"Hello my child," whispered a voice filled with wisdom.
Madara's eyes snapped open at the sound of that voice. He hadn't detected nor discerned the approach of this person, a troubling fact in itself. Could this presence be a threat? No individual in the world could approach him like this without him perceiving it. And yet... there, less than two meters away, stood this being, scrutinizing him with his impenetrable eyes.
In an instant, Madara grasped that this individual in front of him held extraordinary power, perhaps even greater than his own. He was dressed in a white kimono adorned with Magatama around his neck, reminiscent of the tomoes of his Sharingan. In his right hand, he held a staff of a peculiar shape, while six dark spheres floated behind him. But what impressed Madara the most were the eyes of this man: Rinnegan!
The Rinnegan, a legend that few had heard of, and even fewer could witness in their lifetime. Madara had been able to glean some information about it by using his Mangekyō Sharingan to decipher the Uchiha clan's tablets. Without this ability, he would have remained ignorant, like most others.
And there, facing him, stood a man with two Rinnegan, which stared intensely at him.
"Who are you?" Madara questioned, straightening up in a swift movement, ready to fight for his survival.
Yet, the man seemed to emit no chakra, no hostile intent, and even less murderous intent.
"I have been given many names, many of which have fallen into oblivion... or become myths and legends," began the elder, with an enigmatic smile.
"Stop beating around the bush, old man," Madara added, about to activate his own Dōjutsu.
"I am known as the Sage of the Six Paths, or the Sage of Six Paths, or even by the title of Rikudō Sennin," the man replied, as Madara's eyes widened as he realized who stood before him. "But I have been named Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki."
Time seemed to freeze for Madara, his eyes locked with those of the hermit, and he could only acknowledge the truth in those eyes: the man before him was what he claimed to be. Memories of his childhood tales resurfaced in his mind, those legends speaking of a being who created the world in his image, shaped the moon with a mere thought, ruled humanity before disappearing.
"Impossible...," murmured Madara, still in shock.
"Nothing is impossible, my child," declared the hermit, seeing in Madara the reflection of his former son, Indra Ōtsutsuki.
"Why do you call me that?" Madara asked, perplexed by the presence of this being.
"Because, in one way or another, all humans are my children... but you, Madara, you are different from the others," the hermit replied, with a slight smile.
"What do you mean?"
However, the old man remained silent for a moment, as if weighing each of his words with particular care.
"Do not blame Sakura," Hagoromo finally declared, his words dripping with deep wisdom. "I know you feel betrayed, but do not hold a grudge against her."
Madara, feeling frustration rising within him, found patience difficult to come by. Darkness, uncertainty, and above all, the feeling of being manipulated by so many hands assailed him. He, accustomed to dominating all situations, now found himself ensnared in the webs of manipulation.
"You're behind all of this, aren't you?" he realized, his eyes piercing the mystery to reach the gleam of truth. "Why lead me like this? What do you expect from me?"
"I sent her back in time to guide you, my child, not to manipulate you," the hermit replied with a serene voice. "And what I seek is what you desire deep within you: peace." A heavy silence settled then, punctuated by the old man's gaze towards the azure sky. Then, his eyes returned to Madara, filled with unwavering conviction. "True peace... where the cycle of hatred will eventually be broken in this tormented world."
"What makes you claim that she was acting with this purpose?"
"I rarely make mistakes in my choices, my child," replied the hermit with assurance. "Even though Sakura might have harbored some resentment towards you at first, what she just confided in you is sincere. Now, her desire for peace is accompanied by the wish to stand by your side, not just to guide you."
The brunet, recalling the conflicting feelings he had experienced during Sakura's rescue, sought to understand the roots of her animosity.
"So, I wasn't wrong about her intentions toward me from the beginning," he murmured thoughtfully. "But then, why this hatred towards me?"
"Only she can answer that, my child," replied the hermit serenely, leaving Madara grappling with new questions. Despite this, the young man refused to be discouraged and continued to seek answers after his interlocutor's initial explanations.
"In that case, why her? Why me?"
"Come with me," invited the hermit, turning away from Madara to stride calmly into the meadow. It was a perfect opportunity for a sneak attack, but Madara didn't think of it. Instead, he followed this almost divine being without hesitation. After a while, the hermit spoke again. "Since time immemorial, war and the cycle of hatred have gripped the world. Since the dawn of humanity, violence and conflict have reigned. Then, one day, a person consumed a fruit granting them the powers of a god. That person was none other than my mother."
"Your mother?" repeated Madara, incredulous, as he crossed over a root that littered their path.
"I shall withhold her name... but know that through her powers, she established a reign where peace prevailed among all living beings," explained the Rikudô, deliberately omitting certain details that Madara did not need to know, neither for his own safety nor for the world's future. "However, circumstances led my brother and me to depose her, and I was the one who took over. Though I did not inherit all of her power," he added with measured caution. "I had two sons, Indra and Asura. One inherited the Sharingan, the other my physical powers. Two opposites, one believing in love as the path to peace, the other in strength."
"I can't help but see a resemblance to Hashirama and myself in this."
"Indeed, it's quite similar," confirmed the old hermit, circumventing a massive oak tree. "When my sons were of age to succeed me, and when my own strength no longer allowed me to bear this burden, I passed this responsibility to Asura. But it sparked a war between my sons for power. One became the leader of the Uchiha clan, the other of the Senju clan."
Madara now perceived the origin of the endless war between his clan and the Senju, probably stretching back centuries into the past.
"By a mystery that even I cannot explain, the essence of my two sons invariably reincarnates to engage in battle, perpetuating the cycle of hatred while aspiring for peace," continued the hermit, before being interrupted.
"Hashirama and I are we the reincarnations of your two sons?" Madara asked intuitively.
A smile illuminated the hermit's face, acknowledging the intelligence and insight of his eldest son through the brunet.
"Exactly. Before Sakura went back in time to change events, it was once again the reincarnation of Asura who triumphed... and in the future, my sons will reincarnate once again to perpetuate the cycle of hatred... over and over."
"If you sent Sakura back in time to end this cycle of hatred... what's the point?" questioned Madara, halting in his stride as they emerged into a clearing on the mountain's edge. The horizon, splendid and endless, disappeared into a mantle of pristine snow.
"The Child of Prophecy was designated by three successive incarnations of my son Asura, and not once by my son Indra. As the world teetered on the brink back in Sakura's time, I wonder if this Child of Prophecy doesn't reside within you, my child," explained Hagoromo, his gaze fixed on Madara.
For centuries, the world had been shaped by war, for it had always lacked a firm hand to impose lasting peace.
"Why didn't you intervene in our battle, between Hashirama and me? If you can manipulate time, why not use that power to enforce your peace? Our peace?"
"Because I am merely an arbiter. I will not meddle further, I have lived my life and it is not my role to dictate the world's conduct."
"Your words reek of hypocrisy, old man. You claim not to want to impose your will on the world, yet you influence it in the direction that suits you," the brunet retorted with sharp sarcasm.
"Seeing centuries of war, death, and cycles of hatred makes you realize that one is never better served than by oneself... so what harm is there in suggesting an idea here and there?"
"Hn!" Madara replied, understanding the old man's perspective. There was no harm in guiding someone if it was for their own good. The world needed to be enlightened on the path to follow, a child needed guidance, a shinobi needed to be led. Ultimately, everyone needed to be shown the way on the path of life.
"Usually, I do not intervene, but today was an exception to the rule, just as when I encouraged Sakura to sacrifice her universe for a chance to bring peace," the Rikudô continued, seeking to soothe Madara's heart. He wanted to make him understand that this young woman had decided to give up everything she loved, her entire world and era, for a slim chance of success. "But today, I acted for a completely different reason, my child..."
"What reason?"
"Let's just say that some people... were very eager to speak with you," the old man explained with an enigmatic smile, as three youthful voices echoed from the forest.
"Big brother!"
Those voices! Impossible! Madara felt his heart skip a beat as he abruptly turned towards them. It was absolutely inconceivable, and yet everything was there, before him. For a moment, he wondered if he was caught in an illusion, but a surge of chakra in his mind confirmed the reality of what he saw.
Three young children with brown hair, aged nine or ten, ran towards him, radiant smiles on their lips. A little further, his brother Izuna approached, followed by their mother Yumi Uchiha and their father Tajima Uchiha. Seeing all six of them had the same effect on Madara as the pain he felt the day he unlocked his Mangekyô Sharingan. Seeing them before him, he felt overwhelmed by despair, realizing he had been alone in his life for far too long.
There were so many things he wished he could have told them before their passing, so many words he wished he could have heard from their mouths. But his thoughts were interrupted when three pairs of arms encircled him, his brothers embracing him tightly.
Madara found himself slightly dumbfounded, frozen by this scene before him. Emotion washed over him, and he struggled to hold back his tears. A tender smile spread across his lips, a rare smile he had almost never worn, reserved for his closest family.
He placed his hands on his brothers' heads. They were there, tangible, even if it seemed physically impossible. But in this moment, their reality was undeniable.
"You've been missed, big brother!" one of the three exclaimed, his face buried in Madara's clothes.
"You too," Madara replied, unable to contain his affection for this embrace from his young brothers. He remembered how rarely he had the chance to embrace them like this, except Izuna. At that time, there was no time for such demonstrations of affection, everything was training and war. Love seemed to have no place in this relentless universe.
"Hey, big brother... when are you coming home with us?" one of the children asked innocently.
This question, with childlike simplicity, squeezed Madara's heart. He wondered if afterlife meant the mind ceased to grow or if it remained as it was at the time of death. Going home? The Uchiha knew what that meant, but his time had not yet come to join his young brothers. He still had so much to accomplish in this world.
"When I've finished what I need to do," Madara replied, pensive, recalling his main goal: peace.
"When is that?" the young boy insisted, interrupted by another family member.
"Come on, boys, let our brother breathe," Izuna intervened, now standing before his elder. The three little ones let go of Madara and headed towards their mother and father.
The two masters of shinobi arts looked at each other in silence, not knowing where to begin. Nothing needed to be said, yet so many topics burned to find a voice. After a suspended moment, they simply embraced each other, a fraternal gesture imbued with love, nostalgia, regret, sorrow, and pain.
"Do not regret my death, brother," Izuna finally said after a moment.
Not a word was needed between them. Close brothers, Izuna understood Madara's torments without needing him to express them. He regretted not being able to save his brother from death, just as he regretted not being able to protect their mother or make their father proud.
"I wish you could have been there," Madara confessed as they parted from their brotherly embrace.
Izuna placed his hand on his brother's shoulder, a smile on his lips.
"I know, brother... but someone had to look after mother," he added with a hint of humor. Always there to make Madara smile, always there to reassure him that everything would be okay.
"Yes, you've always taken care of her," Madara admitted, regretting not having more of those moments with their mother.
"Don't worry, brother, she's proud of you," Izuna assured, before his expression turned more serious. A rare change in demeanor for this man when he was simply with his family.
"Brother?" Madara asked, sensing something grave in Izuna's gaze.
"Just a favor, brother," Izuna said, locking eyes with his elder.
"Tell me what it is," Madara replied, ready to honor his brother's last wish.
"Tobirama."
At the mention of that simple name, Madara narrowed his eyes. He immediately understood what his brother was asking of him. For so long, he had harbored the desire to avenge Izuna, and he relished the thought of making his brother's killer pay.
"It will be done," he responded, receiving a nod of approval from his brother, who then stepped back to make way for a lovely woman in her forties: their mother.
What to do? What to say? Madara was at a loss. He had never been trained to express his feelings. Fortunately, his mother took the initiative to embrace him, with all the love of a mother for her son.
There were no words, no specific gestures... just an embrace between a mother and her son, where everything was conveyed silently. Comfort, support, protection, recognition, and above all, love. Both had their eyes closed, savoring the present moment. Once, as a teenager, Madara might have pushed away from this embrace, but now, nearing his thirties, he finally understood its importance and meaning.
He felt such a profusion of love through this gesture that it troubled him. He realized that no matter what children might do in their lives, their mothers would always love them with that unique love that binds a mother to her child.
Yumi pulled back slightly from her son, now a man, and looked him straight in the eyes. A radiant smile lit up her face, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. She placed her hand on Madara's cheek.
"You've become a fine man, Madara," she murmured, observing his face tenderly. She had passed away when he was in his late teens and had not had the chance to see her son become a man.
Madara placed his own hand over his mother's, appreciating the contact.
"I'm sorry, mother," he apologized, still regretting her loss.
"I've told you before, Madara, never regret anything," Yumi replied, still smiling. "Don't regret the dead... pity the living who have to navigate this world filled with hate."
"I know, mother..."
"And Madara... know that I am extremely proud of the man you have become," she continued, stroking her son's cheek with her thumb. "And I know you're in good hands."
"How so?" Madara asked, perplexed.
"Sakura... you have my approval. She is a remarkable woman, and I know she will make a perfect wife for you, my son," Yumi explained, smiling as she took her son's hands in hers. "My role as a mother is fulfilled. You have found a woman you love, and I know she will make you happy."
Madara didn't know how to respond to his mother's declaration. A woman he loved? He was still too torn by this sense of betrayal deep within his heart. Sakura had lied to him flagrantly for nearly eight months, and that he couldn't overlook, despite the new information he had about her past actions.
Madara couldn't help but acknowledge the importance of the matriarch of the Uchiha clan's approval, especially in the Sengoku era. In these turbulent times, such maternal blessing was invaluable when it came to choosing a spouse. However, the brunet preferred to remain silent, contenting himself with contemplating the radiant happiness on his mother's face.
After a moment, he felt his mother place something in his palm. Intrigued, Madara looked down at the object and was left speechless, his eyes slowly widening. What he held between his fingers not only held sentimental value but also profound traditional significance.
"Mother... are you sure about this?" he asked, his gaze shifting from his mother to the object he held.
"I've never been more serious, my son," Yumi replied, closing Madara's hand around the wedding ring.
Indeed, in Uchiha tradition, it was customary for the matriarch to pass on her wedding ring to her son when he found his future spouse. This ring symbolized the transfer of responsibilities and duties to the one who would occupy that position.
His mother stood on tiptoe to give him a soft kiss on the cheek.
"I love you, Madara," she murmured before stepping back.
"I love you too, mother," Madara whispered as he watched her join his brothers, while his father approached him.
At the sight of his father, Madara felt tension throughout his being. Despite his power, he still harbored a certain apprehension towards this man who had raised him, who had shaped the man he was today. He still attached great importance to his parents' opinion, even in his adulthood, and he wondered what his father thought of him.
Tajima Uchiha stood facing his son for a long minute, his face impassive, revealing nothing. For him, everything was already clear, but he seemed to want to test his son one last time. Slowly, the former clan leader extended his right arm towards Madara, his hand open, under the surprised gaze of the latter. This seemingly innocuous gesture carried profound significance, particularly for Madara. Never had his father shown pride in his children, never had he complimented them. Thus, seeing his father extend his hand to him as an equal unsettled the eldest.
Yet, Madara responded to this gesture by extending his hand in turn to shake his father's. Their handshake was brief but firm, expressing much more than words. Through this simple exchange, numerous silent emotions were transmitted between the two men.
"I am proud of you, my son," Tajima finally declared, and for him, this simple statement was enough. For a man of his caliber, expressing his feelings was taboo, so telling his son that he was proud of him was of paramount importance.
Hearing these singular words from his father, Madara felt a deep inner satisfaction. He had gained his brother's forgiveness, his mother's approval, and finally, his father's pride.
Tajima released his grip and stepped back to rejoin his family. The time for this encounter was drawing to a close, as members of the Uchiha clan began to slowly fade away. The three little brunettes waved goodbye, his brother and mother wore tender smiles, and his father nodded approvingly at him. Then, his family dispersed into the breath of the wind...
Madara remained for a moment, motionless, staring at the spot where his family had been, wondering if all of this had truly happened or if it was the work of the Sage of the Six Paths.
"Was it real?" he asked, though his heart was relieved by this exchange.
"Who knows."
Normally, bringing the dead back to life was considered impossible, but life itself had taught him that nothing was truly out of reach. Sakura's time travel, the existence of the Rinnegan, the presence of the Sage of the Six Paths... What was the resurrection of the dead compared to all of this? Besides, hadn't it been said that Tobirama himself had developed a resurrection technique? The Edo Tensei, that creation of the Senju clan... But today, this meeting with his family was nothing like a simple jutsu. His mother's ring, still in the palm of his hand, was tangible proof that Madara hadn't dreamed, nor was he subjected to an illusion.
"You've explained to me why me... but I'd like to understand why Sakura?"
"Have you ever met anyone like Sakura in your life?" the Sage of the Six Paths asked with an enigmatic smile.
He already knew the answer, and Madara had to admit that he had never met a woman like Sakura.
"No..."
"Sakura is the most powerful and capable woman of her time. Just as you are the reincarnation of my son Indra, Sakura is one of the few who approaches the power of my sons since ancient times," Hagoromo confessed without going into details. Some things were better kept secret, even from him.
Madara could only accept this truth. From what he had seen, Sakura was an extraordinary Shinobi.
"I understand..."
"Don't forget, my child, behind every great man stands an equally competent woman. She often remains in the shadows, but sometimes, she steps forward alongside the man when he loves her enough to let her be his equal," added the Sage, fixing Madara with his eyes. "Like my son Asura, I loved my son Indra, but unfortunately, he did not have the chance to experience love..."
"Was all this premeditated?" Madara asked, wary of the idea of being manipulated and led by the designs of others.
"Interpret it as you wish, my child," the hermit replied, approaching Madara. "Extend your right hand, palm up, please."
Even though suspicion towards this individual persisted within him, Madara still complied with his request. He extended his right hand, palm up, and the Sage placed his hand on it, palm against palm. After a few moments, Madara opened his eyes to find a seal of Fūinjutsu, emitting a bluish glow that gradually turned into an entirely black hue.
"What have you done to me?" Madara asked, even his Sharingan unable to pierce the mystery of this seal.
"What you are about to undertake, you and Sakura, is not an ordinary endeavor," the Sage began before slowly turning away to fade into the forest. "This seal will only activate under certain conditions."
Then, the creator of the world vanished in the same manner as Madara's parents moments before, leaving the Uchiha clan leader alone with his thoughts.
"Oh, one last thing," added the Sage, raising his right hand before turning around.
"Yes?"
"Convey this to Sakura: 'The celestial path of the six paths will open through the symbiosis of the two'."
After this enigmatic statement, the Sage disappeared into a gust of wind, leaving the Uchiha clan leader alone with his reflections.
Madara finally had some answers. Although he didn't appreciate being manipulated like this, he was willing to do anything to achieve peace. It was a deeply rooted conviction within him. He focused his chakra into his legs and headed towards the one who had transformed his life: Sakura.
He leaped from tree to tree, reflecting on everything he had just experienced while clutching the ring in his left hand. A few minutes later, he found himself in front of the residence. Soft sobs emanated from inside.
He advanced determinedly towards the broken French window, shards of glass crackling under his steps. The crying ceased as soon as he entered the room. He found Sakura standing, holding a kunai in one hand and a photo frame in the other, her eyes reddened and her cheeks wet with tears. Her surprise was palpable upon seeing Madara before her.
Certainly, she was surprised, but also on guard, ready to defend herself if necessary. Madara could see it in her demeanor, her kunai poised for action.
Continuing his approach cautiously, Madara slowly moved closer to Sakura, recalling his mother's comforting words still echoing in his mind. He had his mother's approval...
He stopped just in front of her, eyes closed, then reached out to gently take the kunai from her, which Sakura relinquished to him without resistance. Then, he locked his gaze with the young woman's, without saying a word.
A heavy silence settled, only interrupted by their breathing. They stared at each other, motionless. Then, after an eternity for Sakura, Madara took the first step and enveloped her in his arms. He pressed his head against her chest, embracing her tenderly. He loved this woman.