Glass Trinity Chapter 9: Come with Me, a naruto fanfic

Glass Trinity, Chapter 9: Come with Me
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

The trick to convincing others of your value is to make your goals theirs. Saizō Kirigakure had lived his life by that philosophy, had manipulated even the greatest of men to his way of thinking simply by letting them think they had all the bright ideas. It had kept him alive and coveted no matter which way the tide flowed. Yukimura Sanada was a shrewd man immune to flattery and fancy, but even he had his weaknesses.

"You failed me, Saizō. I never lost a battle before this," Sanada said as he poured himself a cup of hot sake but didn't drink it.

Saizō couldn't be sure whether the red flush in his face was due to anger or inebriation. Either way, it would make this go easier. When persuading, it was always best to have a partner who let his emotions cloud his judgment.

"You're right, and I accept full responsibility. After all, I should have known the Uchiha would prove too much for just the Green Battalion."

"Yes, you should have. And what's worse, you came back empty-handed. I'm beginning to think you've outlasted your usefulness."

Saizō stood by the window of Sanada's private lounge in his vast estate in Water Country. It was dark out, well past midnight, and red lanterns glowed through the thick mists rolling in with the gentle waves upon the shore nearby. He didn't look at his lord and commander, lest he give away his indifference.

"Perhaps," Saizō allowed. "After all, I'm only human. Of course, so are the Uchiha."

"I'm not in the mood for your riddles. If you've got something to say, out with it. Otherwise, I'm throwing you out."

"No riddles, my lord. Just that there are two ways to look at this situation. Surely a man of your experience can recognize an opportunity this ripe for the taking?"

Sanada tapped the rim of his cup. "What do you mean, 'opportunity'?"

Please, at least try to stand up for yourself.

"The Uchiha returned to Uzushiogakure for medical attention. They're badly injured after the campaign."

"I've no desire to engage the Uchiha," Sanada grumbled. "Besides, my spies tell me the Senju are there, too. You don't think I've lasted this long because I chased losing battles."

"Of course not. But you just said it yourself: the Senju are also in Uzushiogakure. There is your opportunity to strike."

"You're not half as bright as you like to think you are." Sanada sipped his sake and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, leaving a thin trail of saliva on the fabric. "My father was like you, you know. Thought the Uchiha and the Senju were his ticket to the shogunate. But shinobi are not like us samurai: you lot work for money, not loyalty. Eventually, both sides betrayed him, too caught up in their own petty feuding. Do you know what happens to people who get in the middle of Uchiha and Senju?"

"Enlighten me."

"Have you ever heard of my father?"

"I can't say I have."

"Exactly. Because he lost what matters most when he decided to get involved with the Uchiha and the Senju. His men abandoned him, even his own family. Not even his memory survived. It's a fate worse than death. But not me. Those two, they'll destroy each other one day. I'd rather sit back and let them. That kind of mindless battle lust is all you shinobi know."

Saizō kneeled on the tatami mat and rested his hands on the low table. "It's exactly that which I'm counting on. Uchiha and Senju gathered in one place. Doesn't that intrigue you at all?"

"I want no part of their feud."

Saizō shook his head. "Certainly not. And I'm sure the Uzumaki don't, either. Such a shame, really."

"What are you getting at?"

"The campaign may have been a bust, but I prefer to think of it as a first step. Shukaku didn't appear, sadly. I suppose we didn't shed enough blood. If we'd staged the battle somewhere more populous, though, maybe we could have lured the beast out."

Sanada was silent a moment. "The Uchiha and Senju are in Uzushiogakure."

"Which is a large settlement full of shinobi and civilians," Saizō added.

"If I were to attack Uzushiogakure, maybe it would be enough to draw the beast out."

Saizō poured himself a cup of Sanada's expensive sake. "Now, there's a thought."

"The Uchiha and the Senju hate each other... They'll be too busy fighting each other to deal with my forces. The Uzumaki are no fighters. It would be a bloody massacre." Sanada turned red with glee, his eyes glazed and the cogs turning beneath his shiny, bald head. "I'll be damned, it's just sitting there waiting for me."

Saizō said nothing, calculating his silence for Sanada to convince himself beyond the shadow of a doubt. He raised his cup. "Does this mean you've made a decision, my lord?"

Sanada bared his teeth in a grin and clinked his refilled cup with Saizō's. "We march at dawn."

Saizō smiled, his colorless lips twisting in a smirk that Sasuke had always told him gave him the creeps. "What an excellent idea."

Hashirama hadn't counted on spending the day with Mito, but he'd lost track of time and stopped caring. He still hadn't figured out what had upset her when he ran into her, but whatever it was no longer mattered. She laughed around him, and he racked his brain for anything that would make her laugh some more.

"No, you must be joking. Your poor brother!" she said in between giggles.

"It's true!" Hashirama said. "He's really the best Suiton user I've ever known, but the guy can't get anywhere near water. It's pretty silly."

"More like downright ridiculous." She ran her fingers through her long hair, twisting it behind her back.

"You should've seen the boat ride here from the mainland. He couldn't keep his lunch down. Aw, I felt a little bad about it."

Mito snorted. "Please. Everyone gets their sea legs. Your brother will just have to make a more concerted effort."

They had wandered into the garden outside the rooms Ensui had set aside for the visiting Senju clan. Hashirama led the way, walking backwards so he could see Mito.

"What's this about your brother?"

Tōka stood in the doorway to the garden, having overheard Hashirama and Mito's conversation and come out to see what was going on. Hashirama gave her a lopsided smile and waved, noting her loose yukata. Everyone was relaxing here. Something about this little place made him want to lie back and just stare at the blue sky. Perhaps it had a similar effect on the others.

"Tōka! Oh, you must meet Mito. Come on!" Hashirama took Mito by the hand and led her to the porch.

"Lady Mito, it's my pleasure. Your father speaks very highly of you," Tōka said.

"Please, just Mito. And the pleasure is all mine. I'm embarrassed to say I was in a mood this morning when Hashirama found me on the beach. I can hardly remember what had me so down."

Tōka smirked. "He's got that effect. I think he secretes something. No one's figured it out."

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?" Hashirama asked.

Mito and Tōka ignored his distress.

"Mito, you should join us for lunch. I'm sure the others will be happy to finally meet you now that you've recovered from the campaign up north."

Mito smiled. "I'd be delighted, thank you."

Tōka led Mito inside. Hashirama frowned and sniffed his shoulder, then his hands, then his armpit.

"I don't think I secrete anything..." he mumbled. "Oh, hey, wait for me!"

He jogged after the two women and followed them to the small dining hall where Tobirama and Sasuke were already sitting down for the midday meal. Tōka was busy making the introductions when he slumped down next to Tobirama. The dining hall was more of a room with a long table taking up most of the space. Various dishes sat along the middle, already missing food. Hashirama rubbed his hands together and tried to decide what he wanted.

"So this is the famous Tobirama," Mito said. "Your brother has told me so much about you."

Tobirama frowned. "All terrible things, I'm sure."

"Aw, don't be like that, Tobi," Hashirama said through a mouthful of crab and potato croquette.

"I hear you're not much of a sailor," Mito said with a teasing smile.

Tobirama rested his head in his hand as though it pained him to keep his head upright in the face of such gratuitous shame. "See what I mean?"

Sasuke patted Tobirama's back. "Lighten up, kid. You gotta admit it's pretty pathetic that you get as queasy as a newborn when you're on a boat."

"I hate all of you," Tobirama grumbled sourly. "Mito, I apologize for my family and for everything they have ever done and ever will do to you."

Mito laughed lightly.

"Say, Mito," Hashirama said. "How'd the campaign go? You worked pretty closely with the Uchiha, I hear. What'd you think of them?"

Tōka gazed fixedly at her soup, which had become the most fascinating dish on the table to her, while Tobirama's dour expression fell even more. Mito suppressed a shiver at the palpably chilly atmosphere mere mention of the Uchiha had brought out of the Senju family.

"I realize I'm not among any friends of the Uchiha here," Mito began, "but nevertheless, I will say that they were highly professional and dependable in battle. I was grateful for their expertise and input, both in our political dealings and on the battlefield."

Hashirama smiled, all but oblivious to the sourness his family members exuded. "I'm glad to hear that."

Mito blinked, surprised at his candor and puzzling support. Her surprise must have shown because Hashirama had a thoughtful look on his face as he watched her.

"Listen, I'm not really involved in this family feud," Sasuke said, "so I'll say this for the Uchiha. They know how to fight, and you gotta give 'em some credit for that. There's a reason they can go toe to toe with the Senju."

"I think you're severely overestimating their capabilities," Tobirama interjected. "They only know one thing: the kill. It's like giving a drunkard the keys to the liquor cabinet. Once they start, they just don't stop. Before you know it, you got a mess of vomit and entrails to clean up and nothing to show for it but a headache."

"Well, that's pretty disgusting to think about," Sasuke said.

"I agree," Tōka said. "They're fighting to defend themselves, true, but they go overboard. They always have."

Tobirama and Tōka exchanged a look, but Hashirama thought little of it. He knew how close the two of them were, and he was happy to let them keep their secrets so long as they didn't get in the way of the clan's objectives.

"Still, don't you guys think you're being a little harsh?" Hashirama said. "At the end of the day, the Uchiha aren't so different from us. We've wronged them just as much as they've wronged us. How can we sit here and look down on them when we're no better?"

Tobirama said, "Because we're right."

"I just think there's a better way," Hashirama said more to himself than to his irascible brother. "There's gotta be. It's not about who's right and who's wrong. It's about figuring out a compromise that'll work for everyone."

"And here we go again." Tobirama crossed his arms. "You know, Hashi, a dream's just a dream. And where the Uchiha are concerned, it's a goddamned nightmare."

"They will never forgive us, and we can never forgive them," Tōka said. "There is too much blood between us."

Hashirama sighed. As usual, he was outnumbered.

"What do you think, Mito?" Sasuke asked. "You just worked with them. Think there's any hope?"

Hashirama watched their guest as she took a moment to contemplate Sasuke's question.

"It's not my place to say," she began. "But, if one were speaking hypothetically, I suppose this sort of situation is historically dismal. Both sides have incurred tremendous losses, and both sides have a right to demand retribution. It's a cycle that has repeated since time immemorial. But...I believe in the power of individuals to rise above the limitations of the group. If someone truly extraordinary were to demand change, others might listen. Traditions are not so easily broken, but that doesn't mean they're immutable."

Her gaze was far away, as though she were remembering something. Her words resonated with Hashirama, like she'd read his mind and said everything he could not.

"Yeah, I think you're exactly right," he said. "I wanna believe that, too."

Mito met his gaze and held it. She was young and green under the heavy weight of her title. But at the same time, her words carried a kind of wisdom he was sure he could never grasp. It was in the way she held herself, the way she walked, the way she smiled at just the right time. Everything, so perfectly planned and guarded. Leaving only that single moment of unguarded vulnerability that brought her to life, the truth underneath the layers of fine silk, and he couldn't look away.

"Lena, join us!" Sasuke said.

Mito and Hashirama broke eye contact, and Hashirama noticed the kind serving maid, Lena, trying in vain to pull away from Sasuke, who had her by the hand.

"Oh, no, I couldn't. I have so much work to do, m'lord."

"Just Sasuke, please, I insist. And come on, you work so hard. Everyone's gotta eat."

"I don't think I should..."

"Lena, please join us," Mito said. "I won't need your help this afternoon, so you've got the rest of the day off."

Lena blushed. "Oh, well, that's very kind, Lady Mito."

"Perfect! Come on, you've gotta try this lobster pâté, I mean, I didn't even know you could make lobster pâté. Amazing, right?" Sasuke said, scooting over to make room for Lena.

She laughed. "I've had it many times, m'lo—I mean, Sasuke. I make it myself."

"No way! Really? Wait, what else can you make?"

"Like I said, apologies in advance," Tobirama said to Mito across the table.

Mito and Tōka laughed, but Hashirama could only smile. It was so nice to have others join them. To remind him that there was more in the world than just the fight. That he was more than just the leader of a great shinobi clan. Sometimes, it was okay just to break bread with friends and family, forget the world. Smile.

He could really get used to this.

Like the tide that inevitably returns to shore, Hashirama could not help but think of Madara after a while. He watched the tide now as it rose and flooded the rocky beaches of Uzushiogakure, unrelenting, tireless, faithful. No matter how far he went, how high he rose, he always remembered Madara, whose memory flooded him like the tide coming in. Unrelenting, tireless, faithful. The last time they'd crossed swords had been some months before, and as usual it had ended in a bloody retreat. It was always the same, always a fight, but one neither of them could ever win. One Hashirama wasn't sure he wanted to win.

But he couldn't tell Tobirama that. He couldn't tell anyone that.

Getting away from the Senju hall was so easy that he hadn't even realized he was doing it. The night was young, the sun had barely set, and the edges of twilight still cast a low glow over the village. Moonflowers were just waking up to greet their pale god, their fleshy petals thick and white as milk. They bloomed brighter with Hashirama's passing, though he paid them no mind. The air was warm and damp, too warm even for the summer yukata he wore, so he pulled his long hair back in a ponytail to fend off the heat. There was no one about.

"You there. Identify yourself."

No one except the Uchiha, watchers in the night.

Hashirama stepped into the light and met the soldier's gaze, but he said nothing. The Uchiha soldier, no older than Hashirama himself, backtracked a few steps and drew his sword. His eyes bled red with fear and confusion at the sight of his mortal enemy.

"Hashirama Senju," he spat.

"This is neutral ground, Uchiha," Hashirama said. "Think before you attack me."

The Uchiha soldier snarled. "What do you want?"

"I only want a word with Madara."

"He doesn't want any words with you."

"I'll let Madara decide that."

Footsteps.

"Hikaku? What's going on?"

Another Uchiha emerged from the dwelling, one Hashirama recognized instantly.

"Izuna," he said.

Izuna stiffened. "Hashirama. What brings you here?"

"I want to speak with your brother. Would that be all right with you?"

"Izuna, this is crazy. We can't just let him in," Hikaku hissed.

Izuna watched Hashirama, his gaze heavy. "We don't have a choice. I'm not strong enough to defeat him, and neither are you."

"I'm not here to fight you," Hashirama said, taking a step forward.

Izuna chuckled. "Don't you get it? We're always fighting. It's our nature."

Hashirama's expression fell. Izuna had always been harder to read than Madara. Tobirama was constantly complaining about how difficult he was, as an opponent on the battlefield and at the negotiating table, but Hashirama had never paid Izuna much attention when he could count on Tobirama to take care of the problem in his stead. Something told him that was a mistake, but he didn't have the time to dwell on it now.

"I have no intention of fighting now. But I do intend to speak to your brother."

"I can't stop you," Izuna said. "Follow me."

Hashirama followed Izuna inside down a hardwood hallway, much like the corridors the Senju occupied. They passed several closed doors until finally arriving at the one at the end of the hall on the left.

"I'll wait here," Izuna said.

The warning was clear: try anything, and Hashirama would have to deal with Izuna personally.

"Thank you," he said, pulling back the sliding door and entering the room.

It was sparsely furnished, but what was present was lavish. The dresser was carved of pure mahogany, and a low table sat in the center of the room with a porcelain tea set, hand painted. A balcony opened up overlooking a garden brimming with moonflowers and begonias. Lightning bugs had just begun to wander the shadows, searching for mates with their scintillating patterns. A light breeze filtered in from outside.

Madara sat on the porch. The Uchiha fan stared back at Hashirama from his back.

"What do you want?" he asked.

Hashirama approached and took a seat next to Madara. The last rays of daylight were slowly disappearing below the horizon, and the moon was rising in the east.

"You know what I want."

Madara chuckled. "You never change."

His hair was longer, unruly. It suited him. So young, and Hashirama felt like they were old men reminiscing about a lifetime past. Perhaps they were, in a way. But so much had changed. They just didn't want to admit it.

"But you have. I heard about Tajima. I'm sorry."

Madara stared steadfastly ahead, his jaw set and his gaze hard. He said nothing.

"You lead the Uchiha now," Hashirama went on. "You did it, just like you said you would."

"Is that what you told yourself when you watched your father die in your arms?"

Hashirama frowned at Madara's barely concealed hostility. "You know what I mean."

"No, I'm sure I don't."

Madara stood up, and Hashirama rose to meet him.

"If you mean you know what it's like to murder your own father because you were too weak to see the difference, then yes, I have an idea of what you mean."

"Madara," Hashirama tried.

"Stop, you don't know what it's like. You don't. Why are you even here? Are you ready to die?"

Hashirama laid his hands on Madara's shoulders and gripped him firmly. "Stop this. I'm here because I know how difficult this is for you."

Madara shoved him away. "What the hell do you know? Do you have any idea what I went through? What it did to me?"

Hashirama slumped. He was a generous three inches taller than Madara, and even slouching didn't make up for the difference.

"I know what it's like to lose a father," Hashirama said softly. "And more importantly, I know you're my friend. You shouldn't have to go through it alone."

Madara sneered. "Don't patronize me. As soon as I've legitimized my succession, I'm coming for you. And besides, I'm not alone. You forget that you're not the only one with a brother."

But your brother doesn't understand! he wanted to say.

My brother doesn't understand...

The words never came. There was never any convincing Madara.

"And what about our dream? Have you forgotten it?" Hashirama said.

Madara turned away. "No, I haven't. But it's not possible right now. Don't be so naïve."

Hashirama chuckled. "I guess I am naïve for wishing for peace. For a place where even Uchiha and Senju can coexist without bloodshed." He gestured to the garden and the ocean beyond. "A place like this."

"It's not that simple, Hashirama. You know that."

"Why can't it be?" Hashirama showed Madara his palms, imploring. "Why can't we do it? Don't lie to me. I know you want peace as much as I do. So why don't we just do it?"

"Because my father's dead!" Madara shouted. "Because Haruka's blind and she'll never fight again. Because your brothers are dead." He paused a moment to rein in his temper. "How can we build anything when their ghosts are haunting us? How I can possibly let you live when they're dead?"

"I don't know. But we have to try, don't we? We made a promise that day by the Naka River. I haven't forgotten it. Have you?"

Madara didn't answer. It was no use. For years they had clashed in battle, driven by a blood inheritance and old grudges. Hashirama could not deny that there was a part of him that wanted to kill Madara for his part in the slaughter of countless Senju, good men and women. But the better man in him knew further violence wasn't the answer. The better man in him remembered being a child. Remembered his first friend and the promise they'd made to each other. The good in them both.

"I believe in the power of individuals to rise above the limitations of the group," Mito had declared only hours ago.

Hashirama believed it, too. But the heart is not so easily persuaded. He turned to leave. There would be no talking to Madara like this. Just as Hashirama reached the door, Madara's voice stopped him.

"I haven't forgotten, but I made my father a promise, too. I can't put you before them. I won't. I'm... I'm all they have now."

Hashirama gripped the door frame and forced himself not to look back. "I know. That's why you'll make a great leader. Peace can wait."

Your family can't.

"Thank you," Madara said softly.

Hashirama smiled sadly and nodded to himself. He left without another word.

Like a child, Mito avoided Satto all day, content to get to know the Senju and keep to herself. She took dinner in her room alone so Lena could have the evening off, just as she'd promised. She wasn't hiding, she was just not ready to make amends.

"I should apologize," she admitted to the empty space in front of her dresser mirror.

She and Satto rarely fought, and Mito had never been the type to hold a grudge. But she had her pride, and he wasn't right, besides. There was no way she could abide sacrificing the innocent lives of others just so she could live another day, princess or not. There had to be another way to do things.

"You can't change the rules of the game," her father would say. "But you can learn them and win."

"People's lives aren't a game," Mito said to her reflection.

Aren't they?

With all the senseless death she'd seen in only one battle, it was easy to feel disgusted. But what about the battles she hadn't been in? The ones Hashirama had won to earn his reputation? The ones Madara had fought as a child soldier? Wasn't this life, this world where children fought the wars of men and a name was all the difference between murder and justice just a race to the bottom?

Mito's hair hung about her shoulders, loose, and she wore a simple summer yukata. The windows overlooking the garden outside were open, and she could make out the waning moon in the sky. It was late, but the air was warm and crisp with salt. One whiff and her room was suddenly too stuffy, too cramped. She rubbed her arms to dispel the sensation of crawling bugs on her skin, but nothing helped. She had to get out.

Her feet carried her over the grass and cobblestone walkways far away. The night lanterns offered a rutilant glow, casting their light on the ground and the blooming moonflowers. She picked up speed and ran with the wind in her hair, breathing deeper as though starved of air all this time. Lightning bugs danced at her feet and lit her silent path. It was easy to fool herself into thinking this was an accident, she hadn't been thinking, hadn't been looking where she was going, it was just a coincidence. But when Mito arrived at the porch surrounding Madara's garden-view quarters, she stopped pretending.

Out of breath, Mito stood among the flowers and the flickering fireflies. Now that she was here, there was no way she was turning back. She took the first step onto the porch.

"You're up late."

Another step. The glow of Madara's Sharingan appeared somewhere inside beyond where the light of the moon could not reach.

"Couldn't sleep," she said.

"So you're back to your old self, I gather."

Another step.

"Not at all. I don't think I could ever go back to that."

"No," Madara said. "I suppose none of us can."

Mito reached the top step of the porch, but she lingered just outside beyond the cover of darkness within. Only shadows divided Madara and her now, but he reached across the threshold and held a hand out for her. Moonlight bathed his offered hand in white light.

"Come with me," he said.

His words were so soft that had she not been so close to the edge of him, she would not have heard his entreaty at all. Her body ached with something she had never known, something his words had awakened in her, and she wanted nothing more than to cross the divide and go with him to wherever he was, a place far away from here.

And why not? Why not...

She took his hand and stepped into the shadows of his room, swathed herself in him and the night and the salty air that made her breathe deeper with every breath. His hands were in her hair, pulling at it as she pulled at him, down onto soft sheets and a place for just them. He kissed like a dying man, sad and divinely beautiful as he held onto something precious that might disappear, smoke through his fingers. Full of both longing and remorse for the things that awaited them beyond this velvet night, that had not yet happened.

He ran his hands down the length of her, clothes forgotten on the floor at their feet, and she was flooded in a kind of death that was more beautiful than all the life she'd lived until this moment.

It wasn't the sun that woke Mito.

In fact, it was a distinct lack of warmth that stirred her from a deep, languid sleep the likes of which he had not known in a long time. She pushed back her long mane of hair and sat up in bed. The sheets fell to her hips, but in the darkness there was no point in hiding her bare form. Cool, night breeze raised gooseflesh on her arms, but she resisted the urge to rub them. The lightning bugs had long since extinguished their fires, plunging the island into a vortex of moonlight and crashing waves with only shadows to meet them in between.

Madara stood at the doorway to the garden. His long hair reached his bare mid-back, and he had pulled on a pair of black, cotton pants. His back was to her.

"Madara," she called softly.

"What if I'm wrong?" he asked in a small voice, unsure, uncertain like he never was in front of others. "What if everything I've done is wrong?"

"It's not," Mito said with quiet confidence.

"You don't know that."

Mito rose from the bed to join him. She embraced him from behind and breathed him in deeply. He smelled of the night chill, of salt, of smoke, of her.

"The dream you told me about," Mito said. "Do you really think it's possible? To change the world and make our own rules?"

He covered her hands around his waist with his. Dark eyes looked past the garden to the ocean beyond, to the ominous whirlpools with their black, depthless centers.

"I think it's all in the timing," he admitted at length. "If you don't have that perfect moment, then you have nothing at all."

She rested her head on his strong shoulder blades and kissed him softly. "The time isn't right yet. Be patient. The world can't change overnight."

He turned to face her and wrapped an arm around her waist. The worry lines on his brow were plain to see so close even in the dark, and she was rendered speechless by his vulnerable candor with her. "But it can fall apart," he said. "You would be surprised at what can perish in just one night."

Mito touched a hand to his temple and traced the outline of his dark eye, the one that had bled tears when he'd summoned the black, demonic fires that had eaten his adoptive brother alive. The flames that had changed the tide of the campaign.

"Even if the world falls apart, those who remain can put the pieces back together."

Madara sighed tiredly and slouched. Mito held him up, and he ran his fingers through her hair. His shoulder sat just under her chin, and she left butterfly kisses along the side of his neck. Madara tensed and pulled back. He gripped the sides of her face in both hands and held her gaze, searching, remembering, longing. He gritted his teeth, like he wanted to say something, but the stubborn words never came. Mito smiled and traced his lips with her fingers, chapped but warm.

"I know," she said, drawing him back to those soft sheets and shadows.

They didn't fall asleep again until dawn.

When she woke for a second time, it was to men shouting somewhere far away. She sat up in bed, but Madara remained prostrate with an arm over his eyes.

"Now what?" he grumbled.

Mito strained her hearing. "Madara, I think something's wrong."

He sat up in bed next to her and activated the Sharingan. "It's the Uchiha. They're breaking formation."

He got out of bed and pulled on some pants before heading to the door. Mito dressed quickly and jogged after him. Outside in the hall, the usual guard was gone. Madara looked up and down the hall and spotted someone.

"Hikaku," he called. "What's going on?"

Hikaku jogged toward Madara and Mito, his shoes clicking and clacking against the hardwood floor. Mito frowned. Why was he wearing shoes inside?

"I was just going to wake you," Hikaku said. "One of our scouts spotted ships heading this way. Not supply ships."

"And Izuna?" Madara asked.

"I'll fetch him."

"No, I will. What are we dealing with?"

"No one knows yet, but they're coming fast."

"What did the ships look like?" Mito asked.

Hikaku spared her a glance but immediately looked away. A faint blush dusted his tanned cheeks. Of course, seeing her sleep tousled so early in the morning coming out of Madara's room would lead him to the obvious conclusion. She remembered him from the time she'd tried to see Madara on the way back to Uzushiogakure, and he had blocked her way. At least he had the courtesy not to ask aloud why she was here now.

"That's just it," Hikaku said. "They all looked different. Doesn't mean anything."

"It means something," Mito insisted. "What did they look like?"

"Hikaku, answer her," Madara ordered.

Hikaku gritted his teeth. "Some had red sails. Others had blue. They all bore six black circles, stacked three on three, with square holes."

Mito paled. "That's Yukimura Sanada's sigil. He must be launching a counter strike. But we just fought him!"

"That's exactly the point," Madara said. "Strike while we're weak and injured. Damnit, the Senju are here, too."

Mito put the picture together faster than he could explain it. "Oh no, Madara, you have to make sure the Uchiha don't turn this into a feud with the Senju. This is my family's home. We have to work together to protect it!"

"I know, I know," he hissed, already headed back to his room to find more appropriate attire.

"Hey, for all we know, the Senju could be working with Sanada," Hikaku said, joining the two of them in Madara's room.

"They're not," Madara said.

"But how do you know—"

"Because I know!"

Hikaku snarled and marched straight up to Madara, taking him by the shoulder. "Listen, Madara. I defer to you, and I respect you. But don't treat me like I'm beneath you. You were the runt in my age group, don't forget."

Madara grabbed Hikaku's wrist and brought it down with a twist. "I haven't forgotten. But the Senju don't have anything to do with this, believe me."

Hikaku wrested out of Madara's grip and glared. "It's not about getting me to believe you; it's about the others. This timing's too convenient, and you know it. What the hell're we gonna do?"

"I'm going to find my brother. You're going to take her back to her father."

"What?" Mito said, aghast. "You can't be serious. I'm staying with you."

"No, you're not." Madara pulled linen and leather from his dresser, threw it on the floor, and opened up the armoire that stored his painted red armor. "This isn't a discussion."

Mito pushed him against the wall all of a sudden with a strength he was surprised she possessed. In his shock, he didn't fight her.

"It's a discussion if I have a potential coup on my hands that you can't get under control," Mito said. "We have a common enemy here, yes, but I don't know if all the Uchiha can see that."

Madara wrapped his hands around her wrists and lowered his voice. "I'll deal with that. You need to get back to your father and make sure he's dealing with it, too. Sanada isn't here to trade words; he's here to trade swords. Trust me, this is my element."

Mito glared at him, hating that he was right and hating herself even more for letting her emotions cloud her judgment. But the Uchiha had a reputation for a reason, and one man, no matter how visionary or powerful, could not possibly stand against an entire clan if bloodlust won them over. She had to find Hashirama, warn him, make sure he was ready just in case. And she had to prepare herself, as well. This was not a negotiation; it was a declaration of war.

"Fine," she said. "Just...be careful, please."

Hikaku shot Madara a deprecating look over his shoulder as he followed Mito out.

As soon as Mito and Hikaku were gone, Madara quickly dressed and ran to Izuna's room, but Izuna was nowhere to be found. Outside, Uchiha soldiers ran about relaying news, asking about orders, and generally getting nothing done in the chaos of what was shaping up to be a bloody invasion. Madara spotted three of Tajima's most respected generals gathered to discuss the situation and approached.

"They're coming from the north. I counted at least ten on the horizon when I was patrolling this morning," said Yurima, a middle-aged man with slick, silver hair and a thin nose.

"So what the hell're we doing here?" asked Risa, the lone female of the group. "It's time to get off this island. We're sitting ducks." She was a severe woman with her brown hair wound tightly in a bun at the base of her skull, narrow eyes, and a papercut mouth. She was decked out in thick armor from head to toe and an enormous battle axe strapped to her back.

"No, it's those damned Senju. I bet you they're working together with the invaders," said Goro, the third Uchiha general. He was a bald man with a thick beard and mustache and only one eye. An eye patch covered the hollow hole where his other eye had been ripped out years ago in his soldier days.

"The invaders are the rest of Yukimura Sanada's army," Madara said, drawing their attention. "My guess is they're taking advantage of our vulnerable position to attack. The Senju have nothing to do with this."

Risa snarled. "All the more reason to get off this godforsaken island. We still have many wounded. We can't fight all these enemies on our own."

"We owe the Uzumaki a debt for their hospitality," Madara said.

Goro grumbled something under his breath, and Madara turned on him. "What was that, General Goro?"

Goro puffed out his chest and crossed his thickset arms. "I said, why should we listen to you? We went along with everything because Lord Tajima was one of the greatest leaders the Uchiha have ever produced. But you're a lowborn bastard. Maybe he thought he was doing you a favor, but we know better."

"Do you, now," Madara said softly.

"Yes, we do. You're no more the leader of this clan than I am. Who's to say you didn't kill Tajima of your own free will just to make a grab for the title and played it off like his only trueborn son betrayed him?"

Madara moved faster than the eye could see and savagely hit Goro square in the solar plexus. The bald man fell, and Madara pinned him on the ground. The Sharingan glowed angry and unseeing.

"How dare you," Madara said.

Goro's eyes activated his own Sharingan. Despite the portly General's compromising position, he showed no fear. "It's too convenient. All of a sudden, we're supposed to bow down to you? A fucking sewer rat? Not on your life, kid."

Chakra stretched the optical nerves in Madara's eyes to the point of rupture. The world came alive in colors the normal eye could not perceive, a kaleidoscope of power and pain, born of hatred and wielded with honor. Madara's eyes changed, and Goro could only stare, petrified, as the fear finally found him.

"This sewer rat is the best of all of you," Madara said. "I carry this burden for my father, rest his soul. For all of you. Brutes like you only respect power, so show me some fucking respect."

There was a moment of tense silence as Risa and Yurima looked on, unsure whether to help their comrade or back off. Madara's transformed Sharingan gave them pause, having seen the chaos and destruction its black flames had wrought for themselves. Goro swallowed hard and began to sweat, his bald head flushing a fantastic shade of crimson, ready to pop. To be this close to whatever this power was, fable or no, was enough to get anyone's attention. He remembered what it had done during Kenshin's campaign, and he had no desire to be on the receiving end of it the way Tajitsu had been.

"F-Forgive me," he said, swallowing more as his mouth produced too much saliva in his nervousness. "I don't want to fight you."

Madara pushed off him and glanced at the other two. They didn't look happy, but no one made a fuss.

"If we're going to win this, I need your help rallying anyone who can fight. I want a perimeter at the shoreline. No one gets inland. And no one attacks the Senju. Am I clear?"

Risa nodded, but she avoided direct eye contact.

Yurima said, "If they attack us, surely you don't expect us not to fight back."

"I expect you to focus on the true enemy here." He pointed in the direction of the sea. "Any issues you have with me or with the Senju can wait until after we secure the island."

They acknowledged their understanding of Madara's orders and took off to do his bidding. Goro pulled himself up and gave Madara a wide berth. "What'll you do?"

"I'm going to defend our wounded. My father taught me that the Uchiha must always come first."

Madara didn't linger. He could only hope his puffery had cowed Goro and the others into submission enough to see reason. For now, if they did not focus their attacks on the invaders, there may not be an Uchiha clan left to deal with the Senju after.

The hospital where Haruka and other wounded Uchiha clansmen were recovering was on a grassy knoll near the shore, and Madara wasn't taking any chances with its proximity to the water. He ran the entire way, noting the eerie silence despite the morning hour. Only the waves broke in the distance, like bells tolling a tide that would overflow and slowly drown this island.

Madara drew his katana. Izuna was already at the hospital talking to one of the staff. One of his tantō was bloody.

"Izuna," Madara said as he joined his brother.

"Good, you're here," Izuna said. "I was visiting Haruka earlier this morning when we were attacked here. The invaders sent an assassin group ahead of the ships."

Madara's anger made his hands shake. The gall. "Is she all right?"

"She's fine. The others are, too. I was here, and the Uzumaki medical ninja helped me fight off the enemy."

Madara looked around. "I don't see many bodies."

A few shinobi lay in bleeding heaps outside the hospital, but he could count them on one hand.

Izuna shook his head. "Some got away. I think there might be more. I don't know for sure—"

Boom!

Madara and Izuna ducked to the ground, and the Uzumaki doctor backtracked inside the hospital.

"What was that?" Izuna asked.

"I don't know. But whatever it is, it's coming. Izuna."

"Yes?"

"Go to the shoreline. The generals still don't accept me as their leader. I need you there to ensure nothing goes wrong."

"What do you mean, 'wrong'?"

"Some of them think the Senju might be in on this."

Izuna's eyes flashed red. Though smaller than Madara in height and in temper, the Senju were one of the few and true avenues to Izuna's fiery rage befitting of any Uchiha. "Are they? It's convenient timing, especially with many of our kin injured."

"No. Hashirama fights fair. If you can't trust him, then trust me."

Izuna did not look appeased, but he nodded. "I trust you, brother. You know that."

Madara put a hand on Izuna's head and touched their foreheads together in a sign of affection. "Then make sure everyone at the shoreline stays focused on the real enemy, no matter what happens."

Izuna sighed. He was not thrilled about the prospect, but he would never betray Madara's trust in him. "You have my word."

"Good."

"What about you?"

Madara stood up and eyed the bodies Izuna had dealt with earlier. "I'm staying here. There enemy is too numerous. I'll stop them before they can get to our wounded."

"Alone? But you can't—"

"I'm not alone. I have you stopping them before they can even dock. You and I are one, never forget that."

Izuna shook his head. "Never."

"Go."

Izuna took off toward the shoreline, and Madara watched him go through the lurid filter of the Sharingan. Others were still here, shadow assassins skulking about somewhere. But they couldn't hide from his eyes.

"No one gets through," he whispered to himself. "No one."

Mito and Hikaku ran along tortuous paths through gardens and around buildings towards the private Uzumaki family chambers. It was quiet despite the onslaught of invasion on the horizon. They didn't have much time.

Hikaku, however, lagged behind as he continued to scan the area, searching for something that would not escape his gifted eyes. His dark, chestnut hair hung in his face where his topknot failed to hold it back. He was breathing through his teeth, the tension he radiated almost palpable at the height of paranoia.

"Keep up if you're coming," Mito said as she fell into step with him. "The faster we get there, the faster you can get back to Madara."

"Something's not right," Hikaku said. "It's too quiet."

"Mornings are always quiet," Mito said as they ran.

The sound of steel scraping against leather drew her attention. Hikaku had drawn his chokutō and slowed to a walk. Mito saw no one around. There was hardly a sound.

"Hikaku, what is it?" she pressed, some of his paranoia rubbing off on her before she could help it.

The air shifted, compressed to a fine line next to Mito's ear. Hikaku lunged and she fell to the right, reacting without thinking. The clang of metal sent a spike of adrenaline to Mito's heart, and she landed on shaking hands and feet, eyes wide and searching for what she'd been blind to see before. A kunai lay embedded in the ground near Hikaku's feet, narrowly deflected, and his Sharingan blazed as he stared into the thick of lavender bushes up ahead.

All at once, a barrage of kunai flew from the bushes and headed straight for Mito and Hikaku. Hikaku twisted with his sword and deflected them, one by two by three, in a display of swordsmanship that would have left Mito in awe if she'd bothered to remain useless on the ground and watch. While Hikaku was busy not getting impaled, Mito rolled to the side and flung a seashell toward the bushes, one of the ones she always carried on her person no matter the occasion or company. It exploded on contact and released a wave of snail acid that burned through the lavender bush as though it were made of tissue paper. Someone screamed and ran from the fast-decomposing bush. Some of the acid had gotten on his arm, the pain crippling, as Mito knew from personal experience. She sprinted after him just as Hikaku recovered from the hail of kunai.

The enemy saw her coming, but he was too slow with his new injury. Mito whirled in midair and, in a display of fluid misdirection that was the cornerstone of the Whirlpool technique, she drew his attention away from her leg that clocked him under the jaw with showy twirls and spins. As he fell, she swung her elbow around and hit him in the back of the neck. He was out before he reached the ground.

"What the hell what that?! He could've killed you when you jumped the gun like that!" Hikaku said.

"But he didn't, and now he won't be ambushing anybody else. Let's keep moving, there're probably more if he got this far."

Hikaku grumbled some indecent curse under his breath, but followed Mito as she resumed their flight to the Uzumaki palace. On their way, two more invaders caught their tail and gave chase. Hikaku warned Mito when he noticed them long before she did, and he skidded to a halt and executed a round of hand seals.

"Go!" he called to Mito.

Mito hesitated, unwilling to leave someone Madara trusted behind. Hikaku released a Great Fireball that slammed into their dogged pursuers. Mito shied away from the heat and skipped backward along the path. If it hadn't killed them, it had surely slowed them down. Her father's garden was just up ahead, so she made a break for it. No one was in the lounge, and without bothering to kick off her shoes, Mito sprinted out the door and down the hall toward her room. Her armor sat in a chest at the foot of a full-length mirror, and she hastily strapped it on: arm guards, leg bracers, chest plate, pants, the works. Her loose, long hair she didn't bother with; there was no time, and this was no beauty pageant she was about to jump into.

Dashing out again, she tried her father's private receiving chambers, hoping to run into him and either inform him of what was happening or get an update on what the Uzumaki were doing to counter it. Luck was on her side, and he was there with her young cousin, Inari.

Hashirama was also there.

"Of course, we'll help in any way we can," Hashirama was saying in a haste. "I've already sent my brother and others to the shoreline to greet the intruders. But we're going to need more manpower."

"I'll lead my soldiers myself," Ensui said as he quickly but carefully strapped on his arm guards. He wore a full suit of whalebone and leather armor emblazoned with the Uzumaki clan's sigil.

"Father," Mito said, winded. "There are infiltrators that have already breached the island. I think they were sent ahead as assassins."

Inari ran to Mito and grabbed her flowing pant leg. He looked up at her with big, wet, blue eyes. Scared. She patted his head and offered him a small smile.

"Mito, there are you," Ensui said. "Take Inari to the safehouses. I want you two safe while we deal with this insurrection."

Mito gaped. "What? But Father, I have to help you fight. I have no idea how many more stealth agents have penetrated the island, but I know they're still out there. And once Sanada's army docks, we'll be overwhelmed in numbers."

"We need all the strength we can get if we're going to stop this level of invasion with as few casualties as possible," Hashirama said.

Emboldened by Hashirama's tacit support, Mito said, "Please, Father. I'm not a weak little girl hiding behind you. This is my home, too, and I can't stand by to watch its people die for a cause that isn't theirs. I can fight, so let me help you."

Ensui was taken aback by his daughter's vehemence, but she stood her ground under his withering gaze. Hashirama said nothing further, but to have his support was a greater comfort than Mito would have expected. Realizing he was outnumbered and without the luxury to argue at a time like this, Ensui unhappily relented.

"Fine, but take Inari to safety first. Report to me when you're finished. If you're fighting, then you're fighting under my command. Am I understood?"

Mito bowed in respect. "Yes, Father."

"Hashirama, I thank you and the Senju for your support. We'll need every bit of it."

Hashirama nodded. "Of course. You have it."

Ensui left and Mito made to follow with Inari. Before she left, however, she spared Hashirama a smile.

"Thank you. Your support meant a lot back there."

He put a hand on her shoulder, but he didn't return her smile. "Don't thank me. If you can fight, then fight. Don't let anyone stand in your way."

Maybe it was the moment, or the depth in his eyes that seemed to see something she could not. Maybe it was just him, whatever power possessed him that made him Hashirama Senju, the leader and the man and an ally she never knew she wanted until this moment. But she believed him, every word, every muscle in her body, like this was what she had been wanting to express for so long and had never found a way around the life that others had laid out for her.

"I can fight," she said, softly but with confidence.

He did smile this time. "Then maybe you can watch my back out there. I wouldn't mind having an Uzumaki on my team."

He left to attend to the Senju and their part in the fight. Inari, just seven years old, only reached her waist in height, and he clutched her hand in his. Mito ruffled his curly, red hair.

"Mito?" he whispered in a tinny, child's voice. "I'm scared."

"I know, but that's why I'm here to keep you safe, okay?"

Inari nodded numbly, bravely holding back his tears, and she led him out the back toward the safe houses.

Somewhere far away, the first ship of Sanada's naval fleet weighed anchor onshore, having bypassed the whirlpools safely. Saizō Kirigakure took his first step onto Uzumaki land, his small feet sinking into the wet sand. He took a deep breath, refreshed.

"Now," he said to the shinobi and kunoichi who disembarked behind him, armed to the teeth with jutsu and blade alike. "Let's go wake up a god."