The night was unusually still.
Akari stood on the rooftops of Konoha, the wind tugging at his long black hair as his violet eyes scanned the distant horizon. Below, the village slept—safe, unaware of the tides shifting just beyond the borders.
He didn't wear his usual uniform tonight. Instead, a sleek black kimono draped over his frame, chest partially exposed beneath the fine fabric. It wasn't for comfort or vanity—tonight, he was not just a shinobi. He was a shadow that moved in silence.
Behind him, light footsteps approached. He didn't turn.
"You knew I would come," said Tobirama, his voice even but tinged with suspicion.
"I hoped you would," Akari replied. "You always do when you're uncertain."
Tobirama's silence was confirmation enough.
"Hashirama and Madara have made their choice," Akari continued. "And now you're wondering if it was the right one."
Tobirama stepped beside him, eyes narrowed toward the distance. "We've sent messages to three of the smaller clans near the Lightning border. Only one replied—and not with words, but steel. Their envoys attacked our messengers."
Akari exhaled slowly. "Then it's begun."
Tobirama didn't respond immediately. He watched the stars for a while, as though trying to read the future from them. Finally, he asked, "Do you think this is what Madara wanted all along?"
Akari shook his head. "Madara wants peace. He just believes peace must be enforced, not negotiated."
"And you?"
Akari looked down at the village—the lights, the families, the laughter that still echoed from the taverns.
"I believe in survival first," he said. "Then peace."
The two stood in silence for a long while, until Tobirama finally turned to leave.
"When the fighting begins," he said, "I'll be on the front lines."
"I'll be ahead of them," Akari replied with a faint smirk.
**
Elsewhere, in the depths of the Hokage residence, Hashirama sat in meditation, the flicker of candlelight dancing across his closed eyes. He could feel the tension gripping the village like a cold wind before a storm.
Madara stood near the door, arms folded. "You feel it too."
Hashirama nodded. "The world doesn't want peace. Not yet."
"Then we'll make them want it," Madara said. "One village at a time."
Hashirama opened his eyes, gaze distant. "As long as we don't lose ourselves in the process."
Behind them, the shadows stirred. Akari had already moved into the forests beyond the village, leaving no trace behind but a faint whisper in the wind. He had missions to complete—alliances to prevent, targets to silence.
Konoha would rise. And if the world resisted…
Then Akari would become the blade that carved a path through the resistance.
All beneath the cold, silver glow of the crescent moon.