The wind howled through the high towers of Konoha as clouds gathered like omen-laden banners above the Hokage Monument.
Below them, lined across the village's southern gate, a formation of over two hundred shinobi stood ready—clad in armor and flak vests, headbands tied tight, weapons sheathed but spirits sharpened. The gates of the Hidden Leaf stood open, waiting for their departure.
And at the front, stood Hiruzen Sarutobi—not merely the Third Hokage, but a warrior molded by decades of conflict.
His haori rustled in the gust, white and red like the dying petals of a battle-withered camellia. The ornate staff of Enma, the Monkey King, rested in his hand. His face was solemn, drawn tight not with fear, but with clarity. In his eyes burned both fury and finality.
He took one step forward.
Then another.
And then, his voice rang across the ranks—firm, weathered, thunderous.
"I won't lie to you."
"Out there—our sons, daughters, brothers, sisters… they're fighting as we speak. Dying. Some may have already fallen."
"Our enemy is strong. Too strong."
He paused, letting the silence stretch. The shinobi's eyes locked on him, not a single breath wasted.
"I don't know if all of you will come back alive."
His voice grew quieter—softer—but every word still carried like stone tossed in still water.
"But I do know this."
"Each one of you carries something our enemies can never take: the Will of Fire."
"You are the last line between devastation and home. If we fall—then we fall standing. Protecting what we were born to protect."
"This is no longer about survival. It's about legacy."
Murmurs grew. Backs straightened. Eyes hardened.
Behind his composed tone, however, Hiruzen's mind drifted—flickering through thoughts like dying embers.
'Minato… I pray you're safe.'
Then his thoughts snapped cold and sharp, settling on a name laced with bitter resolve.
'Onoki…'
'You started this with arrogance. You wanted to draw blood, provoke chaos. You wanted to challenge Konoha's will…'
His jaw clenched, and his heart quieted with grim resolve.
'I will not let you have your way.'
He raised his staff, the symbol of his rule, and pointed it toward the south.
"March!"
The gates of Konoha trembled as the army surged forward, the Hokage at its head, wind whipping past him like a storm of destiny gathering pace.
And far away, in the silence left behind, the village watched.
Mothers. Children. The elderly. They watched in stillness, knowing their peace walked into war.
Half an hour had passed.
The wind carried the chill of impending bloodshed. Leaves rustled low across the dirt road as the Third Hokage, armoured and armed, moved at a swift but silent pace.
Behind him, the elite forces of Konoha surged like a current of purpose. The full might of the village's shinobi force. Their footfalls thudded across the forest paths, unified, unwavering. The elders had been left behind. The village now stood on edge—waiting for the battle that could break everything.
They were halfway to the western front. The air was heavy with urgency. Every step closer tightened the noose of uncertainty around their hearts.
Suddenly—Rustling. A blur.
A single figure tore through the forested trail, breaking through the trees like a bullet of desperation. Blood. Sweat. Panic.
"Hokage-sama!"
The Third halted.
The army stopped as one.
The figure stumbled forward, a young chūnin, battered, bleeding, but alive. Every muscle in his body screamed exhaustion. His vest was torn, and his knees buckled as he skidded to a stop before the Hokage.
Hiruzen's eyes narrowed.
"No… don't tell me…"
His breath stilled in his throat. Even his staff felt heavier in that moment. The thought, sharp and cruel, formed silently:
'Minato… everyone… are they—?'
But before Hiruzen could speak, the ninja's mouth opened.
Trembling. Eyes glistening with tears.
"W-We… w-on…"
And with that, the words collapsed into the wind.
The boy dropped to one knee, unable to speak further. His body trembled—not from injury, but the sheer magnitude of what he had seen. What he had survived.
For a moment, silence.
Even the birds had gone still.
And then—gasps. Murmurs. A cry. Another breath of disbelief.
"…We… won?" someone whispered behind the Hokage, as if afraid to believe it.
The old man stood, frozen.
His mind reeled. Trying to make sense of it. Trying to believe it.
The western front wasn't just a battlefield. It had become a graveyard. They were supposed to be overwhelmed—crushed by the might of two Kage, a tailed beast, and thousands of enemy troops.
Yet now, this lone ninja knelt before him, a living messenger of the impossible.
The forest stilled.
The ninja's words—"We... won"—echoed like a thunderclap in their minds.
The air seemed to lose its weight.
Dozens of shinobi behind the Third Hokage stood frozen in place. Their armor clinked faintly as disbelief settled over them like dust. Eyes widened. Brows furrowed. No one breathed.
But before any could respond, the young ninja's legs gave out completely.
He collapsed forward, slamming to the ground with a dull thud, his fingers scraping the dirt.
"H-Hokage-sama..." he whispered, voice barely a breath, "H-he... did it..."
And then nothing.
He lost consciousness in front of them all.
The squad medics rushed forward, checking his pulse. Still alive. Stable. But utterly drained, as though he had sprinted across the continent on fear and willpower alone.
Sarutobi Hiruzen—The Third Hokage—did not move at first. His eyes remained fixed on the unconscious messenger. The words rang again in his head like a ghostly bell toll.
"He , Minato did it…?"
The silence felt endless, like the forest itself was holding its breath.
Then, Hiruzen spoke. Low.
"Prepare to move. We continue to the forward camp."
Heads snapped up, confused.
"But... Hokage-sama—"
He raised a hand, silencing the question before it could form.
His voice was calm, but steel lay beneath the surface.
"This information may be true. But it may also be overwhelmed hope. The boy's mind may be fractured by battle, trauma, or exhaustion."
He turned to face the troops behind him—over fifty jōnin, chūnin, and elite ANBU, all standing in tense silence.
"We verify with our own eyes. We do not let hope blind us before truth is seen."
The order rang clear. Logical. Undeniable.
And yet… many of the shinobi still looked at the collapsed boy with wide, shaken eyes.
If it was true—if what he said was real—then something unimaginable had happened at the western front.
Hiruzen looked toward the distant ridge, where smoke no longer rose.
His jaw clenched.
'Whatever happened, I need to see it myself.'
The wind stirred his long Hokage robes as he turned away from the path.
"Squads A through D, resume formation. Keep alert. We head to the battlefield. No assumptions."
And with that, the forces of Konoha resumed their march—not on a battlefield, but toward the ruins of a miracle.
------------------------------------
The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the battlefield-turned-camp. The western front had become still—eerily so, after days of screaming steel and jutsu-drenched chaos.
Tents lined the open clearings now.
Makeshift beds held the wounded, some resting, some being tended by medics.
Minato stood beside a wooden post, arms folded, quietly watching the sunset.
His body ached, but he showed no sign of it.They had won. For now.And the world hadn't yet grasped the weight of it.
Nearby, Radahn sat silently with his arms crossed under the fading light, watching nothing, yet commanding the presence of a mountain.
Within the makeshift prison compound, heavy seals surrounded a small fenced-in perimeter guarded by elite jōnin.
Onoki sat against a stone wall, his chakra gone.
Not far from him, Yugito remained silent, head lowered, her chakra sealed, her gaze distant. The others stayed clear of their corner, treating it like cursed ground.
Everything was beginning to settle.
Then—
Thud!
A medic-nin—small, hurried, arms full of scrolls and wrapped herbs—collided hard with someone tall and broad in the center path.
She stumbled back, the contents of her arms scattering across the ground.
"Oi! Can't you see where you're—!"
Her voice cut off like a blade through breath.
She froze. Blinked. And then dropped to her knees in reflex.
"H-h-HOKAGE-SAMA!?"
A sharp gasp rippled through the camp.All heads turned.Voices fell silent.A wind passed over the tented clearing like a sudden omen.
There, in the middle of the path, stood the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi.
His Hokage robes fluttered gently in the evening breeze, his iron staff strapped across his back. He had not spoken a word yet, but his presence alone felt like a thousand orders unspoken.
Behind him, several elite squads filed in, most still stunned by the condition of the surrounding terrain. What was once forest and chaos now felt... solemn.
Minato's eyes widened as he stepped forward.
"Hokage-sama...?"
Hiruzen's gaze swept across the camp—eyes wise, weary, and burning with questions.
He took in the medics, the survivors... then the barriers around the prisoners.
Then finally, his gaze fell on Radahn—the one being that stood like a monument, arms crossed, golden eyes half-lidded beneath the falling sun.
'He sure is Big'- Hiruzen
For a long moment, no one dared to breathe.
Then Hiruzen exhaled once. Deeply.
"So… it's true."