The sun had barely risen when the call came through the Senju camp. A disturbance along the eastern riverbank—minor on the surface, but close enough to the clan's outer patrol lines to warrant concern. Scouts had reported signs of unfamiliar shinobi. No casualties, but plenty of footprints, fragments of tools, and the telltale scorch of chakra along the trees.
Itama had been sitting alone, eating a small bowl of rice and dried fish, when the messenger approached. A curt bow and a parchment scroll were all he offered. Itama opened it, eyes scanning the missive quickly. His brow furrowed—not at the mission itself, but at the signature scrawled near the bottom.
Hashirama Senju.
His older brother had specifically requested him as a companion on this investigation.
Itama folded the scroll slowly, unsure of what to make of it. Hashirama had been warm toward him since his return—proud, encouraging—but they hadn't spent real time together in weeks. Not alone. Not like they once had.
He finished his meal quickly, adjusted his gear, and headed eastward toward the mission rendezvous point, his mind a mix of anticipation and hesitation.
---
The sound of rushing water grew louder as Itama approached the riverbank. The land here was lush—untouched by war for now. Ancient trees leaned over the river's edge, and the ground was thick with moss and fallen leaves. At a bend in the trail, he saw Hashirama crouched near a cluster of disturbed soil, studying the tracks with intense focus.
"Itama!" Hashirama looked up, beaming, as if the moment had already brightened simply by his presence.
"I got your message," Itama said, stepping closer.
"I'm glad," Hashirama replied. "I thought it was time we worked a mission together again. Just like old times."
Itama nodded, though it didn't feel like old times. Too much had changed. Too much was still unspoken between them. But the warmth in Hashirama's voice soothed something frayed inside him.
Hashirama stood, brushing his hands off. "Come. Let's follow these tracks. The intruders didn't cover their trail well. They're either careless or overconfident."
The two brothers moved through the forest together, wordlessly at first. Hashirama led with calm precision, his senses fully attuned to their surroundings. Itama followed close, noting every broken branch, every shift in the forest's natural rhythm.
After an hour, Hashirama slowed, raising a hand. "There," he whispered, pointing ahead.
Three figures were gathered near a rocky outcrop by the river's edge—cloaked, speaking in hushed tones. Their chakra signatures were unfamiliar, but not overwhelmingly powerful. Still, caution was warranted.
"Could be hired mercenaries," Hashirama murmured. "Or scouts from a minor clan."
Itama studied them. "Want to capture or drive them off?"
Hashirama grinned. "Let's find out who they are first."
They moved together like shadows, encircling the trio. Hashirama erupted from the trees with a burst of chakra-laced speed, roots snaking out of the ground to ensnare the intruders' feet. Before the enemies could react, Itama swept in from the other side, his movements precise, disabling one man with a single strike to the diaphragm and another with a targeted sweep of the legs.
The third man threw a kunai laced with explosive tags, but Hashirama blocked it effortlessly with a wave of bark-like armor rising from his forearms.
Within seconds, the skirmish was over.
The three shinobi groaned on the forest floor, bound by vines and wood bindings. Hashirama crouched beside one, pulling down the man's hood.
"From the Neba clan," he muttered. "Small, isolated, opportunistic. Looks like they were just scouting."
Itama nodded. "Should we escort them back to the camp for questioning?"
"No," Hashirama said. "Let's send a patrol to pick them up. I want us to finish the perimeter sweep together. I've missed this."
They set off again, leaving the captives under a summoned wood clone's watch.
---
As they walked along the river's edge, the tension between them slowly eased. Hashirama spoke more freely, telling stories of recent missions, laughing about a prank the younger shinobi had played on Tobirama. Itama found himself smiling more than he had in weeks.
"You've changed," Hashirama said suddenly.
Itama looked up.
"Not just in skill," his brother continued. "In how you move. How you think. You're sharper now. More cautious."
"I had to be," Itama replied. "I didn't know if I'd ever come back."
Hashirama was quiet for a moment. "You don't have to carry it all alone anymore. We're here now. I'm here."
Itama hesitated. "I know. But… I'm not the same brother you lost."
"I wouldn't want you to be," Hashirama said, his voice gentle. "You endured something no one else did. And you came back stronger. I don't need you to be who you were. I just want you to know you're still family."
Itama stopped walking.
"I thought about you every day," he said quietly. "You and Tobirama. And father. I thought… maybe the world had moved on without me."
"It never did," Hashirama said, turning to face him fully. "I never did."
The words hung between them, heavy with emotion. The wind stirred the trees, and the river rushed below, as if the world itself paused to let them mend the distance that had grown.
"I want to trust again," Itama admitted. "I want to believe I can be part of this clan. But I need time."
"You have all the time you need," Hashirama replied. "No matter what happens with Tobirama, or the others… you're my brother. And that means everything."
For the first time in a long while, Itama felt the warmth of true connection—not just with Hashirama, but with who he used to be. He didn't know what path the future would bring. He still held secrets, still feared what Tobirama might do if those secrets came to light.
But for now, he was walking beside his brother again.
And that was enough.
They completed the mission before sunset, returning to camp with a renewed bond forged not through words, but through shared silence, old rhythms, and the unspoken understanding that neither time nor war could ever truly break the ties of family.
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