Darkness enveloped him, carrying him through the void in an endless stream. There was neither up nor down—only boundless nothingness in which existence itself dissolved. Obito felt neither pain nor fear—only the pacifying calm of non-existence. Death had finally accepted him, granting the long-awaited release from the burden of his lived life.
A light touch. Almost imperceptible, it pierced the void like a ray of light in darkness. Something—or someone—touched his soul, tearing it from death's embrace. Memories flooded in: the final battle, Naruto dispelling the darkness in his heart, his sacrifice to save Kakashi... Earlier images flashed before his inner eye: the Tobi mask that had hidden his disfigured face and broken soul; Madara's name, which had become a shield against pain; the bloody trail left in the history of the shinobi world.
And before all this was the moment that split his life in two. Rin—light and hope—had thrown herself onto Kakashi's hand, enveloped in Chidori. Her last breath carried away all dreams of the future. A thirteen-year-old kunoichi, transformed into a living weapon against her village, chose death to protect those she loved. That day, not only did Obito die—the former Obito died, giving way to a monster obsessed with the illusion of a perfect world.
A new touch, more insistent this time, pulled him out of the stream of memories. Obito felt an unknown force pulling him upward, toward the surface of reality he had no desire to return to. The void resisted, unwilling to release its prey, but the unknown power was stronger.
The sense of touch returned first—a cool breeze caressed his skin. Then came sounds—the quiet rustle of leaves and the ominous creaking of tree trunks. Obito slowly opened his eyes, and reality crashed down on him with merciless clarity.
He lay on the ground amid ruins that once were Konoha. Gray clouds covered the sky above, through which dim light barely penetrated. All around, as far as the eye could see, stretched a forest of whitish roots from the divine tree. The roots pierced destroyed buildings, reaching toward the sky like bones of a giant skeleton. On them, like grotesque fruits, hung empty cocoons—all that remained of people caught in the infinite Tsukuyomi.
Obito slowly rose to his feet. His body, contrary to expectations, moved easily, without pain or fatigue. He looked at his hands—both were intact, with no trace of injuries from the final battle. It was as if death had healed all wounds before returning him to life.
Around him reigned a deathly silence, broken only by random gusts of wind. Obito walked among the ruins, and each step echoed in the emptiness. Everywhere lay withered bodies—the last witnesses to humanity's defeat. Some still clutched weapons in their hands, frozen in a final attempt at resistance, while others seemed to sleep, lulled by eternal slumber.
So Naruto and Sasuke had lost. Kaguya had won, turning the world into a lifeless wasteland. But why am I here again? Why am I alive? Obito stopped before the destroyed Hokage Tower. The stone faces on the cliff stared into the void as silent witnesses to the collapse of everything they had once protected.
Perhaps this is the real punishment—not oblivion in the void, but the necessity to contemplate the fruits of one's own deeds. After all, it was his pain, decisions, and sins that had led the world to ruin.
Footsteps sounded behind him—unhurried and confident. A familiar chakra touched his consciousness. Obito didn't need to turn around to recognize the unwelcome companion in his afterlife.
"How like you, Obito," Madara's mocking voice rang out, "even in death, drowning in your regrets."
Obito didn't turn around. Bitterness and anger filled his soul. This man had destroyed his life, manipulated him, turned him into a monster... and had himself turned out to be merely a puppet. The silence between them was thick, saturated with unspoken truths about betrayal and deception.
"And you're here too." Obito finally turned to his former mentor, and every word was soaked in the poison of memories.
"What irony." Madara's voice was full of bitterness. "I created an instrument to achieve my goals, grew it from my own flesh... and in the end, I myself became someone's instrument." He paused. "As did you, Obito. We both thought we were playing our own parts, but turned out to be pawns in someone else's game."
"At least I realized it before Kaguya's rod pierced my chest. And you? How was it to learn at the last moment that your 'creation' served other gods?"
"We all love to think we're pulling the strings." Madara smirked, but his smile no longer held its usual arrogance—only tired acceptance.
At that moment, memories washed over him in a heavy wave. Images of the past flashed before his eyes: endless wars, Izuna's death, blood and suffering that permeated the entire history of the shinobi world. He remembered how he first learned about the Infinite Tsukuyomi, how this idea captured his mind like poison, tainting all good intentions.
The dream had seemed so simple and pure—to give tormented humanity an eternal sleep where everyone could live in their perfect reality. To rid the world of pain, betrayal, despair. To create a utopia, even if illusory. For this dream, he was ready to sacrifice everything, even his own soul.
But the result had been a mockery of all his plans. Instead of blessed sleep, people received a nightmare from which there was no awakening. His utopia had turned into an apocalypse, good intentions into the destruction of an entire world. And now, standing here at the edge of reality, Madara for the first time allowed himself to realize the full scale of his defeat. Not just as a warrior or leader, but as a human whose actions had led to a result opposite to what he intended.
Obito was silent, looking at the withered cocoons forever frozen on the branches of the divine tree. Somewhere there, in empty shells, remained the last echoes of unfulfilled dreams. His dream of happiness with Rin now seemed distant and naive.
"Do you still think the plan was right?" asked Obito, not hiding the contempt in his voice.
Madara crossed his arms over his chest, gazing somewhere into the distance:
"It doesn't matter now."
Obito surveyed the lifeless landscape:
"Naruto and Sasuke lost. We should have remained dead."
"And yet we're here," Madara said thoughtfully, tilting his head. "Someone deliberately pulled us out of oblivion."
"Why?" Obito glanced at his former mentor. His voice held distrust.
"One who sees beyond the limits of your world," rang out a new voice, ancient and all-penetrating, making reality itself shudder.
Obito and Madara instantly took fighting stances. The air around them thickened, as if under the weight of an alien presence, and shadows began to intertwine, forming a tall figure with constantly changing outlines, as if space couldn't hold the form.
Madara activated his Sharingan, peering into the dancing shadows.
"Who... or what are you?"
His eyes narrowed. Under the Sharingan's gaze, the space around the entity behaved incorrectly, violating all known laws. The shadows didn't just move—they seemed to fold into themselves, creating figures that made one's head spin at the mere sight. Even the Rinnegan, capable of seeing the very essence of things, couldn't capture the true form of the creature before them.
Obito, relying on his experience using Kamui, felt the space around the entity pulsing like a living heart. In places where shadows touched the air, reality thinned to complete emptiness. The sensation was like looking into a bottomless well that was simultaneously everywhere and nowhere.
Both shinobi instinctively understood—before them was something that had no place in their world. The entity didn't just distort the reality around itself—it seemed to deny its very existence.
"It's amusing to observe those who considered themselves shapers of destiny." The entity's voice sounded from everywhere, its echo resonating painfully in their bones. "You both dreamed of reshaping reality as you saw fit. But even your Kaguya, who was worshipped as a goddess, was merely a grain of sand in the ocean of existence."
"Why did you bring us back?" asked Obito, his voice dry and emotionless.
"You will soon find out. For now, you must understand: the destruction of your world is just the beginning." The entity fell silent, and the space around it distorted, twisting into a spiral of shadows.
When reality restored itself, they found themselves in a vast throne room, saturated with primordial power. On a dais, on a throne of pure energy, sat Kaguya. Her eyes were wide open, madness swirling within them, and her skin was covered with a network of glowing cracks, as if her body barely contained the raging power inside.
Madara instantly activated his Rinnegan, while Obito prepared to use Kamui. But the goddess remained motionless, frozen like a statue in time.
"Time doesn't move here," echoed the entity's voice, reflecting off the walls. "Look. This is what happens when a mortal being tries to contain absolute power."
The shadows around them thickened, and they saw waves of energy running across Kaguya's body, distorting reality. Her face transformed into a grimace of pain and ecstasy simultaneously.
"What do you want?"
"I need those who can bear the burden of true power." The entity wove from shadows an image of a fractured throne. "Those who have known both power and defeat. And now..." its voice grew deeper, making reality itself vibrate, "allow me to show what lies beyond your world. That for which I summoned you from oblivion."
The entity's shadow spread across the floor, forming a perfectly flat black platform that absorbed light.
Madara and Obito exchanged glances. They stood on the threshold of mysteries inaccessible to mortals. Before them was frozen a mad goddess whose body was cracking from the power overflowing within her, and ahead awaited revelations that would eclipse even this spectacle.
They simultaneously stepped onto the black platform, ready to see what lay beyond understanding.
The ground beneath their feet trembled, and the black platform soared upward with incredible speed. The ruined Konoha became a dot on the horizon, then disappeared entirely. The clouds parted, and soon they could see the curve of the horizon. The planet grew smaller until it became a tiny blue ball.
"Your world," spoke the entity, "is unique in its path of power development. Chakra—energy linking the physical and spiritual—became the foundation of your civilization, giving birth to an art inaccessible to other worlds." Around them unfolded a panorama of the galaxy: spiral arms dotted with stars, nebulae pulsing with light.
The space filled with visions: colossal figures manipulating stars and planets; beings of pure energy altering the structure of galaxies; cosmic bodies possessing consciousness.
"Each world," the deity's voice became deeper and more substantial, "finds its own path to power. In some places, it's science and technology capable of transforming entire planets. In others—ancient magic, rooted in the very essence of existence."
Before them unfolded scenes: fleets of ships among the stars, mystical rituals altering reality, shinobi shaping the world with seals and techniques.
"But there is a power," the deity paused, "that existed before the division of paths. Primordial might from which all forms of energy were born."
Around them emerged images of the fundamental forces of the universe: gravity compressing stars; quantum fields forming matter; space-time bending around massive bodies.
"This primordial force," continued the deity, "was divided and enclosed in six stones. Each represents a foundation of existence: Space, Reality, Power, Mind, Time, and Soul."
Before them appeared images of stones, each pulsing with its own light, reflecting an aspect of the universe.
"The Infinity Stones," the entity pronounced. "I want you both to collect them for me."
"And why can't you collect them yourself?" asked Obito, open distrust sounding in his voice.
"I need those who know how to hide in shadows." The entity paused, and the darkness around it thickened even more. "Those capable of acting unnoticed."
"So you need puppets." Madara said this with a cold smirk, taking a step forward. "Impressive performance, but behind it all hides a simple truth. You can't take the stones yourself." He gave the entity an appraising look. "Such power... and such obvious limitations. Even beings of your level are forced to play by rules. So what's stopping you? Other gods? Or something more... fundamental?"
The entity froze, the shadows around it thickening to the blackness of cosmic emptiness. When it spoke again, deep weariness sounded in its voice:
"Those like me..." in its words resonated a thousand-year bitterness, "deities observing the dance of universes since the beginning of time. We see patterns of fate intertwining into the tapestry of reality... and we see how they tear." The entity paused, the shadows around it darkening to the blackness of deep space. "Soon this universe will meet its end."
Madara snorted, crossing his arms over his chest.
"And others like you will simply allow it to die?"
"They won't simply allow it." Cold notes appeared in the entity's voice. "They await it. The death of universes is part of the natural order. But I... I see potential where others see only inevitability."
Obito, silent until now, leaned forward.
"Why us? Of all warriors, of all worlds—why two traitors whose actions led to the destruction of their own world?"
The shadows around the entity swirled in a vortex, forming images of their past battles.
"Your powers and experience will allow you to collect all the stones unnoticed. But most importantly..." the entity paused, "your understanding of the price of mistakes and willingness to fix everything."
"Fix?" Obito laughed bitterly. "Our world is dead. Everyone I..."
"One snap," the entity interrupted him, and the shadows around it condensed into the shape of a hand with clenched fingers. "When all six Stones are collected and their power joins with yours, it will be enough to just snap your fingers. Imagine the world you want to see, and the very fabric of reality will obey your will."
"How... generous of you." Madara stretched his lips in a predatory smile, each word dripping with poison. "A being capable of manipulating reality itself, so freely sharing such power?" He let out a short, sharp laugh. "I've spent enough time behind the throne, pulling strings, to understand: even gods don't give anything for free." His eyes dangerously narrowed, his voice becoming sharp as a blade. "Let's skip this part about noble intentions. What game are you really playing?"
The shadows around the entity streamed like a cosmic waterfall, and its voice filled with ancient wisdom and power:
"Absolute power corrupts... absolutely, Madara Uchiha. I will give you the opportunity to use the power of all the stones only once—one moment to rewrite the history of the world. One chance to fix what has been destroyed. After that, the stones will return to me."
Madara was silent, letting the entity's words resonate in the depths of his consciousness. His former ambitions now seemed like child's play, naive attempts to reach the summit without understanding the true scale of power. But now... something new stirred in his chest. Not the thirst for power, left behind with broken dreams of a perfect world. This was a different feeling—sharp, intoxicating anticipation of a real challenge.
Beings capable of manipulating reality. Guardians of ancient powers. Gods considering themselves untouchable. The corners of Madara's lips barely noticeably twitched in a predatory smile. Finally, worthy opponents, a dance with whom would require all his skill and power. Not just a battle for power—a game of cosmic scale, where each move could change the fate of universes.
The entity seemed to read his thoughts—the shadows around it wavered, as if in silent laughter. It knew it had offered exactly what the legendary Uchiha could not resist—an opportunity to test himself against forces capable of destroying planets.
Madara narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. A dangerous interest flashed in his eyes—that very gleam that once made entire armies retreat in fear:
"And what is your... grand plan?" Biting irony seeped through his voice.
"They are scattered across different worlds, different realities." The entity created a map on which bright points glimmered. "Some are hidden, some guarded, some in use. Your task is to collect them all while remaining unnoticed by other... observers."
"You mean other gods?" clarified Madara.
"Exactly." In the air formed images of powerful beings holding the stones. "The guardians of this power are ancient races and beings who consider themselves gods." The shadows transformed into silhouettes of Celestials and other cosmic creatures. "They must not learn of our..." the entity paused, and the space around it momentarily trembled, "cooperation. For even gods fear those capable of rewriting the very fabric of reality."
"And if we refuse?" asked Obito, though it was clear from his eyes that the decision had already been made.
"Then you will return to the void," the entity calmly replied. "But before making a decision, consider this..."
It created a new illusion: the space before them distorted, revealing the final moments of the battle with Kaguya. Naruto and Sasuke, wounded beyond recognition, tried with their last strength to resist the goddess. Deep wounds covered their bodies, their clothes soaked in blood. Kaguya towered over them, her face glowing with cold triumph as she opened a portal.
"Watch carefully." The entity's voice sounded with unwavering confidence. "In the original flow of time, this portal led to one of her dimensions—a place that would have become their grave."
Obito involuntarily leaned forward, watching as Naruto and Sasuke disappeared into the vortex of the portal.
"The coordinates of Kaguya's portal were changed," continued the entity. "They were directed to a different reality—a version of your world where history took a different path. A world without chakra, but with other powers."
Madara narrowed his eyes:
"And who would need them?"
"Now is not the time to discuss that. It seems someone has plans for them," came the reply.
"As you do for us?" Uchiha smirked.
"Exactly right. Understand," the shadows around the entity formed a complex pattern of intertwining realities, "changing history doesn't erase those who made this change. When the new world takes form, other versions of you will be born there—those who will never know the darkness in which you drowned. But you, standing here, will remain unchanged."
"Witnesses to a dead timeline," Madara smirked bitterly.
"Guardians of memory," the entity corrected him. "Each of you will become an anchor between what was and what will be. An eternal reminder of the price paid for the world's rebirth."
Obito was silent, looking at projections of possible futures—faces of those he had lost, now happy, lives not overshadowed by betrayal and pain.
"And yet..." the shadows around the entity began to glow with a soft silvery light, "I've held back one detail. Something that might... spur your enthusiasm."
The space before them unfolded, revealing a view of a futuristic city. Spires of buildings gleaming in the rays of two suns, floating platforms, ships cutting through the azure sky.
"The planet Xandar," pronounced the entity, and for the first time, a warm note sounded in its voice. "And those who have waited for this meeting for seven long years."
On the roof of a building, two figures moved with the grace of experienced shinobi. A young woman with chestnut hair was animatedly telling something to her companion. Her laughter, pure and clear, seemed to penetrate through the barrier between worlds.
Obito froze. His face turned pale, as if he had seen a ghost. In a sense, he had—before him was Rin Nohara, alive, grown up, happy. And beside her...
"Izuna," breathed Madara. His brother, unchanged, was arguing about something with Rin, smiling his usual half-smile that Madara had remembered all these years.
"Seven years ago, I brought them back to life for a specific purpose." The entity created images of the past in a vortex of shadows. "During this time, they've studied the secrets of space, mastered technologies from different worlds, created connections among key races of the galaxy. Without their knowledge and experience, finding the stones would take years, if not decades." The shadows formed a map of star paths and interdimensional portals. "They are not just guides—they are your insurance against detection by other... observers. Besides," the entity paused, "the presence of close souls will help you adapt more quickly to the new reality. Believe me, when facing the boundlessness of space, an anchor in the form of a familiar face is invaluable."
On Obito's face was frozen a mask of primal horror—not the kind that makes one flee from danger, but that deep, paralyzing fear that comes with the realization of the irreversibility of one's actions. His gaze, fixed on the living, smiling Rin, seemed like the gaze of a man staring into the abyss of his own soul. His fingers convulsively clenched, and on his face flashed a shadow of such deep agony that even the air around him seemed to thicken from this silent anguish.
The entity took from the shadows a crystal pulsing with inner light. Fingers slid along invisible facets, sending a message through space and time.
In the projection of Xandar, Rin and Izuna simultaneously reached for devices on their wrists. Holographic symbols reflected in their eyes, and carefree expressions changed to concentration. Rin pressed her palm to her heart, while Izuna straightened, as if preparing for battle.
"Time intersects with destiny," pronounced the entity, raising its hand. Reality trembled, parting in a golden vortex. On the other side of the portal stretched Xandar—alive, breathing, full of colors of an alien world. Rin and Izuna stood at the edge of the roof, their silhouettes clearly outlined against the sunset.
"They know everything they need to." The entity's voice sounded with final certainty. "Your path begins here."
Obito stepped toward the portal but froze, casting a last glance at the entity. Madara, however, looked only forward, as if afraid the image of his brother would disappear if he averted his gaze.
"Go." In the entity's voice resounded the power of creation itself. "And remember: the reality you create will depend on choices made now."
The portal shimmered before them, connecting past with future, death with life. Madara and Obito exchanged glances one last time—two outcasts, two traitors, given a chance to fix everything. And then they stepped forward, leaving behind a dead world and carrying with them the memory of what must be changed.
Flashback
The past hit Obito suddenly, pulling him into a day he had kept locked away in memory for so many years—too painful, too pure for who he had become.
The training ground behind the academy was bathed in the rays of sunset. Gold and crimson colored everything around, and dust from countless attempts to master the technique transformed the sunlight into shimmering pillars. The air mingled with scents of burnt grass and blooming sakura—spring in Konoha always came early.
Young Obito, all bruised and scraped, was once again forming hand seals. Sweat blurred his vision, his hands trembled from fatigue, but the stubbornness for which teachers both praised and scolded him drove him forward. The Great Fireball Technique was an unofficial test for every member of the Uchiha clan. Without it, one couldn't be considered a real shinobi in the eyes of the elders. He desperately wanted to prove his right to bear the clan's crest, to become something more than the perpetually late Uchiha.
Tiger-Snake-Monkey-Boar-Horse-Tiger
Chakra gathered in his chest in a tight knot. For a moment, it seemed to work. The energy was forming correctly, warmth spreading through his body...
Everything collapsed in an instant. Either the Horse seal failed, or his chakra control. Instead of flowing smoothly forward, the fire exploded right in front of his face. The impact threw him backward, his clothes on his chest smoldered, his skin burned.
The sky above his head swam in orange smears. His ears rang from the explosion. Anger and disappointment flooded his consciousness—how many more attempts? How many more falls?
"Obito!"
Her voice cut through the veil of pain and self-reproach. Rin.
Obito didn't know how long she had been watching the training, but now it didn't matter. What mattered was that she had witnessed his failure.
Hurried footsteps approached—Rin always rushed to help the wounded. A born medic, as teachers said. Obito tried to sit up, pretending everything was fine, but his body wouldn't obey.
"Don't move." She knelt beside him, pressing her hand to her chest in a gesture of concern. "Let me look."
A green glow enveloped her hands. The coolness of the medical technique touched his burnt skin, bringing relief. Obito looked away—shame for his own clumsiness burned stronger.
"You overdid it." In Rin's voice intertwined reproach and care. "So many old bruises... and these bandages..." Her fingers gently touched the bandages. "They're from yesterday's training, aren't they?"
Obito mumbled something unintelligible, feeling himself blush. Only Rin so sincerely worried about wounds. Kakashi usually made sarcastic remarks about clumsiness, other kids would chuckle, adults would shake their heads. She alone never laughed, never reproached. She was simply there when help was needed.
"You know," said Rin, continuing to heal the burns, "being strong doesn't necessarily mean mastering the most impressive techniques."
"But how else can I protect important people?" burst out from Obito. "How will I become Hokage if I can't even master a simple clan technique?"
Rin paused. In the silence, only the chirping of cicadas and the distant hum of returning birds could be heard.
"There are different ways to protect." In her calm voice sounded the confidence of a person who had found their calling. "I chose the path of a medic. Because I want not only to stop enemies but also to save those who are dear. To heal their wounds, to support them when it's difficult."
The setting sun colored her hair honey. She extended her hand, helping Obito to rise, and at the touch of their fingers, the whole world narrowed to this moment.
"Thank you, Rin," mumbled Obito, unable to meet her gaze. "I... I will definitely become stronger. To protect..." —you, he wanted to say, but the word stuck in his throat— "...all the people important to me."
She smiled with that special warmth that had been preserved in his memory all these years. Warmth that later haunted him in nightmares, when this smile faded on bloodied lips.
"I know, Obito. I believe in you."
The memory dissolved in the twilight of memory. The last thing Obito saw were her eyes—pure, full of faith in him and in a future that seemed so clear. Eyes into which now, after a life filled with darkness and pain, he could not force himself to look.
I will always be there to help heal your wounds.
Her words echoed in his consciousness as reality returned, and with it came the understanding that some wounds are too deep for healing. And that now, when they meet again, it would be Rin's very presence that would become the most painful of them.
Now
The portal closed behind them, leaving the dead world behind. Xandar welcomed them with two suns—golden and crimson. Light reflected off the spires of skyscrapers, turning the city into an ocean of flame.
At the edge of the roof waited two figures. The sunset rays outlined the silhouettes of Rin and Izuna, transforming them into dark figures against the burning sky. A gust of wind whipped Rin's light-silver jumpsuit, and the light circuits on her sleeves came alive, flowing like living lightning. Rin raised her hand, adjusting a strand of chestnut hair that had fallen from a loose knot.
Izuna stepped forward, and his dark tunic with asymmetrical hems swayed smoothly in time with his movements.
In his gait could be read the familial grace of an Uchiha warrior—every step honed by years of battles, every gesture measured by endless training. On his wrists gleamed thin bracelets, whose purpose clearly went beyond simple adornment.
Madara tensed. After decades without his brother, he had almost forgotten his manner of movement, had almost convinced himself that the memory had been erased under the weight of plans, wars, and betrayals. But his body remembered—muscles responded to the familiar rhythm of steps.
How many times in childhood had they practiced this gait together? Stealthily observing the training of adults, trying to repeat movements until exhaustion. Izuna always grasped things faster—light, precise, as if born for battle. Their father praised his technique, while Madara stayed late, repeating the same movements again and again until his legs trembled.
Now, looking at his brother, he remembered their last training session together—the day before the fateful battle with Tobirama. Both had honed a new combination of attacks, and Izuna playfully bowed, calling him "the most stubborn teacher." Madara had then dismissed the joke, too absorbed in thoughts about upcoming negotiations. If only he had known it was their last sparring match...
Years later, creating a plan for the perfect world, he convinced himself he was doing it for the common good. But deep down, he knew: it all began in that moment when he held his dying brother in his arms.
They froze opposite each other—two blades of the same temper, separated by an abyss of time. Madara involuntarily noted changes in his brother: thick dark stubble, which Izuna had never worn in his previous life, now covered his chin and cheeks. His eyes, however, remained the same—sharp, attentive, with that special spark of mockery he remembered from childhood.
Izuna tilted his head, momentarily exposing his neck. An ancient gesture of trust among shinobi, especially significant for Sharingan bearers—to bare the most vulnerable spot before one capable of killing with a glance. In this simple movement could be read all the complexity of relationships: here he is, the brother, standing alive, changed, but still remembering the ancient traditions of the clan. Still trusting, despite the decades Madara had spent immersed in darkness.
"Still as cautious as ever." Steel rang in Izuna's voice. "Even now searching for a catch?"
The corner of Madara's mouth twitched: not a smile—merely a shadow of former rare moments of peace between battles. There weren't many such moments: brief respites by the campfire after another skirmish with enemy clans, when Izuna, exhausted from battle, would fall asleep leaning against his shoulder; rare minutes on the riverbank where they trained with Hashirama in childhood—before blood feud turned friendship to ashes; quiet evenings in the clan's dojo, when he and his brother honed their technique under the rustling of paper lanterns, preparing for new battles over territories.
"And you still aren't afraid to expose your neck."
Izuna straightened, and his eyes momentarily flashed red—three curved sickles swirled around his pupil, forming into the familiar pattern of Mangekyo: the very one Madara had seen for years in his own reflection after the transplant. But now these eyes were alive, sharp.
"Some habits don't change. Even if everything else does."
Under the light of alien suns, they were again simply brothers: warriors of one blood, in whose eyes reflected the same pattern of Mangekyo—the legacy of countless battles of the Uchiha clan. Though separated by an abyss of time and choices, the ancient law of blood remained unchanged—a brother is a brother, even if paths diverged so far that one ended up in a grave, while the other sank into darkness.
Rin's gaze remained fixed on Obito, absorbing every feature of his changed face. For seven years, she had lived with a fragment of unspoken truth in her heart—ever since the deity revealed the truth about his rescue. This news had been a stone thrown into the quiet waters of her new life.
At night, she would wake from dreams of the cave-in. Only now knowing: he had survived—survived, but never returned. This fact tormented her mind with questions she was afraid to voice. Where had he been? Why hadn't he let her know he was alive?
Each look from Rin was torture—innocent, full of the same childlike faith. She looked with eyes from the past, not knowing that her death had transformed that boy into a monster capable of starting a war. Not knowing that her image had for years served as an anchor for his hatred toward the world.
But Rin remained silent. What mattered was that he was here. Alive. Real. Time would sort out the rest.
"Obito!" she rushed to him, casting aside restraint.
Her footsteps echoed in the emptiness between worlds. Obito froze, fighting the urge to step back, to dissolve into the space of Kamui. Her approach felt like an oncoming wave—inevitable, capable of washing away all the walls built around his darkness.
Rin grabbed his hand—just as she used to after training at the academy. This simple gesture brought back so many memories that something inside him cracked.
"You're really alive! All these years..." Her voice trembled. "I couldn't believe it when he said..."
Obito remained silent, feeling as if reality was splitting into layers. In one layer, he saw Rin from the past, her faith and warmth. In another—a bloodied body lying in the rain, and the final breath that severed his connection to the world.
Rin knew nothing about Tobi, about the years spent in shadow, about the blood on his hands. For her, he remained that boy who dreamed of becoming Hokage. And this innocence of faith was more terrifying than any torture.
The double sunset colored Rin's face, reminiscent of that distant evening in Konoha. However, now she was illuminated by different suns, and instead of birdsong, the air resonated with the hum of engines.
"Rin..." The name escaped hoarsely, stuck in his throat like shards of the past. He had uttered this name thousands of times—in prayers, in curses, in promises of vengeance. Now it burned his tongue with its ordinariness.
She smiled—that very smile from his nightmares. Alive, real, unstained by blood. Her fingers tightened around his hand, reminding him of a long-ago promise: I will always be there. A promise that shattered the moment she threw herself at Kakashi's Chidori, choosing death to protect the village. The moment that transformed the world into an endless nightmare, and Obito himself into someone willing to destroy reality for the illusion of happiness.
An aircraft soared over the roof—massive, alien, with roaring engines. The stream of air whipped at them, billowing hair and clothes. Madara and Obito instinctively tensed; their bodies reacted to nearby danger before their minds realized it was merely transport from an alien world.
"Let's go," said Izuna. "We have much to discuss."
Rin pulled Obito by the hand. He obeyed, feeling like a puppet.
They crossed the roof, leaving behind the fading light of two suns.
"And you, brother, are still the same, except for a few more wrinkles," smirked Izuna. "Though for a dead man, you look decent."
Crossing the city, Madara surveyed the panorama below—streets pulsing with light arteries, floating gardens with crystalline trees, intelligent beings of all forms and colors. But his gaze invariably returned to his brother, who moved easily across futuristic ledges.
"Seven years in a new world, and your tongue is still as sharp as ever."
"Someone has to tell you the truth," Izuna shrugged. "Especially now that you're no longer the most powerful Uchiha in this... universe."
The tone carried a familiar audacity—that brotherly mockery Madara remembered from childhood. As if there had never been deaths, betrayals, and destroyed worlds between them.
For Izuna and Rin, gravitational lifts and flying platforms proved unnecessary—the art of shinobi had turned this futuristic city into a giant training ground for them.
Obito kept his distance, deliberately maintaining space between them. Rin kept looking back, as if fearing he might disappear. Unspoken questions lingered in her eyes, making everything inside him contract.
The trading quarter greeted them with a kaleidoscope of holograms, multilingual chatter, and aromas of galactic cuisine. Between the stalls bustled creatures of all imaginable forms—some floated in the air, others moved on multiple limbs, still others flowed like living metal.
"Lady Rin!" called a loud voice. A tall, red-skinned merchant with tattoos raised his hand. "I have new neurostimulators from Kree-Lar! You'll definitely be interested!"
"Sorry, Zik'tar, not today. Important business."
"Ah, I understand, I understand!" The merchant laughed heartily. "As usual—the galaxy is in danger, and only you can save the situation..."
Obito noted something strange: the red-skinned being spoke in a foreign language, but Rin answered in their native tongue. Behind each person's ear gleamed a small device—probably a local translator. Another detail for future questions.
"Mr. Izuna!" came a new voice. A humanoid with silvery skin was holding out a container glowing blue. "Your order is ready!"
Izuna deftly caught the container:
"Thank you, Sylex. The money is already in your account."
Madara observed his brother. He moved through the chaos with the confidence of a long-time resident. His movements showed complete mastery of local technologies, his voice carried the intonations of an experienced information trader.
They turned into a quiet alley where the flow of passersby thinned. Here, dangerous-looking beings predominated—mercenaries, smugglers, arms dealers. At the sight of Rin and Izuna, even they respectfully made way; some touched their headgear in greeting.
"Seven years is enough to build a reputation," remarked Izuna, noticing his brother's interest. "Especially if you know the right people and take the right contracts."
"And what reputation have you earned?"
"Reliable operators," answered Rin without turning around. "We take on complex but legal contracts. No terrorism, slave trading, or drugs. There are plenty of ways to earn in the galaxy without staining your hands."
The alley led to the docks—enormous structures hovering above the ground. Ships of all sizes darted between them: from single-person capsules to massive cargo vessels. Izuna headed to a distant dock where, in the half-light, the outlines of a medium-sized ship emerged.
"This is the 'Ghost Blade.'" Pride slipped into Izuna's voice. "Our home for the last five years."
The ship resembled a hybrid of a predatory bird and an ancient sword—a streamlined hull, curved wings, a pointed nose. The black coating with silvery veins gave it the appearance of a blade forged from star metal.
Rin placed her palm on the scanner. The panel flickered, reading not only her fingerprint but also her chakra structure.
"Welcome, Dr. Nohara," said a melodious voice. "Additional biometric signatures detected. Access confirmation required."
"Confirmed, Echo. Register them as highest priority guests."
"As you wish, doctor. Scanning shows similar energy patterns to yours and Captain Uchiha's. Most unusual."
The ramp slowly lowered, opening the way inside. Dim lighting gradually intensified, outlining the contours of the main airlock.
"Please." Izuna gestured inside. "Welcome to our home."
The ship's main corridor was framed by translucent panels, behind which system diagrams pulsed—data flows and life support indicators. All this created the impression of being inside a living organism.
"The central compartment is ahead," Izuna pointed the way. "Medical bay to the left, technical to the right. Living quarters upstairs."
Obito watched Rin. Her fingers slid over the control panels with the same confidence with which they once formed medical technique seals. Every movement reflected absolute confidence in her new life, which had become as natural as Konoha once was.
The central compartment was impressive in scale. In the spacious room with a high ceiling dominated a volumetric galactic map—a scattering of stars and nebulae, slowly rotating in space.
"Computer, activate disinfection protocol," commanded Rin.
The air filled with a soft bioluminescent glow.
"Standard procedure," explained Rin, noticing questioning glances. "At the spaceport, you can catch viruses deadly to some races."
Madara watched his brother's actions as he gave commands in an unfamiliar language. Each gesture—precise, measured, unhurried. As if he had spent his whole life controlling spaceships rather than fighting on the fields of ancient wars.
Rin led them to the medical bay, which resembled an operating room of the future.
"This is where most of the work happens."
The walls were hung with incomprehensible devices. Holographic displays broadcast data in several languages. On the workbench gleamed instruments similar to familiar medical tools, but emitting a strange internal glow.
"Time to take a break." Izuna led them into a spacious room with a panoramic view of the spaceport and the setting suns. Soft lighting created an almost homey atmosphere, interrupted only by holographic data screens on the walls.
Izuna approached a built-in bar. A panel in the wall silently slid aside, revealing a collection of bottles of different shapes and sizes.
"Xandarian brandy. Aged in quantum fluctuation fields. I don't understand the principle, but the taste is impeccable."
Rin sank into a chair, and Obito noted her changed grace of movement. Madara remained by the window, accepting a glass but not touching the drink.
"Seven years," said Izuna, examining the shimmering liquid. "Seven years since our resurrection. And all this time, a question has haunted me—why?" He shifted his gaze to Madara. "Why not both of you at once?"
In the ensuing silence, Rin leaned forward, not taking her eyes off Obito:
"All these years I thought... after the cave-in... How did you survive? Why didn't you come back?"
Obito felt his throat tighten. The image of Rin dying by another's hand flashed in his mind.
"That's not important now." Obito's voice was even, though each word came with difficulty. "What's more important is what we need to do."
"Not important?" Izuna set down his glass. Steel rang in his voice. "A deity brings my brother and Rin's childhood friend back to life, and that's—not important?"
Rin touched his arm with a calming gesture.
"Izuna is right. Something doesn't add up here. He told us so little..." Her gaze shifted from Obito to Madara. "Why you specifically? Why now?"
Madara turned from the window. In the crimson sunset light, his silhouette seemed carved from stone.
"Because we've already lost everything there was to lose." Each word carried the weight of lived years. "And now there's a chance to fix everything. The Infinity Stones..."
"Again avoiding the answer, brother," Izuna interrupted. "Just like before, when it came to what really mattered."
Rin was silent, but her gaze, softly sliding over the scars on the right side of Obito's face, spoke more than any words. Each mark aroused in her a sharp desire to touch, to heal—a medic's habit, always striving to mend any wound. How many times in childhood had she treated his scrapes after training, and now these deep scars spoke of something far more serious—trials he had faced alone.
Her gaze slowly rose to his eyes, trying to find that clumsy but sincere boy who was always late and dreamed of becoming Hokage. Something had imperceptibly changed in those eyes—a new depth had appeared, as if over the years he had seen something that forever altered his view of the world. Not darkness or evil—just something she couldn't yet understand.
When Obito finally met her gaze, Rin involuntarily looked away. Not out of fear or rejection—rather, from the sudden realization of how little she knew about what he had been through over these years. How many untold stories were hidden behind that changed look?
"Perhaps," Rin said slowly, "we all need time. Too much has happened. Too much has changed."
Obito caught in her gaze a reflection of the former tenderness—the one that had once been salvation. And a curse.
"Yes," he echoed. "Too much."
Izuna leaned back in his chair, tapping an uneven rhythm on the armrest.
"Since you both have decided to play the silent game..." Izuna raised his glass. "To reunion. And to secrets that will eventually be revealed."
Madara took his first sip. His face remained impenetrable.
"Then," Izuna sharply set down his glass, the sound of glass against metal pierced the silence, "let's talk about the present. Over these years, Rin and I have tracked down five stones. The sixth remains a mystery."
Izuna ran his hand over the control panel, activating the projector. In the air unfolded a volumetric map of the galaxy—a majestic spiral of star systems, slowly rotating in space. Five bright points pulsed with different colors, like beacons in the cosmic abyss—each marking the location of one of the Infinity Stones. Their glow reflected in the eyes of those present, giving the moment an almost mystical character.
"The first and most accessible—the Power Stone." Izuna pointed to a point pulsating with purple light in the spiral arm of the galaxy. "'Accessible'—I'm being ironic." He cast a quick glance at his brother, a shadow of concern flashing in his eyes. "It's with the Champion, one of the Elders of the Universe. A being whose true power..." Izuna shook his head, his face showing an expression Madara hadn't seen since their youth—a mixture of admiration and fear. "Even after seven years of observation, I couldn't determine the limits of his power. The Champion hosts tournaments," he continued, and the holographic map changed to an image of a massive cosmic arena floating among the stars. "Gladiatorial combat between the strongest warriors of the universe. But these aren't just fighting competitions." He paused, as if choosing his words. "Ancient cosmic deities attend these tournaments—beings who remember the birth of the first stars. For them, these battles are something like... a gambling game. Each puts forward their fighter, and the champion's victory becomes proof of the patron's superiority."
Izuna paused, allowing the information to sink in.
"And in a week, a new tournament begins. The winner gets the right to challenge the Champion himself."
Madara turned from the window. His face remained impassive, but fire flashed in his eyes—either interest or an echo of his former passion for battle.
"I suppose to challenge a being who wields the primordial power of the universe, one needs to prove one's... capability?" Madara said this with that special intonation Izuna remembered from childhood—a mixture of irony and barely contained excitement before a serious challenge.
"Exactly, brother." Izuna activated a new hologram, showing a stone glowing with purple light, hovering in a force field. "After winning the tournament, a real test awaits the challenger—they are given the Power Stone itself. To touch the pure, untamed might of primordial chaos."
Obito leaned forward, shadows from the holographic light playing on the scars on his face, giving them a sinister appearance.
"They just give away an artifact of such power?" In his voice mixed disbelief and the wariness of a man who knew too well the price of such "gifts." The light from the projected stone reflected in his eyes, momentarily coloring them with the same purple glow.
"Temporarily," Izuna clarified. "If the challenger manages to harness the stone's power, hold it for even a few moments, they earn the right to duel the Champion."
Madara let out a short laugh, full of bitter irony:
"First you have to prove you can withstand a power capable of incinerating the soul... How mocking. All my life I sought absolute power, and now the universe itself offers to test if I'm worthy."
"Don't rush to conclusions." Izuna watched his brother carefully. "The Power Stone isn't just concentrated might. It's a particle of the universe's primordial chaos."
"How many?" Obito suddenly asked.
"What?"
"How many were there who could harness this power?"
Rin gripped the armrests of her chair. Izuna hesitated before answering:
"No one. In seven years of observation... not one challenger survived touching the Stone. Some burned up in seconds, others lost their minds, still others turned to dust from a simple touch."
Madara ran his fingers over the glass. In his voice mixed fatigue and awakening excitement:
"The stronger the opponent, the more valuable the victory. And the opportunity to fight a being who possesses the power of primordial chaos..." his eyes flashed red, "such a chance comes once in a lifetime."
Izuna fixed him with a stare:
"You always loved dancing on the edge of the abyss. But here... Even I can't measure the depth of this void."
"That makes the journey all the more interesting." A shadow of a smile slipped into Madara's voice.
"All right." Izuna rose, stretching his shoulders. "I'll contact the organizers and register you. In the meantime, you..."
"Register me too." Obito's voice sounded with unexpected firmness.
Rin turned sharply:
"Obito, no! You haven't seen what happens to those who..."
"I am strong enough," he cut her off. His tone carried a steel Rin had never heard before. "You don't know how strong I've become, Rin."
In the silence, only the hum of ship systems could be heard. Rin looked at Obito, and concern swam in her eyes—so familiar, but now unable to stop him.
Izuna surveyed both challengers and nodded:
"Well, it's decided. I'll register both. Now I suggest we rest—tomorrow we'll need all our strength. Oh, I almost forgot the most important thing." He reached into an inner pocket and pulled out two small devices that gleamed in the lamplight. They resembled elegant earrings made of some silvery metal with barely visible light lines along the edges. "Universal translators." He pointed to a similar device behind his ear, where it almost merged with the skin. "You can't get by without them in the galaxy. Especially when you meet races whose mouths are on the back of their heads, and they communicate by ultrasound," Izuna smirked. "They attach like this," he demonstrated the movement, "with a simple touch to the skin. The neural interface will configure itself to the wearer. They translate almost all known languages of the galaxy in real-time."
Rin automatically touched her translator:
"An indispensable thing, especially in medical practice."
After this, Izuna gave them communicators for contact and explained how to use them. Madara and Obito silently accepted the devices, examining them with brief attentive glances before securing them behind their ears following the example of the others. A barely noticeable shadow of surprise ran across their faces when the translators activated, creating a slight tingling on the skin.
Rin rose from her chair.
"I'll show you to your cabin," she addressed Obito, and in these simple words so many unspoken questions could be heard.
They walked down the corridor side by side—Rin half a step behind, as if afraid of startling him with her sudden proximity. Each of her steps was measured with the caution of a medic accustomed to dealing with the wounded: close enough to offer support if needed, but not so close as to cause discomfort. In this measured distance was an understanding—between them lay an abyss deeper than any words, and now it was important not to cross the invisible line behind which lurked the ghosts of the past.
At the cabin door, Rin paused, turning to him. In the dim light of the corridor, her face seemed quite young—almost the same as on the last day. She raised her hand but stopped halfway, as if hitting an invisible barrier.
"I just..." her voice faltered, and she swallowed, trying to deal with the emotions welling up, "I'm so glad you're alive."
Obito jerked his chin, the muscles on the scarred half of his face barely noticeably tensed. In this spare movement surfaced an old pain—not physical, but one deeper than any scars. His gaze darted to her face for a fraction of a second and immediately turned away, as if burned by the unwanted tenderness in her eyes.
"Good night, Obito," Rin smiled and left. Her footsteps dissolved in the hum of the ship.
Obito watched her go. The reddish light of the lamps momentarily distorted her silhouette, transforming her light clothes into patches of blood. A sharp pain pierced his temple, making him stagger and lean against the wall. Everything swam before his eyes, reality distorted—a prostrate body on wet ground, a glazed look, a lifeless hand in a puddle of rainwater mixed with blood...
His head was splitting as if red-hot needles were being driven into his skull. Obito clenched his teeth, waiting out the attack; his fingers gripped the ship's bulkhead until his knuckles turned white. A few deep breaths—and with an effort of will, he activated his Sharingan; the familiar burning in his eyes helped him focus on the present. The delusion retreated, leaving him alone with the ghosts of the past that had become too real.
Obito surveyed the cabin. Simple furnishings: a bed, built-in cabinets, a desk with a holographic terminal.
Everything foreign and unknown.
He approached the porthole. Nocturnal Xandar glimmered below with a scattering of lights—glowing routes, floating platforms, an endless stream of flying vehicles.
Obito sank onto the bed, still dressed. The holographic terminal cast a ghostly glow, transforming the cabin into a semblance of the cave where he had spent years nurturing his plan to destroy the world.
The irony of the situation tasted bitter. Obito, who had devoted decades to creating a perfect illusory world, found himself in a reality more alien than any genjutsu. But this wasn't what caused the dull irritation rising within him.
Rin. Alive. Real. Not a faded image that had served as an anchor for hatred toward a rotten world. Not a perfect picture from childhood memories that justified every life taken. Just... a person. A woman who had found her place in a new world, who had built her life and didn't even suspect how much blood had been spilled in the name of her memory.
Her presence pulled the ground from under his feet. Not the fact of her life itself. No, rather, she irritated him with her... ordinariness. Each look, full of former care, each show of concern struck at the foundations of his existence with the precision of a surgical scalpel.
The "Eye of the Moon Plan" was more than just a plan. It was meaning, a core, the ideological basis of every step. Even when Naruto destroyed the illusion of righteousness, there remained at least the emptiness of former faith. But now...
The reflection in the dark glass of the porthole showed scars on the right side of his face, which seemed deeper in the ghostly light of an alien world. Next door lived a girl whose image he had turned into a battering ram for the destruction of reality. She lived, not knowing that her death had become the trigger for a war that claimed thousands of lives.
Her ignorance angered him most of all. As if all the sacrifices, all the murders, all the blood spilled lost meaning because she simply... lived.
Inside stirred a desire to tell the truth. Not out of remorse—he had long unlearned how to repent. Rather, from the need to see the care disappear from her eyes. To finally see her understand what had become of the boy Rin had once treated after training.
But even this desire seemed empty. The darkness inside had become so accustomed to solitude that any reaction from outside had lost significance.
The communicator in his pocket vibrated—probably Izuna with information about the tournament. Something concrete. Something to focus on instead of reflections on destroyed ideals and living ghosts of the past.
Time to join the game. After all, if he had learned anything during years of existing in the shadows, it was how to move forward, even when all supports collapsed.
Even if the only thing driving him was the cold emptiness where once there had been faith in a perfect world.