The southern woods of Konoha whispered with unease.
Akari moved through the mist like a ghost—silent, precise, unseen. His violet eyes caught every flicker of motion, every broken leaf, every silence too deep to be natural. The report had spoken of intruders dressed in cloaks, no village insignia. And now the forest felt... watched.
When he reached the ridge, the sky was heavy with low clouds, smothering the moonlight. Burnt branches. Crushed soil. Signs of a fight, then a cover-up.
"You're late," a voice said.
Akari didn't startle. His hand was already on his blade before the speaker had even finished the sentence.
Three figures stepped out from the tree line, half-shrouded in mist. Their faces were masked, but they weren't ANBU. Their stances were steady—no fear, just caution.
"You're not Senju," one said. "Or Uchiha. But you carry both scents."
"I carry Konoha's will," Akari replied coolly. "And I don't need a clan name to act."
A low scoff.
"Then you're just another pawn of their so-called peace."
Akari took a step forward. "Peace built with blood still beats chaos with none. Who are you?"
The tallest one answered, voice gravelled with bitterness.
"Discards. Soldiers abandoned when the clans unified. Mercenaries now. Wanderers. Survivors."
"And now what—terrorists?" Akari asked. "You think setting fires at the edge of the forest will bring down a village?"
"We think your unity is an illusion. One crack, and it all falls apart."
For a moment, there was only wind and the subtle hum of Akari's chakra.
"Then you're not looking closely enough," he said quietly. "Hashirama sees dreams. Madara enforces them. I protect them—from threats like you."
A tense silence.
"We're not your enemy, shinobi," one of them muttered. "We just don't trust your leaders."
"I don't trust easily either," Akari replied. "But I stay. I fight. I help shape something better. You can burn in the woods... or walk into the light."
No response. They vanished into the fog—quick, practiced, but not hostile.
Akari stood alone once again, mist curling around his form.
This wasn't just about enemies anymore. It was about doubt, about fear, about those who didn't believe in Konoha's future.
And as long as they existed, so would the need for someone like him—someone who walked between clans, between ideologies, between shadows and firelight.