Title: The Journey of a Hero
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or its characters. This is a fanfiction rewrite.
Author's Note: I humbly acknowledge that my writing skills might not be top-tier. If anyone is interested in assisting me with enhancing this story, please don't hesitate to mention it in your review. I'm determined to make this my finest work, and I believe it has the potential. This rewrite is based on a long-forgotten story I began a long time ago. Additionally, I apologize for any deviation from canon regarding Hashirama's death that may occur in this narrative.
**Chapter 1: Passing and Reawakening**
Above the village of Konoha, the night sky hung heavy with darkness, and a massive thunderstorm rumbled through. At the heart of this tempest, a group of elite shinobi stood gathered around a solitary bed. Within it rested the most exceptional shinobi of his era, if not of all time. Each of the high-ranking shinobi encircling him owed their lives to the legendary figure now before them. The faces of these accomplished warriors reflected profound sorrow and apprehension. You see, the figure lying in that bed was none other than Hashirama Senju – the visionary founder of Konohagakure, its inaugural Hokage.
Hashirama's strength had been waning steadily ever since his fateful clash with Madara Uchiha – a battle of such intensity that it had transformed the very landscape upon which it unfolded. It's a tale fraught with melancholy, as there was once a bond of brotherhood and rivalry between Hashirama and Madara. Tragically, Madara's unquenchable thirst for power had been tainted further by the eternal Sharingan. In their climactic confrontation, Hashirama had been compelled to employ his most potent sealing technique against Madara. This was necessary to prevent further bloodshed and to neutralize his adversary's capacity for sowing conflict.
Drawing a deep breath, Hashirama gazed at his loved ones and allies. The hourglass of his life was rapidly emptying, and he grasped the limitations of mortality. He resolved to meet his end with the dignity and poise befitting a true shinobi. As his eyes scanned the assembly, he discerned the presence of the Senju clan, his heart swelling with warmth as he spotted his granddaughter Tsunade standing at a respectful distance. His affection for her was immeasurable, and he fervently wished for her to relish the era of peace that had eluded him for all too brief a span.
He reminisced about the days when clans would engage in conflict solely for monetary gain. This realization was the impetus behind his establishment of Konohagakure. His hope was that by founding a village where all clans could coexist harmoniously, the era of battles for profit would cease. He acknowledged that this wasn't the definitive solution; wars still raged across the globe. However, their frequency and intensity had diminished since the inception of Konoha. This was a solace he could carry to his eventual grave – a grave that bore with it the fact that he had put a halt to Madara. You see, Madara played a pivotal role in orchestrating the ongoing conflicts and would have obliterated Konoha if given the chance.
A sudden pang of pain coursed through Hashirama's body, signaling that his time was drawing nearer than he had hoped. His composed demeanor masked the agony lurking beneath. He wished to spare his friends and family the worry in his final moments.
"Please, everyone, lend your ears to the last words of this Hokage," Hashirama proclaimed with an air of pride. "I shall soon embark on my journey beyond."
"Lord Hokage, you can't! You're far too important to us, to all of us. To me!" Hito's voice quavered, her words brimming with unshed tears.
"I regret causing you the most distress, my beloved wife, but my options are few," Hashirama conveyed to his cherished family, his gaze encompassing them. "My departure is imminent, for each of us must eventually face our maker. This happens to be my time. Fear not. Just as one flame is extinguished, others shall rise, and the flame will grow. In this manner, the initial flame never truly perishes, as it lives on anew within others."
Hashirama turned his gaze toward his younger brother. "Tobirama, henceforth, it is your responsibility to safeguard my people. You are now the guardian of the flame. Ensuring its survival falls to you."
"Hashirama, I shall uphold your wishes. You have my word," Tobirama said, his voice thick with emotion.
"Very well. I have faith in you. Tsunade, please come forward," Hashirama beckoned softly.
"Yes, Grandfather," Tsunade responded, her voice fragile as she fought to contain her emotions.
"Tsunade, this is my most precious possession," Hashirama shared, retrieving an item from around his neck. "Receive it, and always remember that you are a Senju."
"Of course," Tsunade replied through her tears as she accepted the necklace.
With Tsunade's retreat back into the gathering, Hashirama smiled gently, then reclined. He had accomplished all he desired, except for achieving the perfect peace he had yearned for. That regret would accompany him to the grave. Perhaps someday, a shinobi greater than him would fulfill that dream.
"Cherish this, engrave it in your hearts," Hashirama uttered, drawing a deep breath. "The citizens of the Leaf collectively compose the great body that is the Leaf itself. Those who believe in the village – for whom I've believed, for whom future Hokages will believe – fortify this village. Unite your efforts, do not disdain any part of the village, and remain steadfast on the path of justice. Lastly, remember your Konoha lineage and support one another, even with your lives."
With those final words, Hashirama closed his eyes for the last time. A moment later, Tobirama led the assembly outside, knowing his brother had departed. Tobirama, too, wished to weep, yet he comprehended his role as Hokage. That time would have to wait, as he must orchestrate his own brother's funeral and ready Konoha for the future.
Hashirama's eyes fluttered open, revealing a world spread out beneath him. It was an unfamiliar sight, as if he had become a specter observing the realm of the living. He surveyed his surroundings, discovering the presence of other shinobi – those he had crossed swords with during his lifetime, those he knew had already departed from the mortal coil. This realization provided him with a clear understanding of his current state.
"Hashirama Senju, welcome to the afterlife," intoned a deep voice, and Hashirama turned to face the speaker.
"Lord Shinigami," Hashirama greeted with a respectful bow. "What does this mean? What am I seeing?"
"That, Hashirama, is the world of the living. Our plight in this realm is to bear witness to them, unable to offer our aid to those we may wish to help."
"I comprehend," Hashirama murmured, his gaze still fixed on the bustling world beneath, a mixture of curiosity and sorrow in his eyes.
"Remember, if you linger too long in your observation, you may find it difficult to fully transition into this world," cautioned Shinigami.
"Very well, but I yearn to understand – can my dream ever be realized?" Hashirama inquired, his voice laden with a desire for insight.
"If that is your desire," Shinigami responded, leaving the choice in Hashirama's hands.
Hashirama sat in his ethereal vantage point, an observer of the passage of time for what felt like years upon years. He witnessed the unfolding of history as Tobirama assumed leadership of the village, steering it toward greater heights. Yet, he bore the painful burden of watching his own brother's life conclude. When Tobirama traversed to the next realm, Hashirama chose not to extend a greeting, his connection to the living world having grown so profound that he was virtually ensnared by it.
A smile graced Hashirama's features as he beheld the rise of Hiruzen Sarutobi – his cherished student – ascending to the position of Hokage. Each skillful decision made by Hiruzen filled Hashirama with a sense of pride, though moments of disappointment surfaced when his favorite pupil ventured astray. Hashirama's watchful gaze extended to Tsunade as well. He swelled with pride when she earned the title of Sannin, yet suffered alongside her at the loss of Nawaki and Dan, her beloved. Wars, fleeting peace, heartache, and darkness – the tapestry of human experience unfolded before his eyes. However, there were also instances of brilliant light that flickered within the shadows. Despite it all, his ultimate dream remained unrealized, and so he persisted in his vigil.
"Hashirama… Hashirama!" The voice of Shinigami reverberated, rousing the attention of the First Hokage.
"What is it? I am engrossed in this, as you can clearly see," Hashirama responded, his focus still tied to the world below.
"You have been immersed in your observation for five decades," Shinigami informed him. "Your tenacity is remarkable. I've never encountered someone so tethered to their dream that they would scrutinize the living world with such intensity."
Hashirama's gaze remained unwavering as he replied, "So, what is your purpose in interrupting me?"
"You are something unique indeed. As the guardian of dreams and souls, I'm intrigued by your devotion. It's time to remind you of your choice."
Hashirama's interest piqued, he inquired, "And what choice is that?"
"To re-enter the world you hold so dear, relinquishing this watchful role, or to remain here as a specter of observation."
Hashirama's eyes flickered, torn between his attachment to the world and his desire to see his dream realized.
"In order for change to take place, one avenue remains open: you must be reborn into the world of the living, inhabiting a new vessel. Since you have never been fully integrated into the realm of the deceased, rebirth is a possibility," Shinigami explained.
Hashirama's response was swift, "Agreed. I am in favor of this."
"Keep in mind, though, upon your rebirth, you won't retain any awareness of being Hashirama reborn. Your memories and skills will be obscured," Shinigami cautioned. "Furthermore, your chakra system will be damaged during the rebirth process. It will take approximately a dozen years for it to recover its normal functionality. During this period, you won't possess the ability to employ genjutsu or ninjutsu techniques."
"Very well. If that is the path, I shall focus on becoming a master of taijutsu until my chakra faculties are restored. I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to safeguard my home and see my dream fulfilled."
"Excellent. The journey shall commence then."
Author's Note: Many thanks for immersing yourself in this chapter. Whether you have insights, a desire to contribute, or simply enjoyed the tale, your feedback is greatly appreciated. Until next time.
The night enveloped everything, with darkness reigning supreme. Even the luminous moon withheld its light from the earth. Amidst the obscurity, a cluster of huts emerged, some bathed in warm light, while others remained as impenetrable as the night itself. Within one such hut, a young boy sat, his gaze fixated on the flickering flames that illuminated the space. As the flames danced, his mind wandered, contemplating how long his family and people would remain in their current location. History taught him that their sojourns rarely exceeded a few weeks. While he appreciated the diverse sights he encountered, he yearned for a semblance of permanence.
Footsteps resonated, signifying his father's entrance into the room. Raising his gaze, the boy's face lit up in a smile. His father embodied all the qualities he aspired to embody – strength, honor, and boundless hope. He was resolved to follow in his father's footsteps, unwavering in his pursuit. Evident in his father's demeanor were pride and potency. In that moment, the boy held the conviction that his father was a titan among men, rivaling even the fabled Sage of the Six Paths, and he dismissed any skepticism that dared to challenge this belief.
In a heartbeat, the scene shifted. The boy found himself traversing a vast plain, quicksilver motions propelling him forward. Daylight bathed the surroundings, a multitude of individuals poised for combat. Amidst the spectacle, a group of shinobi encircled the caravan he was part of. Once more, they were on the move, venturing towards new horizons. The youth and his peers were nestled within a mobile village, guarded by a cordon of vigilant shinobi, akin to a phalanx of sharks patrolling their territory, preemptively quashing any potential threat.
The boy's attention sharpened as three unfamiliar figures materialized, their pace brisk and coordinated, converging upon his location. Although he struggled to discern their features, their hostile intent was unmistakable. Before his eyes, the guardian shinobi sprang into action, intersecting with the assailants in a flurry of incomprehensible movements. By the time the skirmish concluded, all that remained were the lifeless bodies of the attackers. Their futile endeavor bewildered him. Why squander lives so heedlessly? Such recklessness served no purpose. While he found relief in their failure, an underlying sorrow persisted, a melancholy for lives wasted. He hoped for a world transformed, free from such senseless acts. Abruptly, a cacophonous crash erupted, and the world he knew dissolved into oblivion.
Abruptly, a young boy jolted awake, the tendrils of a dream slipping through his fingers, his consciousness reintegrating with reality. He found himself not within a hut akin to those he had seen in his dreams, but instead in a modest room, its sole window framing the emergence of a new day's light. Descending from his bed, the orphan traversed into what could be termed a kitchen, albeit a rudimentary one, consisting of a small table and a cupboard stocked with provisions. While orphans typically dispersed to different living situations, he had been allowed to stay with his infrequent uncle – a trader who visited Konoha only once a year. Consequently, his living arrangements were intentionally unadorned to curtail costs. The boy's uncle would have taken him along, but the boy's aspiration was to become a shinobi, a pursuit that necessitated attending the Konoha Academy. Moreover, his understanding of the shinobi realm was limited. Thus, he was permitted to reside alone, armed with adequate funds for sustenance.
A hasty breakfast concluded, he assembled his belongings for the day and hurried out, initiating the commencement of his day. Unconventional in his approach, this boy's journey deviated from the conventional path of his peers. Instead of commencing his studies at the academy like other children, he initiated his day at the training grounds proximate to the institution. Here, he devoted an hour to honing his punches, kicks, and overall physical prowess. Exhausting as it was, he comprehended that these endeavors were imperative for him to manifest his shinobi potential. His dreams of the mysterious boy spurred him onward, compelling him to strive for an ideal that seemed unattainably distant.
Upon concluding his regimen, he departed the training grounds as abruptly as he had arrived, hastening toward the academy. While his initial sprint from the training area to the academy had attracted curious glances, he now encountered friendly smiles and waves from those he passed. Darting into the school, he went unnoticed by his fellow students who were preoccupied with their own concerns. Seating himself in the middle of the front row, he promptly retrieved a sheet of paper and a pencil, ready to capture the teachings of their instructor.
Diligently, he transcribed every word uttered by the sensei, ensuring that every essential detail, be it related to training techniques or concepts, was committed to memory. Today's lesson revolved around the transformation jutsu, a topic of particular interest to him.
"Class, we're about to delve into the transformation jutsu," the sensei declared, addressing the students. "Rock Lee, you seem to have taken meticulous notes. Why don't you give it a shot first?"
Rock Lee stepped to the front of the room, swiftly perusing his notes to confirm his memory of the three requisite hand seals for the jutsu. This ought to be a straightforward endeavor, or so he hoped. Nodding at his sensei, he executed the hand seals with precision, yet to his dismay, nothing transpired. He remained stationary, a perplexed expression dominating his features.
"Lee, give it another attempt. Focus your chakra better, and the jutsu will take over," the sensei advised with a reassuring tone.
"Of course," Lee muttered to himself, repeating the hand seals with the same outcome – a failure that persisted with each subsequent attempt.
"Lee, we'll have to work on that later. Now, can a volunteer come up and demonstrate?" the sensei inquired.
As Lee ambled away, a sense of disillusionment shadowed him. How had he faltered so spectacularly? While he had yet to dabble in ninjutsu, he had believed that it would come naturally to him. It was disheartening to observe his classmates performing the jutsu with ease, even those who had paid minimal attention during class. Why had they succeeded while he struggled? It felt unjust, as though the world were mocking him.