Beyond the northern border of the Land of Fire, behind a waterfall that plunged hundreds of meters from a cliff, a narrow cave swallowed the spray and darkness. A faint, strange ink-colored light pulsed from deep within.
At the cave's end lay a pool of water that glowed a sickly, dark green. Kenya crouched at its edge and cupped the surface. The water did not wet his palm. He felt the three-tomoe Sharingan wheel slowly in his eyes as he studied the liquid.
Beside him crouched a broken summoning beast—an enormous crab whose shell and claws called to mind Pain's lobsters. It had once been a powerful water guardian for this place. Now it lay cleaved in two, defeated by Kyōka Suigetsu's brutality.
Kenya smiled, thin and pleased. "So it's true," he murmured. "A space enchantment… who would have guessed a gateway to the moon hides behind a waterfall?"
Legend said Hamura Ōtsutsuki had split his people long ago: one branch remained on the ninja world and would become the Hyūga, while the other followed him to the moon to tend the outer shell of the Ten-Tails—the Gedo Statue. Kenya had long suspected the descendants who retained the Ōtsutsuki name would possess purer bloodlines than any Senju, Uchiha, Hyūga, or Uzumaki. If he could fuse that purity with the Hōgyoku, the results could be staggering.
"In a few years they'll meddle in the shinobi world again," he told himself as he stepped into the pool. The water's surface shivered. This was no ordinary spring but a space-displacement gate; anyone who entered would be wrapped in layers of illusion. Kenya felt the enchantment crawling at the edge of his consciousness—powerful, ancient, meant to deter intruders. Time and corrosion had weakened it, though; now it could only force a B-rank illusion at most. With Kyōka Suigetsu's help—or even without—Kenya could pass.
When the world reformed, he was standing on the moon.
The lunar landscape was not the silent, desolate orb of myth. Great citadels and terraces carved of pale stone rose in concentric rings; vast gardens of strange flora cast dim, silver shadows. All around, Ōtsutsuki clansfolk fought — direct descendants of Hamura and the branch houses, their battle roiling across plains and palaces.
More than a decade ago, the Gedo Statue their line had sheltered was taken—a theft they blamed on the descendants who remained on earth, those with the newly-awakened Rinnegan. The branch house called for immediate reprisal: march on earth, seize the Gedo Statue back by force. The main clan, however, stood by Hamura's admonition: do not set foot on the earth unless in extremis.
That schism had fermented into outright rebellion.
"Yang Release: Heavenly Flow!" a voice roared, and a huge beam of golden light carved across the lunar sky. On the other side, a counter erupted—"Yin Release: Spirit Web!"—a black lattice of shadow that swallowed the light. Both were S-rank jutsu, carving a war-torn aurora over the moon's surface.
"Patriarch, we're losing ground!" a pale-haired member of the clan cried. He resembled the old portraits of Hamura and Hagoromo—white-haired, fair-skinned—yet his expression was raw with fear. Around him, the clan's forces were pressed back; the branch house's insurrection had been planned long and cold. The main line had not expected the uprising to swell so quickly.
The clan once bound dissenters in a ritual like the Hyūga's "caged bird" curse to control recalcitrant houses. The Ōtsutsuki had always been rigid about duty and division of labor, but now that brittle order had cracked.
"From today forward, the branch house will stand no more!" snarled a leader of the clan, his voice bright with the certainty of command.
Not far away, the branch house's patriarch strode forward, flanked by his son—a young man fifteen years or so, slight and blind from birth, eyes clouded but his presence fierce. He spat contempt at the clan leader. "Enough! Your weakness has ruined our line. I will lead the true Ōtsutsuki back to the earth, reclaim the Gedo Statue, and restore our destiny!"
"You would doom our people for pride," the clan chief shot back. "Even if you win, the cost will be extinction."
"How will you know if you don't try?" the branch patriarch sneered. "Don't talk like a dying man!"
Two Kage-level figures stood at the center of the storm, poised to decide the fate of an entire lunar house.
And then, over the thunder of clashing jutsu, a low, clear voice carried through the tumult—an unfamiliar voice, calm and understated yet cutting cleanly through the battlefield's roar.
"Why does this quarrel demand such clarity?" it said. "If both sides die, will that not solve the matter just the same?"
The combatants faltered, searching for the source. From a ring of shadowed ruins, a figure stepped forth—slim, lithe, eyes bright with an alien knowing. Around him the air seemed to bend; even sunlight from distant earth shivered at his presence.
Kenya moved like a man who had walked into the world as if he belonged. He assessed the two leaders with an impassive gaze before speaking again, voice low and steady. "Death for both sides is wasteful. There are other paths. Power can be consolidated, not squandered. Help me—and together we can remold the destiny of both moon and earth."
A hush fell. The clan chief's fingers flexed on the haft of a blade; the branch patriarch's face tightened. Their ancient feud spat hotly between them—pride, fear, and the weight of centuries in their eyes.
"You are an outsider," the chief said finally, suspicion flaring. "Who are you to speak of our fate?"
Kenya's three-tomoe Sharingan swiveled. "Call me what you like. I only want one thing—the Ōtsutsuki blood that survived here. Join me. I offer stability and purpose. Resist, and I will take it by force."
That last syllable carried an edge that made even seasoned moon-warriors' skin crawl. For a moment, the battle seemed poised on a knife-edge: acceptance and alliance, or a cascade of slaughter.
From the ranks, murmurs rippled. Some faces, tired of endless infighting, brightened with the promise of an end to the fighting. Others hardened like flint.
The branch patriarch spat a curse and readied another S-rank technique. "You lie," he hissed. "We will never bow."
Kenya's smile was small and terrible. He raised a single hand, and the Hōgyoku at his side flashed like a star torn from the sky.
The light consumed the space between them, and the moon's battlefield held its breath.