't even move his legs to roll over with hers pinning them down.
Seconds passed and their breathing mingled. Madara's Sharingan faded to black, and he stared up at Mito panting over him. Her grey-green eyes were bright with adrenaline and firelight from the torches illuminating the training area. As he recovered, he felt her weight leaning into him, the warmth of her palm through his gi, the tickle of her blood-red hair against his neck.
"Oh," Mito said, remembering herself. She scrambled off him and stood up straight, rubbing the arm that had landed under Madara and probably ached smartly.
Madara picked himself up and dusted off his pants. "Oh," he repeated.
Mito blushed and wrung her hands. "I'm sorry. I got carried away."
"Don't apologize for knocking me down," Madara said. "It was just unexpected."
She stopped wringing her hands and met his eyes. Strange, he'd never seen her like this, self-conscious. Afraid of his anger. He didn't like the look on her.
"This isn't court and I'm no sensitive prince. Don't treat me like one."
"I've never thought that," Mito said, taken aback. She let her hands fall to her sides and composed herself. "Forgive me, I only meant that I shouldn't have been so presumptuous with someone of your experience."
Madara frowned, understanding. A part of him was disappointed in himself for thinking that Mito, of all people, would cling to titles. Her misplaced modesty irked him even more. What kind of training was she used to where hierarchy was more important than improvement? Even the Uchiha were free of the shackles of rank and station on the battlefield.
"It doesn't matter. In war, no one cares if you were born a bastard or a noble. All that matters is the last man standing. Or woman."
Mito nodded, and her shoulders relaxed a bit. "I'll have to take your word for it."
"What did you do?"
"What do you mean?"
"You tapped my chest here." He put a hand over his heart. "Why?"
"Oh, that. It's the reason we Uzumaki use the Whirlpool kata."
She held out her palm for him to see and traced it with a finger. Dark patterns appeared on her skin, like shadows rising up from the depths of an ocean. A seal, branded to her body just beneath the skin.
"There's a legend that says death takes the shape of the center of a whirlpool, where souls drain to the bottom of an endless sea. Once it drags them under, they can't escape. When I get close enough to my opponent, I can strike him over the heart or some other vital area, like the back of the neck, and seal off his life force."
"A one-hit kill," Madara mused aloud.
He took Mito's hand in his and traced the shimmering rune with his thumb. Death, in the palm of her small hand. But it was no lady's hand. It was rough with callouses and small scars from years of training, knives, mistakes.
"Or paralysis. It doesn't have to end in death," she said.
Madara looked up and caught her gaze, wide-eyed and candid. "You've never killed a man before."
She didn't pull away, and he didn't let her hand fall. "No," she admitted. "Is it that obvious?"
"You will soon. This battle will be bloody. Better to kill than be killed."
"I suppose."
They lingered in silence a moment, her hand in his, content to just be here.
"What's it like?" she asked softly.
She was close enough that he could smell her, sea salt and honey and sweat from their earlier tussle. He licked his lips and thought about her question.
"It's like dying. You watch the light leave the other person's eyes and see yourself in them, but you're still breathing."
"You've died many times," she said.
"Only if I can see the look in their eyes."
With her free hand, she traced his temple, just centimeters from his greatest weapon, reverent. He tightened his grip on her hand in warning, but she wasn't deterred. Her touch was warm and tender, her gaze half-lidded and entranced.
"And how much can you see?"
Even without the Sharingan activated, she was so close that he could see the splash of freckles across her cheeks and nose and the dark red of her lashes, almost black under the glow of firelight and starlight. Her parted lips, chapped from lack of pampering while she traveled away from her lavish palace. The look in her eyes reflecting his, alight and alive, looking right at him and seeing, the way she'd looked at him on the beach all those years ago. Like he was just enough as he was.
"I can see everything," he said, leaning closer.
Her breath on his lips quickened as she leaned her weight into him the second time that night. Her kiss was timid at first, but her smile put him over the edge until they crashed together, fumbling, stumbling through the dark, inexperienced, curious, longing, exquisite, together. The feel of her hand slipping over his heart, a hand that could kill but couldn't kill him, wouldn't kill him, for she'd never killed anyone and she wouldn't start here, now, so close, too close, not close enough but there's time, time for them where she's not a princess and he's not a soldier living in a dream—is that what it is? Just a dream?—but Madara would make his dreams a reality, and Mito wasn't a dreamer at all, and she wasn't a princess now, with him, with her, drowning, sinking toward dark, death, depths that pulled them under, deeper, away from the light, but they were together, and she was the water and he could see in the dark, so they would be okay as long as she didn't move away, those unpracticed, chapped lips on his, sweet and searching and seeing—
Snap!
Madara tensed and pulled away from Mito, exhausted all over again for lack of air. He turned toward the sound wood splitting, Sharingan blazing as he squinted through the oily darkness and searched for a source. At his side, Mito recovered and peered around him.
"What is it?" she whispered.
Someone was here, he thought.
But even his gifted eyes couldn't detect anyone around. Paranoia, perhaps, but that hyper awareness of his surroundings had saved Madara's life more than once. He trusted his instincts, even if there was nothing to show for them now.
"Nothing, apparently," he said, turning back to her.
Mito looked into his Sharingan eyes, the last sight many men and women had ever seen, thoughtful. He thought she'd be embarrassed, flustered after what had clearly been her first moment of intimacy with a man—a boy, you're just a little boy—but she entertained a half smile.
"They're beautiful," she said. "I didn't realize before, but they're so beautiful."
Such a naïve thing to say, the way Izuna used to say it. "Power is beautiful, but I doubt you would feel the same about the death that follows."
"Maybe," she said. "But maybe it's worth it."
There had been times when Madara had become curious about women. He and his year mates had made fools of themselves one night when Madara was fourteen. It had been Hikaku's idea to pay a visit to the local brothel during a campaign in Grass Country. Madara had never been drunk and he'd never touched a woman before, and in the morning he wondered if it was even worth the trouble when he had a head-splitting hangover and double training sessions when Gendoru found out about the boys' indecent midnight adventure. There was no excuse to slack on training, be it the comfort at the bottom of a drink or the pleasure of a woman's touch, and Madara would be wise to take that lesson to heart to avoid another debauched training session like the one that morning.
He'd been curious about Mito in a way he'd never been curious about Haruka, but it was more than that. Magnetism, from the first time he'd seen her in Uzushiogakure after four years. Even as children on the beach, something about her had stuck with him. Her candor, her passion, her naiveté and his. The color red, like blood and death and the whole world as he saw it, day in, day out. The way she spoke to him like she didn't expect anything of him that he didn't already expect of himself. The way she'd known him before he was anything worth knowing, and she looked at him the same. Curiosity was for children, and Madara and Mito had never really been children.
He traced her bottom lip with his thumb, tempted to kiss her again but preferring to let the moment linger. "Maybe," he said.
"M'lady? Are you there?"
The voice startled Madara and Mito, and they released each other.
"It's one of my father's soldiers. I should go," Mito said, walking toward the edge of the clearing. "I'm coming!"
Madara watched her leave, but she paused and looked back, smiling.
"Thank you for the spar. I won't let you hit me the next time!" She ran off into the darkness toward camp without waiting for his response.
Alone, Madara waited until she was far enough away to take his leave. Someone had been here watching them, he was sure, but he didn't know what to make of it. The Uchiha cared little about carnal desires as long as they didn't interfere with the mission at hand or the clan's standing, but Mito was the princess of the Uzumaki clan. Perhaps there could be consequences for her that he couldn't imagine.
His eye caught the damage she'd done to the centermost battle puppet, and he ran a hand over its middle. Runes were burned into its wooden body, some still hot to the touch. Whatever the consequences, if any, she could handle them, he was sure of it.
Madara walked to the edge of the clearing and, before leaving, executed a technique that snuffed out the torches. Plunged into darkness, he made his way back to camp, unwavering even in the dead of night.
Madara wasn't the only one who could see in the dark.
Red eyes watched the young warrior retreat back to camp, suspicious but never quick enough to be sure. As the heir to the Uchiha clan in name but not in blood left the training field and made his way to their father's tent, Tajitsu lingered in the shadows, his flawless genjutsu hiding him from even the keenest eyes. Moon and starlight were all that was left to him, and they did little to illuminate his aquiline nose and hooded eyes. He smacked his lips and bared his slightly crooked teeth in a grin.
Tajima thought him an inept fool, a drunkard and a womanizer who cared little for the Uchiha clan's pride, but he was only half right. Tajitsu had not taken his father's adoption of Madara and Izuna well, though he hid it behind his usual façade of inebriated nonchalance. Underestimation was his greatest weapon, more than his skill with genjutsu.
"Illusions will not win a war, boy," Tajima had told him when Tajitsu came to him, overjoyed at his discovered gift for the art.
"Not a war, perhaps," Tajitsu said to himself as he dispelled the illusion even Madara's potent eyes could not penetrate. "But politics is nothing but illusion. And I will take what's mine."
The Uzumaki princess was the perfect ace in the hole. It was no secret that Tajima ultimately sought an alliance with the small island clan, gifted with its strange powers unbeknownst to any other clan in the world, especially the Senju. There was power to be had with the Uzumaki, and Tajitsu aimed to acquire it in his father's stead. To do so, he would not only have to take the princess for himself, but he would also have to disinherit Madara. Since a battle of swords would end poorly for Tajitsu, he would have to resort to other means to claim his rightful inheritance.
"I was always the son you needed, Father. Pity you could never see that."
But another did.
He summoned a raven, a large bird and conspicuous, but not under the cover of night. To its foot he attached a small scroll with an encrypted message and sent the bird on its way. Saizō Kirigakure was not a man anyone ought to trust, Tajitsu least of all. But politics was not a game of trust, only one of convenient alliances and the ability to foresee when to burn those alliances to ashes. The Uchiha, above all else, were renowned for their ability to burn any who stood in their way. All in due time.
Good things come to those who plan.
Tajitsu retreated from the darkened training field, Sharingan lighting his path toward the camp.
Mito made her way back toward the Uzumaki section of camp with the soldier who had come to retrieve her, the only woman in the garrison besides Mito herself.
"Mara, do you know what it's about?"
The soldier shook her head. "No m'lady, but the General wanted to speak with you." She paused, hesitant. "If I may, perhaps it's got something to do with tomorrow."
Mito tucked her stray bangs behind her ear, wishing for the yellow hair clips she'd forgone in her hurry to get to the training field. "I suppose you're right. It will be a big day for all of us, as well as our Uchiha brethren."
"Yes, m'lady. Please know that you're safe with us. Er, with me. I'll gladly give my life for you."
Mito stopped walking, and Mara slowed to a halt just ahead.
"M'lady? Is something the matter?"
"I don't expect you to lay down your life for me, or for anyone else, for that matter," Mito said, fists balled.
"I... Forgive me, m'lady. I meant no disrespect."
Mara's strawberry blonde hair was tied back in a severe bun, and she wore boiled leather and whalebone, identical to Mito's armor. To the outside observer, there was little difference between the two women. Mito sighed.
"Listen to me, please. Not as your princess, but as your fellow clansman." Mito approached Mara, a soldier only a year her senior, no more than a girl who had maybe had her own first kiss not long ago. "On the battlefield, we're equals. You and I fight together with the rest of our clan. Please don't forget them to save me, or to save yourself. I beg you."
Mara's eyes were wide with with shock and speechlessness. She shifted her gaze to the ground, unsure what to say. "M'lady, I'm..."
Mito smiled and put a hand on her shoulder. "Please, call me Mito. I insist."
Mara looked up at her princess, a woman who could order her execution on a whim if she felt like it, though of course Mito never would. Funny how some with power chose never to use it, to abuse it. Mara managed a small but genuine smile.
"Yes, m'la—I mean, Mito."
Mito smiled brightly. "That's better. See? It's not so hard."
"There are rules, m'la—er, Mito."
Mito's smile turned devious, and she leaned in close. "Not between us girls."
Mara smiled again, showing her teeth, and Mito laughed. Mito took Mara's hand and dragged her along, giggling all the way. Other Uzumaki soldiers stopped what they were doing to observe the two women, but none raised any complaints. Not against their princess, whom they adored for her compassionate and gentle nature.
The pair arrived at Satto's private tent, and Mara hung back at the entrance.
"The general requested only you, um, Mito," she said shyly.
"Thank you for the message. I can see myself out, so please don't wait up on my account," Mito said, entering.
Satto sat on the floor upon a fine tatami mat going over military tactical scrolls, perhaps in preparation for the battle on the horizon. He was always one to over-prepare. Mito smiled a little.
"General, you wanted to see me?" she said, taking a seat across from him.
"Ah, yes, there's something that's been on my mind that I wanted to share with you."
Satto was dressed in a white linen gi. His grey hair, streaked with rust, betrayed his once vibrant, crimson locks. He'd been known as the Roaring Lion for his great mane of hair and the sound of his signature explosive seals, not unlike a true lion's roar. Now, the Roaring Lion was a half century older and a half century greyer, but his seals were as potent as ever. He poured Mito a mug of ale, which she accepted with a small word of thanks. Whenever Satto was in a nostalgic mood, he liked to share a drink with her now that she was older.
"What's on your mind, General?"
Satto sighed. "You know, I've been working for your father since I was your age." He paused, smiling, remembering. "The two of us got into so much trouble back then, mostly with women, wouldn't you know it."
Mito smiled with him. She liked when he talked of his past and her father's younger days, back when Ensui wasn't a lord, but just a kid, like her, eager to experience the world and all it had to offer. It made him seem human, closer, and she treasured the memory of these conversations most when Ensui was at his most lord-like, when she was sure he couldn't understand. He did. He'd been where his daughter was now.
"Your father was damn strong. He was always one of the best of our generation. I even told him once that he'd make a better general, and I'd be the better lord! Oh, that was a good old time."
"You and Father have been such good friends for so long. We should all be so lucky to have such a friend," Mito said.
Satto took a swig of his beer and slumped a bit. "Princess, tomorrow you'll experience your first real battle. It won't be like our sparring sessions or training with the soldiers, you know that, right?"
"Yes, of course."
"Ah," Satto grunted. "Well, you don't, but you will. S'pose it's inevitable, but at least it's you."
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"I mean you've got something I haven't scarce seen in all my years. You've got a talent, my lady."
Mito felt her cheeks grow hot, and she took a deep sip of ale to banish it.
"Have you ever heard of chakra chains?" Satto said suddenly.
Mito set down her mug and gave Satto her full attention. "I've read about them in my books. They're chains made of pure, condensed chakra. Conduits for seals. Only a few Uzumaki have ever been able to summon them."
"Aye, that's right. You know, they say the Uzumaki chakra chains can do the impossible. Miracles. Even seal death itself in a bottle to save for later."
Mito shifted and hugged her knees to her chest. "If that's true, I'm sure it's just a fairytale. No one can stop death."
Satto seemed to consider this. "Not stop it, aye, just divert it. Thwart it, perhaps. But not stop it."
"Why are you telling me this?"
Satto sipped his drink and leaned forward over his crossed legs. "Because tomorrow's a big day, and I don't have the ability to divert death."
Mito got a chill, but she stubbornly dismissed it. It was silly. "You speak as if you'll die tomorrow."
"Any day could be a man's last. God knows I've lived a long and good life. I've no regrets."
"General, I don't want to talk about this anymore."
Satto shook his head. "But you must. I've been looking for the right time to tell you this, and I figure now's as good a time as any."
"Tell me what?"
"My grandmother... She was the last living Uzumaki who could produce the chakra chains. She taught me everything she knew, just as I've endeavored to teach you."
Mito's eyes softened. "She must have been an extraordinary person. I wish I could have met her."
"Aye, and she you, I'm sure. She would've just loved you."
"General, if you don't mind my asking...what happened to her?"
"She died in war, way back when we still accepted mercenary work. Bloody times."
"I'm sorry."
"No, no, it's nothing to be sorry about. She died a noble death."
Mito clutched her half-empty mug to her knees, troubled. "Why are you telling me all this?"
"Because, I wanted you to know while I'm still here to tell you. My lady," Satto set down his mug and took her hand in his, "you have the potential to do great things."
"You keep saying that," Mito said, frowning. "But I don't understand what you mean."
"I mean that I think you might be able to awaken the chakra chains. They come around once every generation or so. If anyone can access them, I believe you can."
"But I haven't learned how," Mito protested. "You've never even spoken of them before."
"The chakra chains aren't something you learn; they're something you just know."
Mito's eyes fell. "But I don't know."
Satto released her hand. "I asked my grandmother once how she did it, back when I was a boy much younger than you are now. I wanted to be able to use the chakra chains one day, like her."
Mito looked up. "What did she say?"
Satto smiled warmly and tapped a finger over her heart. "She said, 'Look inside.'"
Mito put a hand over her heart, confused. "I don't understand."
Satto leaned back and laughed. "Well, I never said it made any sense!"
Mito finished her drink and set down the mug, scowling. Riddles had never been her forte. She was better with rote memorization, formulas. Rules. "That's not fair."
"Oh, my lady Mito, life never is. That's what makes it fun."
Mito thought on Satto's words, trying to figure them out, and he stood up.
"Anyway, you'd best get some rest. Tomorrow we meet with Lord Kenshin, and you can bet that your lord father will want a full report."
Mito rose. "Yes, of course. Good night, General."
"Goodnight, my lady."
Mito left Satto's tent and headed for her own, deep in thought. The enigma of the chakra chains was beyond her, a fable, and yet it had taken root in her heart. Such a power... It could be what she needed to break free of her cage, if only she knew its secrets. Something to show her father she was more than a trophy to be bought and sold, a true warrior of the Uzumaki clan born to fight on the battlefield and in the council room. Without an answer, though, the chakra chains remained a thing of myth. It wasn't good enough. And Mito was not so naïve as to lay her hopes on stories and myths.
Too tired to dwell on it any longer, Mito retired to her tent. Her final thoughts as she fell into a dreamless sleep were of Madara and the kiss they'd shared. She didn't know where this path led, but for once in her life she was ready to run toward the unknown, confident in her ability to fight for—or against—whatever lay at the end.
When Madara arrived at his lord father's tent, Izuna and Haruka were already present. Notably, Tajima's other biological offspring were absent, including Tajitsu.
"Madara, have a seat," Tajima said, indicating the place opposing him on the floor.
Madara sat down between Izuna and Haruka. He exchanged a glance with his brother, who gave him a blank look.
"I called you all here because there is something you should know. It concerns the origins of our great clan," Tajima said.
Haruka shot Madara a significant look, and he knew she was thinking this was just another lecture about the importance of clan pride and responsibility. Anticipating a long lecture, she passed Madara a cup of wine and took a sip of her own. Izuna didn't touch his, and Tajima's was already half-empty. Madara became suspicious.
"How much do you know about our ancestry?" Tajima asked.
Izuna spoke first, having more of an interest in history than Madara ever had. "The noble Uchiha clan was founded a thousand years ago by the progenitor, Indra. He was a son of the Sage of Six Paths and gifted with a sight that could see beyond this world."
"Very good, Izuna," Tajima said. "Indra waged war with his younger brother, Ashura, the progenitor of the Senju clan. We continue Indra's war to honor his legacy and his sacrifice."
"Father, why the history lesson?" Haruka asked. "Is this about tomorrow's battle? I was under the impression we wouldn't be fighting the Senju. Or their deceased ancestors."
From anyone else, Tajima may have reprimanded the cheek. But Haruka was his favorite daughter, the apple of his eye, the princess and the warrior he'd never had in Tajitsu before Madara came along. "That's right. Tomorrow's battle is not a part of our blood feud with the Senju, and as such I expect nothing but excellence from all three of you."
"Yes, Father," all three children said in unison.
"But that's not why I called you here," Tajima said. "There is something I want to pass down to you all, as my father did for me. A part of history, and a taste of the future. You're old enough now."
Madara sipped his drink, now eager to hear more.
"The Sage of Six Paths recorded the history of his deeds upon a stone tablet in an encrypted code. He passed this tablet down to his eldest son, Indra, in hopes that it would be a lesson to his descendants."
"What does it say, Father?" Izuna asked.
"That's the thing. It requires a special doujutsu to decipher. Our Sharingan can read only small portions of the text, barely enough to glean much meaning from it. It's said that the Sage of Six Paths possessed a doujutsu far more powerful than our own Sharingan: the Rinnegan. With it, one could read the tablet and interpret it as it was meant to be read."
"What's the use of a tablet no one can read?" Haruka asked, frowning.
"Just because we can't read it now, doesn't mean we won't be able to someday," Tajima said.
"Where is this tablet?" Madara asked, speaking for the first time since arriving in the tent.
"In a safe place," Tajima said. "There is a shrine buried deep below the Naka River in the Fire Country. There, you will find the tablet. I don't know if it will help you, any of you. But I believe we were given this knowledge for a reason. One day, someone worthy will develop a sight strong enough to see the tablet's true meaning. Until then, you must keep the knowledge of its existence safe. Madara, Haruka."
Tajima took Haruka's hand since she was seated beside him.
"You will lead this clan when I am gone. Keep the tablet safe, and one day, pass on the knowledge of it to your children. It could be the key to defeating the Senju once and for all. It's worth my life and more if it can bring us victory."
"Yes, Father," Haruka answered readily, fire in her eyes. If nothing else, Haruka was a true warrior and one who would proudly carry on her father's legacy.
Madara nodded. "Of course, Father. It would be my honor."
"Father," Izuna said. "From what you could read of the tablet, what did it say?"
Tajima stared at the center of their small circle, his eyes faraway. "It's difficult to say, but there was something... It speaks of a power beyond our Sharingan, one born of a strong heart in times of great strife. Those eyes can see beyond what you and I see now. They can hypnotize the present and foretell the future."
Madara watched Tajima closely, thinking on his words. A greater doujutsu than the Sharingan was unheard of. There were stages of the Sharingan, and those with more experience awakened more tomoe, but there was no form beyond it. Either the tablet was a hoax, or it contained secrets no Uchiha living today was worthy of knowing.
Yet.
"Keep the tablet safe, my children," Tajima said. "It's the key to our future."
"Yes, Father," Madara said. Haruka and Izuna echoed him in turn.
Tajima chuckled. "You three... You're my future. My legacy to the world. You carry a heavy burden upon your shoulders. Don't underestimate it. Just because we won't face the Senju tomorrow doesn't mean you can let your guard down. Fight as though your lives depend on it, or you'll lose your lives."
"You say that as if you mean to leave us," Haruka said, smiling and patting her father on his shoulder, though her smile did not reach her ears.
"No, of course not," Tajima said. "But you are my children. My heirs. Never forget your responsibility to this great clan. You are their leaders, they're hope. Without you, they are lost."
Madara breathed deeply and set his jaw. "I give you my word, Father," he said. "I will protect the tablet and this clan with my life. I won't lose, not to the Senju, not to anyone."
Tajima nodded. "Ah, you better not, or I'll be the laughing stock of the council. Adopting bastard boys... Well, you're worth more than any son of mine, and that's what matters."
Madara said nothing to that, but a foreign heat tingled in his eyes. Izuna also remained silent. It was Haruka who resolved the moment for them, as she always did.
"Father, you're not dead yet," she said, smiling brightly. "No need to be so gloomy with us. We should be resting for the battle tomorrow."
"Ah, right. My daughter, you are always right," Tajima said, standing.
His children stood with him and bowed to excuse themselves. Madara was the last one out following Izuna, but Tajima called him back.
"Just a moment, Madara."
Madara hung back and signaled to Izuna to wait for him outside. He approached his lord father, expression schooled.
"You will lead this clan when I'm dead," Tajima said. "I bet you didn't think that when you were just a boy living with your harlot mother, did you?"
Madara tried to ignore the slight against his birth mother and shoved his hands in his pockets to hide his clenched fists. "No, sir."
"Don't look at me like that. I'm just stating the truth. She was a harlot, and your father was a lowborn soldier. There's no shame in that now that you've proven yourself. I imagine they would be proud of where you are now."
Madara relaxed a little, but something still stung in the back of his throat.
"Listen to me, boy." Tajima put a hand on Madara's shoulder. He wasn't much taller than Madara now, and the similarity in height gave Madara the confidence to meet his adoptive father's eyes. "You've got something. Something I've never seen before. I didn't want to admit it at first, but I can't deny it anymore. One day, you'll be stronger than all of us, stronger than me. You'll lead this clan, and it'll be your decision where to take them."
Madara was taken aback at the honest admission. Gendoru had told him on several occasions that he had a gift, something that set him apart even from his younger brother. But to hear it from Tajima was something else. A revelation. The recognition Madara had sought all his life.
"I know you'll find the means to decipher the tablet, somehow. And when you do, I want you to promise me something."
"Anything, Father."
Tajima squeezed Madara's shoulder in a gesture of affection. "Promise me you'll use that knowledge to destroy the Senju."
Madara's eyes widened in shock. It was nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. He'd spent years of his life clashing with the Senju, killing their ranks, grieving over his own men who'd fallen under the Senju's swords.
"We'll become the strongest shinobi and make our dream come true!"
Hashirama's words returned to him then. They had clashed time and time again on the battlefield since that day, and each time was bloodier than the last. Still, neither of them had ended up dead, and both managed to bring new tricks to the fight to surprise the other. Madara would expect no less from Hashirama.
"I know you feel a connection with Hashirama," Tajima said. "I felt it with his father before him. But it's just the bloodlust. You won't be at peace until he's dead, believe me."
"We'll do it together. Promise me."
"Promise me, Madara, that you'll keep this clan safe from the Senju's terrorism. Promise me you'll defeat Hashirama. That you'll end this."
Madara's throat clenched and it became hard to breathe. Hashirama's smile, the bond of friendship they'd forged had stayed with him through the clang of steel and the heat of his fire. Was it possible to protect Hashirama's dream and destroy him at the same time?
"Madara?" Tajima said.
Was it possible to choose between his father and his friend? Between his future and his past? Madara's eyes were gifted, but even they could not see an answer to this problem. They weren't strong enough. They couldn't see far enough. He was still just a boy. Silly little boy with the pride of a nation on his shoulders.
"You'll survive, my sons, because you're strong. Together, you're invincible."
But Madara wasn't alone shouldering his burden. He had Izuna. Together, they could conquer both the past and the future. Together, they were invincible, just as Shiori had said.
"I promise," Madara said.
Tajima let his hand fall from Madara's shoulder and smiled. "Good. Now, get some rest. You have a big day tomorrow."
"Yes, Father."
He exited the tent, mind blank, and walked.
"Madara," Izuna said, jogging toward him. "What did Father want?"
Madara looked down at his brother, suddenly feeling tired. "Nothing important."
Izuna narrowed his eyes. "You're hiding something."
Madara sighed. "It was nothing you need to worry about. He's just concerned about the future."
The brothers made their way toward their shared tent not far from Tajima's. The other soldiers had turned in for the night save for the sentries. Torches and campfires burned, the only source of light aside from the wan light of the stars overhead.
"He shouldn't worry about the future," Izuna said as they entered their tent together. "He has you for that."
Izuna settled into his sleeping bag for the night, and Madara did the same.
"No, he has us," Madara corrected him. "You and I are one."
"Yes, Brother. Now and forever."
Izuna fell asleep quickly, as he always did, but Madara remained awake. His thoughts fluctuated, turbulent like an ocean storm. He thought of Mito and the turn in their relationship. It probably meant little, but he raised a hand to his lips, remembering her there if only for a few fleeting minutes, and how he'd wanted to drag it out. He thought of Haruka and Tajima, his adoptive family and their expectations of him, of a future he would usher in for the Uchiha clan. And he thought of Izuna, the one person with whom he could imagine forging that future. The one person without whom there would be no future.
Together.
Shiori had been right. Together they were invincible. Maybe Madara could do it. Maybe he could lead the Uchiha clan to glory and still achieve the dream he and Hashirama had conceived of so many years ago. A dream that included Mito, and Izuna, and all the children of the world who would never have to live Madara's life.
He fell asleep that night dreaming of such a utopia, a place among spring's first green leaves where he could have it all, a place of beauty and peace. He'd never slept so soundly in all his life, and he never would again.