The flickering myriad of candles painted an amber sanctuary from the icy dark of winter outside. Thin smoke like the fabric of lost spirits rose in ethereal wisps, ghosting through the edges and symmetry of the gabled ceiling. The only light that shone through the smoky dark of the shrine was that of the many candles' flames, swaying in soundless song.

Laid in the heart of the flames, Sakura was cast in gold and amber, her paleness muted in the light. Her eyes were closed; her expression was peaceful. Candles outlined her dark-swathed figure in a thronging crowd, warming her shadowed figure.

Madara lifted his head slightly from where he knelt at her side, his face hidden in falls of flamelit hair.

He paused, and after a moment, his brows furrowed; as the tall double-doors behind him fell back shut, he inclined his head once more.

Madara remained unmoving as a shadow crossed his side and knelt beside him.

The light shivered in reaction as a cracked hand settled between the candles. He watched with narrowed eyes as branches began to emerge beneath the shadowed palm; the serrated edge of his stare tempered slightly as the branches took shape, curling forward in a recognisable pattern. With every movement thoughtful and controlled, the wild growth curled around Sakura's body in a wreathlike nest, avoiding the candle flames. Buds pushed through dark bark and wooded knots, resting against her robes and caressing the edges of her form.

The cracked hand withdrew with a slight gesture of his fingers.

In a vast bloom of petaled colour, a thousand cherry blossoms unfurled around Sakura at once. The golden light shivered across the satin flowers, drawing along her flamelit expression of unconscious peace in an intangible caress of warmth.

Silence settled across the expanse of the shrine. Unmoving and silent, Madara closed his eyes once more.

When he finally spoke, Hashirama's voice was cautious, but gentle. "Is there anything that can be done?"

Madara's exhale rippled the flames, and he turned shadowed eyes to Hashirama.

With an understanding grimace, Hashirama looked back to where the girl lay. He settled further where he knelt beside Madara, the plates of his armour grating with quiet clicks as he inclined his head with respect.

Was she dead? He frowned as his gaze swept over her beautiful figure, and he saw that she did still breathe, though slowly. She appeared healthy enough, if pale, but he knew all too well that appearances are deceiving. Even without Madara's concerningly somber mood, it was clear that something was terribly wrong with her.

Hashirama's curious gaze shifted from Sakura's unconscious body to where Madara stared down at her. He opened his mouth, then shut it, debating which question was worth being the first one and finding himself conflicted between many.

Hashirama's experienced gaze swept over Madara once, registering a host of details. The third eye and white hair still struck him as odd, even after all these months seeing him like this in glimpses as he was accompanying Team Seven. Even with few words exchanged since the dawn of the war, Hashirama could tell Madara was different beyond being the jinchūriki host to the Ten-Tails. It was not the change of going mad with power, nor the craze of bloodlust; not the lethal, impatient rage he'd emanated while chasing down the team for nearly a year now. He had seen Madara in such states many times in the distant past.

Hashirama blinked, eyeing Madara more carefully. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept in days or even weeks; his features, though technically young as around thirty, looked haggard and almost aged. Though his aura still burned with power and danger as it always had, there was a certain new kind of darkness that shifted around him now that Hashirama had never seen around him before — and he knew, beyond all the other signs of the shrine and her carefully laid-out body — that it had to do with her.

He cleared his throat, hoping Madara would be at least somewhat open to talking. Perhaps there was still hope.

"Madara…" Hashirama shifted where he sat, a thousand questions waiting in line behind the first he chose. "What happened?"

"Genjutsu." Madara reached out and adjusted a candle that was too close to one string of cherry blossoms, elaborating no further.

Hashirama held back a sigh. It was already generous of Madara to allow him here in this vigil, and he knew this. He was going to have to be more directed and specific in his queries, yet still tread carefully, if he wanted any chance to get somewhere in this conversation. Beyond his personal curiosity, he wanted to see if he could yet still make a real difference, to learn the truth at its core for the sake of those who awaited him outside, and to perhaps to yet turn the tides of this war.

Hashirama hummed quietly to himself, deciding to hazard a guess. "You cast her in genjutsu… but did not intend for her to die." He continued to eye Madara, observant and grim.

His expression tightened with surprise upon seeing Madara's confirming scowl. "The fool convinced me," Madara replied acidically, "convinced me to let her see my memories in full. Waited until I was in a persuadable state that she… pushed me to." A branch broke in his fingers, his anger tensing his shoulders where he hunched at her side. "I shouldn't have let her near me at all. I didn't think she could affect me."

"You showed her your life through genjutsu? Isn't that dangerous? I think I've heard of other Uchiha using similar techniques before, but with intent to harm." Hashirama blinked at Sakura's still figure, a knot between his brows. "Why would she ask for such a thing? I'm surprised she didn't use whatever chance she had to get you to end the war, instead."

Madara showed no visible reaction, but Hashirama could feel the darkness around him grow heavier, more oppressive. Anger, Hashirama confirmed to himself, frowning at him once more. Madara's anger was too familiar, and he recognised it with ease, though it was still off this time; deeper, more intense.

Hashirama chose to press onwards, shelving the answers he had already been given, though he held a cautious tone as he ventured, "She was… suspicious? She did not trust your words, and wanted more definitive evidence of who you are, after allying with you?" He frowned, unconvinced by his own theory, but not willing to guess others.

"No." Madara shook his head slowly. "She had much more foolish intentions than that." He continued to watch where Sakura slept, her expression twitching slightly in her rest. "Sharingan genjutsu is powerful, but the Rinnegan takes it to a level that is a perfect parallel to reality. Even I overestimated my control of it." He closed his eyes, the lines of stress deepening around his expression. "She fully immersed, for nearly every one of the hundred or so years she lived within it."

Hashirama watched him worriedly. "I see."

"No, you don't see," Madara hissed back, glaring over at him, "she cursed herself to shadow a century of my past. She threw away her life for nothing." He broke several more branches beneath a furious fist. "She lived in a past that she should never have even witnessed in the first place. It was a risk, and it was a waste."

Hashirama hid his surprise at Madara's vehemence; he replied after a pause, waiting until Madara's words echoed into silence over Sakura's body. "How… do you know?"

A haunted look pooled behind Madara's metallic eyes in answer. He looked back down at Sakura, his expression drawn. "As it is the nature of such a genjutsu, I received my own copy of her memories upon her awakening." His voice quieted, the furrows of anger lessening from his tone. "Regardless of knowing it was not so, it feels as if she did stand by my side, all these years. The fool…" Madara inclined his head, his dark eyes shifting down to his gloved hands, his fingers twitching. "Too vivid; too much detail. I cannot forget now what I've seen of it." He sighed, closing his eyes. "A waste…"

Hashirama set a cracked hand upon Madara's shoulder.

Silence, beyond the soft crackles of the candle flames; somewhere beyond the longstanding wooden walls, the wind howled on through the night. Twinned in the amber light, hunched in the criss-crossed shadows and seeping quiet, they sat together in silence.

Sakura's brows twitched in her deep sleep. Her expression of peace faltered, her body tensing where she lay back, and two sets of aged eyes watched as she took in a slow, slightly ragged breath; after a pause, her features relaxed, and her body grew slack once more. A heartbeat later, and she continued to breathe, a slight crackling audible in each lungful.

The air seemed to grow ever heavier, and Hashirama looked to Madara with a sense of reassurance and hope. "Perhaps she can still be saved."

"No." Madara took in a slow, slightly unsteady breath. "She is dying, and it is not just from the genjutsu's strain." He sat back, silvery hair falling around his face. "She is dying of old age as well. She has already lived for far longer than she should have."

Hashirama frowned down at Sakura as Madara shook his head, his voice trailing off. "For all this power…" He stared down at his fingers, flexing them. "I cannot stop her death."

After a long pause, their gazes lifted; Hashirama looked with Madara at the gods painted upon the walls, their visages blurred by the candle smoke. "Where did I go wrong with it all, Hashirama?"

"I don't believe it was really you that went wrong; not at first." Hashirama's dark eyes slid over the small shrine, across the shadows, and he knew his words translated in double-meaning far beyond the beautiful woman at their knees, echoing into the remembrances of their lives. "I know that you meant well in the end."

He saw Madara glance back down to Sakura, serene in her unconsciousness. Hashirama watched with silent, hidden amazement as Madara drew a caressing hand along her features; pain twitched in his expression, and he withdrew from her like he had been burned, looking to Hashirama. "Did you feel like this with your wife?"

Taken aback, Hashirama blinked at him a few times before smiling.

Madara scowled. "Never mind."

"Yes, after a time." Hashirama folded his arms. Ah, how he missed his Mito. This Sakura reminded him so much of her – they even shared the same purple diamond mark on their foreheads, and a similar haunting attractiveness, Mito's hair a rich deep red while Sakura's was a lovely pale pink falling in sweeps around her face. He wanted almost absurdly to congratulate Madara on capturing the heart of such a beautiful woman, and he quickly dismissed the urge to tease him, though it echoed in his head anyway. It only took you an entire century, Hashirama bit back as Madara's imperious stare softened upon Sakura, this girl who would seem so unlikely a choice, yet is clearly, tragically, the right one.

Hashirama frowned at her pale, almost ghostly visage. He could easily understand the draw to her beauty, and though he had seen little of her while awake, he'd heard the many tales of her bravery, strength, and courage, told from her teammates that anxiously awaited news of her condition. Is she actually a Senju? Did Tsuna have a daughter? Hashirama wondered — but Sakura was dying, and all the humour left his expression as he watched the anguish burn behind Madara's eyes.

Hashirama sighed, returning his hands to his knees as he sat beside Madara in his vigil. He eyed him from the side, a hundred stories from Sakura's teammates circling in his head. "I heard that she abandoned her life for you."

"It was a mistake." Madara's gloves creaked through his fists. "I should have just killed her in the beginning."

Startled, Hashirama scowled, turning to him with an offended expression. "You can't be serious, Madara. It is far better to have loved and lost than to never love at all."

"It is better to feel nothing."

"You're wrong. There is —"

A hand flashed out and gripped Hashirama's throat, cutting off his words, and Hashirama stared with wide eyes as Madara shook slightly, his tone steely but wavering at the edges. "Leave me."

"Let me help," Hashirama managed before breaking Madara's hold on his neck, brushing himself off, and flinched as Madara slashed at him with a hand, cutting off an arm that grew back in white shreds. Hashirama made a warding gesture with his hands, hope fighting frustration in his voice. "Or at least consider: she would have wanted you to end this war, Madara. I know of her from what her teammates have said. She cared passionately for them, and clearly for you as well. She knew the Infinite Tsukuyomi was wrong."

Hashirama stepped back as Madara turned to him with a snarl, his wild eyes flashing. "I said leave."

"But what if —"

"Now."

Darkness furled around Madara's jagged figure; Hashirama leapt back as an ethereal skeletal arm emerged from his aura, slashing at him with a burning blade. Pushing open the doors to the shrine, Hashirama looked back one more time.

Hashirama finally recognised it, standing in the doorway and observing Madara as he leaned over Sakura once more. He hadn't believed it, though it had been clear from the start – hadn't thought it possible, but it was drawn through every line of Madara's shadowed figure, shading him into the dark but for the light warming her still figure. Grief, and Hashirama withdrew with sorrow not only for Sakura, but for them both.


Sakura laid back against the crook of a tree, sitting high up in the branches. She gazed upon the spread of glittering lights before her with smiling eyes, far beneath the clifftop she looked out over. There was a festival going on; scents of dango and flame rose through leaf musk to her nose. Distant music played, the streets below glowing like lights drawn in bright brush strokes. Civilians and shinobi alike were colourful moving dots from this far away, making Sakura much like the carved faces in the cliff a stone's throw from her dangling feet.

Sakura glanced to her side at the black cat lazing on the branch beside her. She ran her hand absentmindedly along the soft fur of his back before looking back out over the nightlife of Konoha. "Beautiful, isn't it?" she asked, offering him a wry half-smile. His scarlet eyes glowed through the dark, shifting from her to the sight of the village.

She closed her eyes, tasting the wind, the scents of the forest, the cool breath of night surrounding her in a chilly embrace. Her thoughts drifted to the faces on the cliffside. She hadn't paid attention to how many were there, having seen each carved from the beginning to the end, from Hashirama to Tsunade. Sakura's brows twitched at the thought that the majority of the Hokages had been Senju.

Music rose in gentle beats, and Sakura sighed, indecisive. Part of her wanted to jump down and join in to the lively throng far below; to mingle with friends, to feel the warmth of the paper lanterns and partake in streetside treats. She'd done it before, though some of the joy of it had faded over the years, having grown lonely.

She held herself back, where she perched on this tree, watching the world from above. It brought her a sense of calm and peace that pleased her secretly introverted soul, and the solitude in nature smoothed the wrinkles in Sakura's heart, easing a buried ache. Staring down at the bustling, vivacious world of her village, she felt distant from it all, like she was a star in the sky.

"It really is beautiful."

Sakura's eyes opened wide as a familiar voice spoke at her side.

"Perhaps," Izuna went on, the night lights glinting in his dark eyes as he watched Konoha swirl with colour, "perhaps I was wrong to speak against it, if this is how their vision of peace turned out." He glanced at Sakura with a knowing look.

Sakura's mouth opened and shut. She looked Izuna up and down where he leaned back on the branch next to her, his kindly eyes both smug and expectant.

Recovering from her shock, Sakura scowled at him, folding her arms. "Sure, you wait to acknowledge me until now."

A startled look slackened Izuna's features before he laughed, pressing a hand to his chest. "Hah! And here I thought I'd be the one taking you off guard." He shook his head before humming, regarding Sakura with unruffled calm once more. "But I did acknowledge you before. Long ago, in fact."

She looked between Izuna and the branch they sat upon, realising her cat companion was gone; Izuna sat beside her in the cat's stead. Sakura narrowed her eyes at him, wondering, and he nodded in confirmation. "You didn't think it was odd that a cat within the genjutsu could see you, noticing you? The one thing that did?" Izuna ran a hand through his thick raven hair, blinking at Sakura. "And… lived as long as you did?"

"I don't understand." Sakura turned away from the sight of Konoha to face Izuna fully. Her fingers tapped along her arms, her frown deepening. "I mean, I'm glad to finally speak to you," she amended in a rush, "but… this is just a dream." She searched Izuna's face, his countenance so familiar to her; a host of memories bubbled in her mind, countless recollections of meals at his side, of innumerable clan meetings sitting between him and Madara, of battles in tandem as a powerful trio. She remembered the day he died, and she flinched, looking away.

"I see it in your face," Izuna sighed. "I won't accept any apologies. You remember now that it was genjutsu. You can't blame yourself for being unable to stop any of us from dying."

Sakura remained silent, closing her eyes, and she jumped slightly when he set a hand on her shoulder. When she looked back to Izuna, his kindly smile had returned. "And yes. This, is just a dream. You're going to wake up soon, but I wanted to make sure I spoke with you before you do."

"Were you really—?" Sakura was beginning to successfully process it: the red-eyed black cat that had brought her comfort so many times in the genjutsu was unusual in the very least, and she searched Izuna's face intensely as she began to truly understand. "The cat… was you, the whole time? The real you; not the genjutsu? How is it possible?"

Izuna pointed to his luminescent red irises, grinning down at her. "You forget it was my eyes that put you in that genjutsu."

"So, what," Sakura sputtered, "you're saying… there's a piece of you that lives on in the Rinnegans, or —?"

"Yep." Izuna stretched his arms, his joints cracking as he did so. Sakura blinked at him, and he offered her a sly smile. "I wasn't just going to watch you suffer the whole time. Keeping an eye on you was the original intent, but I grew to like you." He hummed thoughtfully, looking out over the glittering night lights of Konoha. "It's a shame. You and your monstrous strength, tenacity, stubbornness… you were scary in the best way. You could have turned the tides for our clan." Izuna snorted to himself. "In more ways than one. It's no wonder… you two are a perfect match."

"Wh… what?" Sakura reddened, waving her hands at Izuna in embarrassment. "I've no idea what you're saying. I mean…"

Izuna rolled his eyes at her. "Come on. You were over the moon for my brother since the start of the genjutsu. I saw the way you looked at him through the years. You're talented at a lot of things, Sakura, but subtlety is not one of them."

Sakura scowled at him, sinking back against the trunk of the tree; Izuna chuckled at her ire. "Don't worry, I'm not here just to make fun of you, though that is entertaining." He patted her on the arm with a catlike smile. "I'm here to let you know —"

Izuna wheezed a puff of cold night air as Sakura pulled him to her in a rough embrace, her face pressing into his shoulder. After a moment, he curled his arms around her, resting his chin atop her head. She hugged him tightly, successfully fighting back a wave of tears, though her throat was tight. "Thank you," she managed, remembering the countless times he had brought her reassurance and warmth through decades that no one else had. "...thank you."

"Hn." Izuna sighed, rubbing Sakura's back with an affectionate hand. "I'm only sorry that I can't wish you many more happy years with Madara." He pulled back, and Sakura searched Izuna's grim expression with a thrill of fear in her heart; rarely did he look so serious, not since his final days. "What do you mean?" she asked softly.

"Look, it's not my place to spell that out to you. I'm sure that he'll tell you, once you wake up." Izuna glanced away. "...poor big brother. This is hard on you, but it'll be harder on him. Idiot's only just realised…"

"Just tell me."

When Izuna met Sakura's eye again, he observed her deadly seriousness. He sighed. "You're a very old soul now. Your body is not catching up well."

"I'll manage." She cracked her knuckles, looking down at her hands with a frown. "I'll find a way to pull through the aftereffects. I have to. I still have so much to do… so much to say."

Izuna eyed her worriedly, adjusting where he leaned on the branch; the crinkle about his eyes was wistful. "I would make sure you use your next stretch of consciousness well."

Sakura lifted her head, sitting up tall with her fierce confidence. "It's all right. I will." She set a hand on Izuna's knee, her lips curving up in a genuine smile. "You'll chat with me again in the future?"

Izuna laughed softly. "Yes. I will." He exhaled, glancing at her affectionately. "I already consider you a sister of mine."

Sakura reddened, shifting where she sat; Izuna looked out at the horizon, where dawn was beginning to bleed through the deep azure skies. "Ah; it's time." He stood, offering Sakura a hand and helping her to her feet. She looked down at her hand with a furrow between her brows as she felt something glow between their palms, curling up her arm. "A gift," Izuna explained, releasing her and stepping back. "In case you need a helping hand out there."

She looked up at him, her throat too tight to speak, and his easy smile returned, the warmth in his eyes an ocean deep. "Make sure you tell my idiot brother how you feel before it's too late. He might be sharp, but he's still pretty oblivious sometimes." He smirked to himself. "I think my gift will help wake him up a little."

"I'll try," Sakura squeaked, and Izuna's warm laugh was the last thing she heard, the dream world fizzling around her in a cloud of light.


Sakura's consciousness continued to float through a mellow glow, flickering between recollections like a mote of light between fading clouds. She dreamt of dark gazes, soft murmurs, and sunlight through soft screen walls. Years of light, years of shadow; silence, and songs of breaths, the play of heat and cold from skin to skin.

Fluttering eyes, and Sakura gradually awakened. She felt her body slow in the drift of time, halting gently against something like she'd come ashore; she wondered where she might emerge. She remembered her anchors from before: a bed in a small apartment in Konoha, or upon the mat between dark-haired Uchiha; a bedroll in a dark tent beside several different sets of watchful eyes. She also remembered a sunny room with Uchiha prints on the walls somewhere in Konoha, a childhood bedroom painted in pinks so long ago she could barely recall it, and beyond that, her place at the side of a cold stone throne, her body aging and aching from long, endless nights.

Touch, down her face, lingering and gentle like she might break. Sakura's eyelids fluttered again, her skin singing from the caress. She leaned into it, and it disappeared. Another dream?

She opened her eyes in time to see the hand retract, and shifted her attention to the face overshadowing hers. She read the haggard expression across Madara's face. Echoes behind the glow of her awakening told her she hadn't seen him look like this since Izuna's passing.

In a determined, sudden movement, Sakura forced her body to sit up. She turned towards him, her face alight with inexorable joy. "Hey! You won't believe it," she said in a rush, not so much as noticing it as she steadied herself on inexplicable branches of cherry blossoms and candlelight that surrounded her. Sakura beamed at Madara, heart pounding at the sight of him while her blood raced with excitement from what she had learned in her dreams. She wasn't aware of her own clarity, the completeness of how much she was herself again.

"I had the most amazing dream," she went on as Madara adjusted where he sat, moving candles out of the space between them, his expression darkening with pain once more. "So there was this cat, that accompanied me through all the years of the genjutsu," Sakura chattered brightly, not noticing Madara's sheer intensity as he reached for her, "I don't know if you know any specifics about what I did throughout your memories in the genjutsu, but you wouldn't believe who my cat really —"

Sakura's words were cut short as she found herself pulled hard against Madara's chest, arms ensnaring her slender figure. Fingers slid up the back of her head through her hair; his nose pressed through her long pink locks, and he held her almost harshly, his exhale deflating his frame that surrounded hers.

Smiling softly, Sakura relaxed, curling her arms around Madara's back. Heart slowing to a content thrum, she melted in his grip as candlelight danced and the distant wind howled beyond the walls.

Sakura's body burned with pain, shooting like acid through every muscle, and she ignored it; a different ache borne from her soul caused her to hold on to Madara more tightly, knowing this might be the last time she ever could. With his warmth surrounding her, she was able to slip away into the moment, wanting this feeling to be timeless; neverending. As her eyes closed, listening to the long-familiar sound of his heartbeat, she knew — this was it. No matter where she awoke, no matter what time she found herself in, here was where she belonged. Here, was home.


A shadow of blue and black landed silently into the clearing, white hair adrift over his cracked, pale complexion. His flame-coloured irises set in black scleras narrowed as he got to his feet. Adjusting the metal face-guard that protected his forehead and jaw, Tobirama folded his arms, waiting with barely-leashed impatience.

His dark blue armour clinked as he shifted forward, and he stepped into the swirling portal without hesitation, brushing a thin layer of sparkling snow from his shoulders. "It's just me," came his deep growl as he moved through the planes, his voice carrying between both. The portal dissipated behind him in response, and he stamped his feet once upon the concrete ground he now stood upon, more snow shaking away from his figure.

Five silhouettes awaited him, backlit in flame where a campfire created some of the only light and colour in the entire dimension behind them. Tobirama sighed as Naruto was the first to approach, his usual cheer entirely gone in a set expression of worry and stress. "Hey. Did you hear anything? Did you see her?" he asked. "And where is…?"

"Hashirama needs to think, it seems." Tobirama's growl deepened. "I told him now was not the time, but he insisted."

"Is he all right?" Naruto asked concernedly while Obito's voice rasped through the air, cutting and cold. "What does that mean for the plan, then?"

"I'm uncertain if he has changed his mind." Tobirama brushed off more ice from his armour, thoroughly annoyed with the cold; though he couldn't feel it in this undead edo-tensei form he wore, the way it crusted on the metal plates and made his movements louder was wearisome. He disliked winter.

He disliked being the messenger in this situation even more, and he met Naruto's eyes, his own expression grim. He had hoped Hashirama would be here to have this talk. Damn his sentimentality; it annoyed him still that he was taking the time to wallow after speaking with Madara. It was already foolish for Hashirama to have approached him at all, even if he had done so with the original intent of getting some kind of insight as to what was going on with the pink-haired girl.

Said girl was the concern on the minds of most who awaited his answers now, and Tobirama eyed Naruto as he considered how to say it. With his fingers tapping along his arms, he let out a long, wintry sigh. "Dismiss your previous plans for a rescue that you've been harbouring. Not only would it be suicide, but it's useless now." He scowled. "It figures. I saw this coming. Not only did she try to trust an Uchiha, but it was Uchiha Madara. There was no hope for her plan from the beginning."

Obito appeared beside Naruto, the dangerous, unforgiving glint of his dark eyes matching that of Kakashi and Sasuke's. The lines cutting spiralling curves in his features seemed deeper than ever, emphasised by stress and shadow. "Spit it out."

Though unintimidated, Tobirama sensed the tension emanating from everyone around him, and he gave another weary sigh. Even with his personal detachment from this situation, he did understand their pain; they cared for the girl and her fate, regardless of her actions. Deciding that this merited somewhat more gentility than he would usually use, Tobirama recalled his own attachments in life, bringing forth some lost sympathy from within —- after all, Naruto reminded him all too much of a younger, even more sentimental Hashirama.

Ignoring Obito, Tobirama set a hand on Naruto's shoulder, his voice softening somewhat. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Your teammate is dead." His features hardened. "Madara killed her."

Silence followed his words.

It rippled through the dark cement dimension in an intangible wave. Each set of eyes upon him were wide — sundered of anything save for numb, flat shock.

Tobirama folded his arms, inclining his head slightly as he waited for one of them to make a new decision for their now-changed plan. As he retained his patience, he grimaced, remembering his brief conversation with Hashirama not long before. His face had been almost stricken from whatever he'd seen in that shrine, and Tobirama hadn't asked why at the time, only lingering to learn what the situation was before they reported back to the rest of the team. Hashirama had clearly been affected emotionally, so it must have been grave; he'd only exchanged a few words before expressing his need to go think, leaving Tobirama with the unfortunate chore of delivering this news.

He held back a derisive snort. What was there to think about? Why bother feeling conflicted? The situation was as black and white as they came. The girl was dead, predictably killed by Madara, who wouldn't know mercy if it punched him in the face. Her little plan had, predictably, failed – and now the burden to end this war was fully returned to her team. Tobirama had found himself sharing the young Uchiha Sasuke's opinion on this; the girl could not be relied on to convince Madara out of the Infinite Tsukuyomi cause. It was foolish of her to even try, no matter whatever womanly charms she thought she might have been able to exert upon him.

The thought was almost funny, before. Finally, a woman who wasn't afraid of Madara, brave enough to not only face him in battle, but to press closer beyond being enemies. The idea was both revolting and amusing, and Tobirama smirked to himself before frowning once more. In the end, it was sad. Madara had not only wasted a chance to have any sort of redemption, but he'd also wasted his chance with the first woman in his lifetime that was suitable for him, had the circumstances been different.

Looking around, it also appeared he had made several more sworn enemies. If the girl's beloved teammates had hated Madara before, they utterly despised him now. Their shared shock had progressed into despair; then, into pure, unbridled fury, glittering between their stares like a spreading flame. Tension drew between each taut silhouette as lethal rage built up upon grief-fuelled adrenaline.

Good. Tobirama shifted where he stood, readying himself with a satisfied, grim expression. Now they would execute their plan and the three-eyed Uchiha demon in their way. It was time to end this war.