The toddler ran, tiny feet making a pattering sound on the wooden flooring. Behind her Itama chased, his eyes tracking his niece.
"Rawr! I am a dragon!" he mock-growled, prompting her to squeal and try to run even faster.
Alas, her short, chubby legs could only take her so far.
"I am the Cannibal, devourer of little hatchlings like yourself."
Itama finally caught his niece, dipping his face into her maroon tresses to blow raspberries against her neck.
"For someone raised by Senju Butsuma you are quite good with Kaneage," Mito mused, eyeing his shenanigans from behind her floor table. In front of her laid a spread of calligraphy tools, along with an unfurled scroll of paper. On it was a mostly-finished painting of her home, painted from a bird's perspective.
The island was surrounded by the signature vortices that gave it its name. A hazy mist hid not only its shores from view, but the foot of the mountain housing the temple-laboratory. The haze had parted for the mountain top, providing a glimpse of the building itself - looking precariously placed as if it were about to tip over and plunge into the sea.
Itama's presence gave his sister-in-law the opportunity to complete the work of art.
"I suppose," he idly replied, stopping to consider her comment.
It had been over four years since his father's passing. Age and experience leading others had, to some extent, mellowed out his views of his father. The man no longer loomed in the back of his head, mouth ever set in a disappointed frown. All the fear and shame had turned into pity, pity for a man who had lacked the immense strength and charisma of Hashirama, the sheer genius of Tobirama as a right-hand man and the companionship of a seal-mistress. Yet he had still been forced to lead their clan all the same.
His musings had let his niece slip out of his grasp, turning to look at him. Frowning, she slapped him on the knee, claiming his attention again, before readying to run away.
Chuckling, he resumed the chase, peals of laughter filling the space again.
"Oh you've done it now! You've woken the dragon!"
The rough-housing continued until his niece, Iwaki, exhausted herself.
Mito rose from her corner at the sight of the girl nodding off, taking her with a grateful smile.
While she disappeared into an adjoining room, Itama took the time to appreciate the painting. Mito had added stylized waves, a beautiful sunrise in the horizon, and seagulls. The silhouettes of the birds added a sense of scale. Itama felt himself be transported back to his and Tobirama's trip, the ever permeating smell of salt, the rocking of the waves, the anticipation at visiting their mystical distant allies…
Mito returned and joined him, picking up the brush and continuing where she had left off - filling out a vortex. The peaceful moment stretched on, only for the sound of footsteps on the egawa to carry over, loud and clear, as custom dictated.
The shoji door slid open.
"Tadai-"
"Shh!" the two of them hurried.
Hashirama reared back, as if physically struck, before sheepishly holding up his hands.
"Tadaima," he whispered, divesting himself of his body armor as quietly as he could, followed by his sandals..
"Okaeri," Mito whispered back, eyes warm and welcoming.
Hashirama winked at Itama, giving his shoulder a squeeze as he walked by, before sitting down next to his wife and softly taking her hand in his. A blush bloomed on Mito's face, her head resembling a cherry, as she leaned into her husband's side. With his other arm, he reached around her shoulders, holding her in place.
Itama cleared his throat and rose out of his own seat, very much eager to make himself scarce.
"Brother," Hashirama called out before he could leave.
"Yes?"
"Go help with the prisoners," his brother said, tone brokering no argument.
Itama stiffened, his eyes darkening, before nodding.
Clad once again in his forest green armor with his father's blade strapped to his side, Itama deactivated his weight seals and made his way to the outskirts of their settlement
They kept their Uchiha 'guest' outside of the fortifications.
It kept their non-combatants out of harms way, should Uchiha Madara somehow break through their sentries and show up at their doorstep. Or inversely, if they were to somehow break free of their confinements.
More importantly, should either of those scenarios happen, they could trigger the many explosive seals they had placed all over, without worrying about their own casualties.
His clansmen greeted him, and met theirs with his own acknowledgement. Toka's sharp-chinned visage, one eye hidden by her bang, met him and beckoned him over with a palm.
"Itama," she called, her voice firm but not unkind. "Come with me."
The Uchiha had been separated out, earthen walls forming pens around them. Each Uchiha sat on a wooden platform, their arms and legs spread wide, torsos bound to wooden crosses. Each leg and arm, as well as the neck, had been wrapped in steel wire and attached that way to the wooden construction, cross or into the platforms. The hands were covered in heavy wooden gauntlets that Hashirama had grown for each prisoner, the wood keeping the fingers straight and separated, unable to form proper hand seals.
The exposed forearms and shins were wrapped in explosive seals, primed to blow.
Around their eyes, Itama knew, the same seal that he had been provided by Mito in the past did its best to disturb any flow of chakra to their eyes. Who knew what Sharingan-based techniques they might try? Hashirama had grown helmet-like structures around their heads, exposing the orifices but keeping the eyes - and the seals over them - protected.
If it was up to Itama he would have the ears covered too. But doing so would have kept the Uchiha completely bereft of any senses. That would untether their prisoners from reality, unground them and risk them going mad.
The Uchiha were already stark mad, what did making them more so matter to Itama? And did the Uchiha themselves not make games of turning their opponent's minds inside out?
But no. Hashirama had put his foot down.
We are not cruel, Itama. No matter what they've done to us, we must be better than that.
Hmph, Itama scoffed in his mind.
The prisoners were fed a bowl of rice and water once a day, a diet designed to keep them physically weak and, most importantly, unable to fully recover their chakra reserves.
In the nine days since the battle, Hashirama had requested that the chefs provide the prisoners with one protein meal. When they refused, his brother, unwilling to let them starve completely, had taken it upon himself to prepare a meal of fish and beef.
Itama shook his head at the memory.
The two of them approached a pen. Unsheathing his sword, Itama pressed the metal tip against the earthen wall. A small hole, used to pass food and water on a spoon attached to a long staff, was cut into the wall. Alongside it, a thin slit ran from the ground to the top.
Itama channeled his chakra, streaming from the sword's tip into the wall.
The tightly packed earth shifted, buckling and collapsing in on itself like chest armor struck by a war hammer. A hole appeared, and after having made it big enough, the two of them entered.
"Uchiha, it is time," Toka stated.
Itama pressed the blade's edge to the man's throat—a silent warning. It wasn't just a threat that Itama would kill him, but a guarantee that he'd do so before the Uchiha had a chance to harm a single Senju in some desperate, last-ditch attempt at taking the enemy with him. After all, nothing stopped the Uchiha from rejecting sustenance and withering away that way.
Toka bent over to free the man's left arm, then shackled it to his right, binding them together in front of him. She repeated the process with his legs before freeing his neck.
With a flick of chakra, Itama pulled the blade upward, forcing the Uchiha to rise to his feet. His legs trembled under the strain, as he tried to ease the pressure on his neck.
They frog-marched him out of the pen, into the open field, before turning left. Bringing him to the tree line a distance away, they allowed him to support himself against a tree, to use it as a means to orient himself.
By now, the Uchiha knew the routine. Toka averted her gaze as she pulled his trousers down, then stepped aside. Itama also took a step back, half turned, providing a measure of privacy. Though the Uchiha could only know by the lack of steel against his neck.
Fortunately, the man only needed to relieve himself quickly. When he finished, he bent down and clumsily pulled his trousers back up. With a resigned nod, the Uchiha offered his neck to Itama's blade and allowed himself to be led back.
However, just before he entered his prison, he came to a halt.
"What are you doing, Magatama?" Toka demanded.
The prisoner responded, voice low. "I want to know what's happening."
Toka and Itama shared a glance—wary, but cautious. The Uchiha had behaved, so far.
"Since you've kept your head down so far, I'll throw you a bone," Toka said coolly. "Hashirama sent an offer for peace to Madara. He has yet to respond."
"I see… You have my gratitude, Senju.."
Alas, not every Uchiha took to imprisonment with as much grace.
Uchiha Hikaku was the highest ranking, and most dangerous, of their "visitors".
"Itama the Jutsu-less," Hikaku sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "We meet again. That hunk of steel you carry—long, straight, and sharp. I've learned to recognize its kiss."
"Do you wish to get to know her better? Just say the word and I can acquaint you… thoroughly."
Hikaku smirked, the only part of his face visible. It occurred to Itama that whatever Hikaku had wanted from this exchange, he'd gotten it. How vexing.
"You know," he said later, "I've been recalling a distant memory, one seared into my brain nonetheless. It was over a decade ago, when a man, pointy chinned and beige-haired, had foolishly tried to use genjutsu. On an Uchiha. Gods what a fool he was. Tajima had with a glance mirrored the man's technique back at him, before he was cut down."
"The perks of photographic memory," he grinned, knocking his wood-covered hands against his wood-covered head. "I never lack for entertainment."
Itama grit his teeth, his hand shaking from an effort to not cut down the man now, to slide his steel just a couple of inches further.
Toka shook her head and put a hand on his shoulder.
"I pity you, Hawk-eye," she began, tone mournful. Her other hand weaved patterns in the air. "The past is meant to fade, not stay as sharp as the present. We aren't meant to gloat over every victory or obsess over every loss, year after year. It's sad, really."
The man smirked, turning to his right to respond.
"What an adorable little thought you had just there," he spoke. "But fret not, we Uchiha are simply different."
From his left his female cousin rolled her eyes, giving him a sharp, meaningful look.
"You talk big - but I bet you've spent every waking moment obsessing over your loss, replaying over and over how you let Izuna die, how you failed your men and how Madara abandoned you to our mercies."
That drew the man up short. He made to respond, mouth opening, but then suddenly snapped his head to the left. Before they could intervene, the man slammed his hands against his head, in what must have been a move meant to inflict himself pain.
Toka moved first. A quick gesture from her, and Itama struck, delivering a precise chop to a pressure point in Hikaku's neck. The man slumped over, and Itama held the man upright, adhering the flat of his sword to his shoulder.
"I suppose it's true what they say about genjutsu masters," Itama idly remarked.
Toka secured their prisoner with practiced efficiency, a smirk tugging at her lips. "And what exactly do they say, cousin?"
"That a genjutsu master must always have the final word. Psychological warfare, battle of wits and all that."
Toka let out a bark of laughter, shaking her head. "Touché."
The impasse between the Senju and the Uchiha continued, and nerves were fraying.
Hashirama had sent a scroll carried by one of their youngest prisoners—a boy deemed too insignificant to pose much of a threat. The scroll held Hashirama's terms for peace, penned in his own hand, without consulting anyone else in the clan.
Two weeks had passed since the battle and the Senju's patience was wearing thin.
They had dealt a heavy blow against the Uchiha, for one, with their third strongest captured alongside another two scores of some of their most senior warriors.
Furthermore, rumors swirled around Uchiha Izuna. He had either had to have been miraculously patched up, enough to put up some resistance and negate much of their advantage, or he must have surely passed from his wounds by now. Tobirama had carved him up like a piece of sashimi and even Senju healers would struggle to put together a man half bisected.
The time to press their advantage was now. But their clanhead refused to give them the order.
It galled Itama fiercely.
"Are you familiar with the Yuki clan, Itama?" Mito asked him, breaking him out of his musings.
The only bright spot was that lull in fighting had allowed them to rest and recuperate their strength. Mito continued producing seals, adding to their arsenal, but she had finished her painting, and begun another one. The painting hung on the wall, a red imprint of Mito's personal seal in the corner.
"The name sounds familiar," Itama murmured, searching his memory for any details.
"The Yuki are a noble clan in the Land of Water." Mito, focused on her new drawing, barely glanced up as she spoke, her charcoal tracing a pattern as if it were second nature. "They have a nature transformation kekkei genkai that allows them to combine wind and water."
That nugget of information made Itama perk up. "Like Hashirama?"
Mito nodded.
Besides Hashirama and his Mokuton, there was no other shinobi in the Land of Fire that could combine two nature transformations into a new one. The Senju were the only ones, and Hashirama was the first in generations.
Their records did speak of encounters with users of magnet release, explosion release and even lava release from other lands.
"What does combining wind and water produce then? Some kind of storm, hurricane release?"
"Hyoton."
Ah, he thought. Ice.
"The Yuki clan, much like the Senju, have their own sworn nemesis in their home land - the Kaguya clan. Where the Yuki are noble, elegant and graceful, the Kaguya are brutish and savage. Where the Yuki use the elements, their proximity to the sea and the heavy mist providing ample material for their techniques, the Kaguya rely on something even more easily accessible - the bones of their body. They can manipulate them freely and make them as hard as steel. They can pull out their spines into whips, grow ribs into body armor, and even expel their fingertips as projectiles."
"That sounds… awfully painful."
The idea of facing an enemy who could turn their body into a living weapon made Itama's skin crawl, but he couldn't deny the brutal efficiency of it.
"No one but the Kaguya truly know how their kekkei genkai affects their pain. Some say they feel nothing at all—others claim they revel in the sensation. But it is a deadly one, all the same. Imagine striking your sword against a raised arm only for it to crack in half."
"This is fascinating, sister, but why bring up these foreign clans now?"
Mito gestured toward the scroll, her fingers lightly brushing over the charcoal lines, as if the artwork itself held the answers. There was no island now, no, the charcoal sketched out a highlight of the open sea, with the waves. The only indication that there was any connection to the Uzu homeland were the many vortices that gave the island its name. A relatively large, circular outline of a ball was sketched out over one of the vortices.
"We were once visited by an errant Yuki. It was in the time of my great-grandmother."
"Oh?"
"Indeed. She was discovered, frozen inside a perfect sphere of ice, caught in one of the mighty whirlpools that guard our shores. The vortex held her captive, spinning her endlessly, a prisoner to the sea and her own jutsu. Ice floats on water and so the ball kept being pull down, only to be shot right back up by its own buoyancy. Eventually my ancestors took interest, then pity, and fished it out of the sea."
Itama leaned forward now, on his knees, trying to imagine the scene.
"How could she end up in such a state?"
"In a fierce battle that would decimate much of the Yuki, she had been separated and surrounded by a team of the Kaguya. The Yuki was a summoner of the penguin clan, of the Konwaku Icy Cove, and the Kaguya targeted her."
"So the ice ball was a technique done improperly?"
"It was employed in a panic, but the Hyoton: Ice Globe formed a perfect spherical defense. However, the ball was hit by an attack and sent out to the sea."
"And the Kaguya did not bother chasing it?"
"No, presumably not. And the Yuki clan did not have any other summoner left alive who could help unsummon or investigate the matter. Indeed, the Yuki clan was left in disarray and barely escaped extinction, so they presumably assumed she had died in the battle."
"Wait, so how long did it take until she ended up at your shores?"
"About…" Mito tapped her chin, giving him a smirk. "Two-hundred years?"
"Tw-two hundred years?" Itama stammered, his eyes widening as he leaned back in disbelief. The sheer impossibility of it left him speechless.
Mito's smirk softened into a frown, her gaze shifting with a hint of sadness. "Indeed, long after all her friends and family had died. Those who had survived the battle, that is. The ocean is vast, and the currents took her to and forth. It was only by chance that she was caught in one of our vortices."
"But-but—" Itama stammered, his mind racing to make sense of it all. He furrowed his brow, his thoughts swirling like the vortex Mito had described. "She must've been a rotten corpse by then. How do you know? Did your ancestors bring her remains to the Yuki descendants?"
"No, not quite," Mito said with a shake of her head. "She told us herself, before we sent her back. She was no rotten corpse, she had been perfectly kept in the ice. We just had to disrupt her technique."
"Wait. Hang on - how did the technique itself even last that long? Surely the sun would have melted it."
"Ah, now you are asking the key question," Mito informed him in her lecture-mode. "The Yuki was no ordinary shinobi—she was a sage. Her technique wasn't merely jutsu; it was a sage art, one that drew upon the natural chakra of the world itself. Because it latched onto the world's energy it could sustain itself.."
She took on a far-away gaze, as if she had been there herself and not heard the tale from her clan records.
"The cold preserves, Itama. Everything in her body, every cell from her heels to her brain, was frozen in one single moment. Her chakra, normally flowing, turned into ice chakra - perfectly still. It was as if time no longer passed within the confines of the globe."
"So…" Itama began, still reeling from the sheer magnitude of what he was hearing. "If the Uzumaki had not intervened, could she have remained trapped in that globe for thousands of years? Indefinitely?"
"Potentially, yes."
A commotion was heard from the bedroom and they froze. The silence continued, and after a minute or two they both let out sighs of relief.
"So the Uzumaki canceled the technique, using some miraculous fuinjutsu no doubt. Then what happened?" Itama prompted in a quieter voice.
"A seal was created which disrupted the technique without hurting her," Mito said, her voice holding a hint of pride. "The ice melted and she emerged. Her Yuki biology meant that even when severely hypothermic her bodily functions worked as normal. However, her fight with the Kaguya left her grievously wounded, and so our best healers went to task."
"It must have been a terrible shock," Itama said quietly, his mind trying to grasp the enormity of her situation. "To wake up and find that the world had moved on without her… What did she do then? Did she stay with the Uzumaki, or…?"
"Her situation became a subject of great fascination among my ancestors, not just academically but emotionally, too—after all, she was a living relic of an era long gone. In gratitude to our healing, she provided valuable knowledge on the nature of her sage arts, and on natural chakra in general. She is the only one, besides the Senju of course, to have lived with our people and seen so much of our island."
Mito's tone then changed, turning wistful.
"Eventually, once she had recovered completely, she returned to the Land of Water, assisted by a group of my clansmen whose loyalty she inspired. Her penguin summons had been ecstatic at the return of their old summoner, whose name had never faded from their contract. She reunited with the descendants of her clan, now diminished and living far from their ancestral homelands, which had been overrun and long-since annexed by the Kaguya."
She took a pause, sipping from her tea cup. She swirled the liquid absently, as though her mind was drifting somewhere far away.
"The cold had preserved more than her body—it had crystallized her hate, frozen her grievances in time. The Yuki, in truth, had made peace with their exile and began a new chapter of their history which, on lands simpler and poorer, could hardly be called ignominious. However, it was not acceptable to her. She began a campaign to convince her clan to return, to recover what they had lost and do to the Kaguya what had been done. The leadership were reluctant to agree with her, they had known nothing but peace for at least a century on their new island. And so they clashed."
"So she led a coup?" Itama leaned forward, intrigued.
Mito nodded, a slight grimace crossing her face. 'It didn't happen overnight—she didn't need to draw a blade to gain control. Her strength, her vision, her undeniable charisma… they made her a force the leadership couldn't resist. Many followed her willingly, swayed by her fierce conviction and the forgotten techniques she revived. Her time recuperating on Uzu had only given her more time to hone her skills in the sage arts. They felt unstoppable. Who wouldn't want to fight at her side?"
"What about the Uzumaki who followed her? Given the… attitudes of those I met, I would have thought that they'd disapprove."
"Yes, but those 'attitudes' you are referring to weren't always so rigid. They are also a result of the events that came to pass," Mito countered. "One of the Uzumaki was her lover, the others his comrades. When it came time to launch an offensive against the Kaguya on the ancestral island, they came back to Uzu to request aid. My ancestors considered it, even sent a scouting team composed of some of our best sensors to understand the Kaguya."
"We've sent many requests for aid in the past," Itama pointed out, eyes narrowed. "Why would the Uzumaki intervene for the Yuki when they've never directly intervened for us against the Uchiha?"
His brother's wife shrugged her shoulders.
"You are not wrong. There were those who made that same argument. Regardless, they investigated the Kaguya and found that, while they were indeed still the same savage, martially inclined people that the Yuki had described, that did not make them bad rulers. Their serfs, the peasants toiling away, lived in peace, in a semblance of order. The Kaguya, in accordance with their own warrior code, see little point in fighting those who cannot even mold chakra."
"And so the Uzumaki declined their support?" Itama asked, already knowing the answer.
Mito nodded.
"Once it became apparent that their kin would not support them, most of the Uzumaki sent with the Yuki returned home. Some, including her lover remained, the man who had healed her with his own lifeforce. The Yuki launched their attack, led by possibly the strongest leader they had had in all their history. The Kaguya had put their old foes out of their mind and were taken by surprise. However, the Yuki men were inexperienced compared to the martially inclined Kaguya. They had also made a grave miscalculation."
Of course, Itama thought. Nothing ever goes as planned.
"The Kaguya of old had forbidden anyone to speak of the Yuki. The vassals were little more than illiterate slaves who kept no written records of their own. And so they, the farmers and fishermen who made up the bulk of the population, viewed the Yuki not as liberators but as foreign conquerors. The momentum carried the Yuki forward but eventually the Kaguya were able to rally. The healer overexerted himself and died, hair no longer the red of his home but the white of snow. The conflict froze, pardon the pun, and I believe little has changed in the time since."
Itama's eyes widened in realization.
"The Yuki and Kaguya remind you of us and the Uchiha?" he half-asked, half-confirmed.
What had been an innocuous painting of a charcoal circle on top of charcoal swirls and waves had now taken on a much deeper meaning.
"Distance had brought the Yuki and the Kaguya peace. The woman, whose name my clan does not care to remember, single-handedly revived a conflict that had laid dormant for two centuries. Who knows how many lives have been claimed in the centuries since? What was the point? Was it worth it? Tell me, Itama," she questioned.
The younger Senju sat back, considering. The obvious answer would be to say no, given the scenario Mito had constructed the Yuki were clearly in the wrong. But a part of him, the part that had been fighting and perpetuating a blood feud with the Uchiha and their allies himself all his life, rebelled at the thought.
And besides, the shinobi and - dare he say it - the knight in him knew things were rarely so one sided.
Why were the Yuki so eager to flock to the kunoichi? Was it just a matter of strength? Were their conditions in their new home really as good as Mito had painted it to be?
Also, what was to say that the Kaguya would not come for the Yuki again? It was not like they had fled the Land of Water. If the Yuki had had a revival, rediscovered on their own how far they could take their ice techniques, and became famous as a result, might the Kaguya sought them out again to settle their score?
Before Itama could respond and bring more nuance to Mito's premise, the sudden creak of the shoji screen cut through the air, startling them both. It swung open to reveal both of Itama's brothers.
"The Uchiha sent a message with Kono," Tobirama declared, his expression grave as Hashirama disappeared into a storage room.
Itama rose at that - Kono was one of the Senju feared captured.
"They have sent us a location to meet them at, along with our prisoners."
"Peace!" Hashirama erupted, emerging in a flurry. "I am sure of it - Madara wants peace."
Mito tsked and went to check up on her daughter, who had no doubt been awoken.
Itama and Tobirama shared a glance, their countenances resolute.
"This is where anija and Madara met as children," Tobirama pointed out to him. Itama's eyes flashed in recognition. "Father and I fought Tajima and Izuna here as well."
Is Madara trying to use Hashirama's sentimentality against him?
The forces of the Senju clan arrayed themselves in a line on one side of the river. On the other, a similar, but smaller by two scores, force of Uchiha had arranged themselves on the other side.
The missing Uchiha stood on their side as prisoners, shackled, covered in wood and explosive seals.
Itama recognized half a dozen Senju on the other side. They were not shackled. They simply stood, eyes staring vacantly forward.
Madara emerged from the throng like a storm cloud, stepping onto the river with a dark, heavy presence. Hashirama matched him, stepping forward, and Itama and Tobirama followed, a couple of steps behind, though their older brother motioned for them to keep a distance.
Itama avoided Madara's gaze, but he could sense the turmoil roiling within him; his once-proud stature now hunched. His mane of hair was in disarray and greasy, as if he had not washed. It shadowed hollowed cheeks that spoke of sleepless nights and deep-seated grief.
His shoulders were slumped, though the sight of Tobirama made his fists curl. Conspicuously, Izuna was absent, and Itama felt his stomach unknot at that.
"Madara," Hashirama greeted, in a soft voice. "Those Sharingan eyes of yours… the pattern is different."
"Hashirama," the man bit out.
"I am glad you agreed to meet," Hashirama spoke, after a pause. "Too many have died, on both sides. It is time to bury the hatchet."
Madara did not respond, only looking down into the water. The hair on the top of his face fell forward, covering it.
In the silence, Hashirama continued.
"How long has it been since we last met here, when we were just two boys, carefree, throwing rocks into the river and dreaming of a village where peace reigned?"
Madara kept quiet, the sound of the rushing water permeating the field.
"A village!" Hashirama raised his voice, turning to make it heard across on both sides. "Where children can be born, not to be thrust onto the battlefield as fodder at five or six, but to revel in the joy of childhood, to dream and laugh—where they might one day blossom into adults, not mere corpses left behind by war."
More silence.
"A village!" he yelled again. "Of different shinobi clans, living together as allies, lending each other their strengths and covering for each other's weaknesses, rather than be pit against each other by the highest bidder."
Madara let out a harsh exhale of air.
"Is that not a beautiful dream, my fellow shinobi? Would that not be a world worth fighting for? A world where peace reigns, a world that Madara and I dared to dream of as children."
"That dream was to protect our brothers!" Madara gritted out, voice laced with a fury that crackled in the air between them. "And now I. Have. No. Brothers!"
"But there are still others!" Hashirama replied, breathless, desperation threading his voice. "Look around you, Madara. Everyone is absolutely exhausted from this war! This feud that has consumed our clans for centuries is bullshit and you know it!"
Madara threw his head back and laughed.
Has he finally gone mad? Itama wondered, the sound of his heart pounding. Between Tobirama's Flying Thunder God Slash and Hashirama's big mouth, did we finally break Uchiha Madara?
"And who have you lost in this war, Senju? Your father? You cared little for him and his death only benefited you. Your brother? You Senju exterminated our Hagoromo allies in revenge for him. Now you come to me offering peace, with your beloved, very much alive, brothers surrounding you. How am I to trust you and this so-called peace you are offering!?"
"Madara, What can I do to prove my sincerity?" Hashirama asked, desperate.
The Uchiha leader glowered, arms crossed.
Itama remembered his mentor Tamotsu's teachings, half a lifetime previous. The first rule of negotiation: do not be the one to make the first offer.
"Is it the prisoners? Do you want me to release them?"
The second rule of negotiation: do not negotiate against yourself.
"Release the prisoners!" Hashirama yelled, gesturing at their clansmen.
When they hesitated, Hashirama raised his hands into a handseal himself, causing the wooden constructs to detach themselves and the seals to flutter off.
With a blurr, the Uchiha POWs appeared on the other side of the river, reunited with their own clansmen.
Uchiha Hikaku, emaciated from captivity and eyes furiously blinking from the sudden exposure to light, appeared on Madara's left.
"Are you mocking me, Hashirama? Are you so full of yourself that you do not think my men will tip the scales in any combat?"
"Please Madara, I just want peace. What else do you need?"
What about our men? Itama wanted to scream. The third rule of negotiation: always present a unified front.
"Do you think it would be so simple?"
With a flicker of his own hand, the spell that had held the Senju POWs paralyzed was undone. Their eyes blinked, taking in the unfamiliar sights, before they caught sight of the Uchiha around them and the Senju across the river. Scrambling, they too blurred over.
"No. I am sure you want a suitably large concession. Go on, just ask!"
"Once there were five of us. Now only I remain, after your brother killed my last remaining brother. The debt needs to be repaid. With interest."
"Madara…" Hashirama's voice trailed off, the implications apparent.
"Yes. The lives of your brothers. That is the price for peace," Madara stated, his voice cold and unyielding. "Only then will you prove your sincerity, Hashirama. Only then will the bloodshed end. That is the sacrifice you must make to prove your sincerity!"
Hashirama turned to eye his brothers, first Tobirama and then Itama, his gaze heavy with a mix of sorrow and determination
"Now what, anija?" Tobirama erupted, voice sharp as a blade. "Will you have us killed to satisfy Madara's twisted demands?"
His eldest brother did not respond, and for a brief, terrible moment, Itama feared he would do just that – prioritize his best friend over his own brothers.
Hashirama was tense, his hands fisted. Everyone held their breaths.
"Oh, it seems that you were not that serious," Madara taunted, an ugly smirk twisting his lips.
"The lives of my brothers are not mine to offer," Hashirama finally admitted.
"You are their leader," Madara sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Like any tool, every shinobi in your clan is yours to use, whether to wield or to discard. Why should your brothers be any different?"
"You say that," Hashirama replied. "But I do not believe you think that way, not truly. I know who you are deep down," Hashirama continued, his voice thick with nostalgia. "The sweet boy I befriended all those years ago—a boy so sensitive he couldn't pee if someone stood behind him. Where did that boy go?"
"Wh-why you!" Madara spat out, before slashing with his hand. "Fine. Then I ask for your life instead. That is my price for peace!"
"My life?" Hashirama wondered, out loud. "My life for peace?"
"Yes! Do not make me repeat myself."
The clearing was completely silent, everyone holding their breath.
Hashirama finally smiled, a bittersweet expression that revealed the depth of his resolve.
"Madara, you are truly kind."
Reaching around, he began loosening the straps of his armor, unstrapping and then divesting himself of it.
"Anija, don't tell me you are considering it!?" Tobirama demanded, his voice rising with panic. "You can't possibly think—!
He threw his distinctive red armor back onto the shore, leaving him in nothing but his black shirt and trouser, as well as a kunai.
"You have a wife and child back home!" Itama yelled, desperate. "Are you really going to leave them behind!?"
"My life is not so special, little brother," Hashirama corrected him, a shadow of sadness crossing his face. "How many fathers have died in this god-awful war? How many orphans have you not made yourself?"
Itama drew back, as if stung.
"Anija, this is madness!" Tobirama shouted, his voice cracking with urgency. "If you give your life, what's to stop them from attacking us the moment you're gone? You can't trust Madara!"
"Because they won't," Hashirama replied, a calm determination in his voice. He knelt, grasping the kunai tightly in both hands, the metal glinting ominously in the sunlight. "Do you vow on your honor to make peace with my clan, Madara? Do you vow on the memory of your brothers?"
The man eyed him quietly, before dipping his head slowly.
Behind them, a murmur of disbelief rippled through their clansmen, voices rising in panic and confusion, as they struggled to comprehend the turn of events.
The Uchiha were, in contrast, shocked into silence. The situation had spiraled but massively in their favor.
"I, Hashirama Senju, son of Butsuma Senju and clan leader of the Senju," he proclaimed, voice steady despite the weight of his decision, "hereby give my life in the name of peace!"
No…
"May all the hate, may all the grievances, be entombed and disappear with me in my grave. May the Uchiha and the Senju deal fairly with each other, and grow stronger together."
"Anija…"
Tobirama armed himself, and Itama followed. His heart broke, but his shinobi mind whirled.
Hikaku is still weak from captivity and Tessarion's strange magic might still protect me from his genjutsu, he thought, eyeing the man, who was glaring back at him. If Tobirama can keep Madara occupied long enough…
Yes, we will still have a chance… Even without eldest brother.
"... and should the two clans fail to achieve peace with my death," Hashirama's voice rang out. "Then perhaps it is our destiny to destroy each other at the other's hand. At least I will go knowing I did my all."
In a single, clean motion that belied no hesitation, Hashirama jerked his arms, the kunai aimed into his chest.
In the next instance Madara was there.
"You fool!" the Uchiha grunted. "That's enough!"
The sharp tip of the kunai had just barely sunk into Hashirama's chest, the Uchiha gripping it tightly with both palms on the blade.
Rivulets of crimson blood flowed from where the kunai had penetrated the skin, Hashirama's blood mixing with Madara's blood and dripping down into the river.
With a grunt, Madara ripped the kunai out of Hashirama's hands. His own hands trembled as he stared at it, before dropping it as if it were scalding to the touch.
In the silence that followed, Hashirama's voice was soft, almost fragile. "Peace?" he asked, extending his right hand, a glimmer of hope shining through his weary eyes.
"... Fine," Madara responded, taking his hand with his own injured one and pulling him up from his standing position.
That was how Senju Hashirama and Uchiha Madara made peace, ending a feud that stretched back a millennium.