The world, for Hashirama and Madara, had shrunk to the sun-dappled banks of their secret river. Here, the weight of their names—Senju and Uchiha—felt like distant, troublesome echoes. They were just two boys, their rivalry expressed not in fireballs and kunai, but in the simple, competitive art of skipping stones.
Plink. Plink. Plink-plink-sink.
"Hah! Four skips! Beat that, Madara!" Hashirama cheered, his unruly mop of hair bouncing as he jumped.
Madara scowled, selecting a perfectly flat stone with the intense scrutiny of a general surveying a battlefield. "Luck. Pure luck." He whipped his arm, sending the stone skimming across the water's surface. Plink. Plink. Plink. Plink. Plink… plunk. Five skips.
Hashirama's jaw dropped. "No fair! You've been practicing!"
A grin, rare and genuine, broke through Madara's usual stern expression. "A true shinobi is always prepared."
Days melted into weeks in this hidden sanctuary. They trained, sparring with sticks instead of swords, their laughter echoing through the trees. They shared dreams that would have been heresy in their respective compounds.
It was during one of these tranquil afternoons that a shadow fell over Hashirama. He sat by the river, uncharacteristically quiet, tracing patterns in the mud.
"What's wrong with you?" Madara grunted, nudging him with a stick. "You're even more of a dope than usual."
Hashirama looked up, his eyes clouded with worry. "It's my brothers… Kawarama and Itama. They were on a patrol… they were ambushed. They're missing."
Madara's smug expression vanished. A cold knot tightened in his stomach. He thought of Izuna, of the terrifying possibility of him being taken. "Are they…?"
"They're alive," Hashirama said quickly, seeing the fear in his friend's eyes. "The Uchiha have them. They're being held as prisoners." He hugged his knees. "I have two younger brothers. Itama's so small, and Kawarama tries to act tough, but…"
Madara was silent for a moment, the weight of their reality pressing down. "I… I also have two brothers," he admitted, his voice softer than usual. "An older one, and a younger one."
Hashirama looked at him, surprised. "You do?"
Madara nodded. "My older brother… he's… he's the strongest person I know. And my younger brother, Izuna, he's clever. Too clever for his own good sometimes." He poked the mud with his stick. "I understand. The feeling… of wanting to protect them."
In that moment, they weren't Senju and Uchiha. They were just two older brothers, sharing a universal fear. Their bond, forged in play and competition, was now tempered by a shared understanding of loss and responsibility.
High atop a windswept mountain, far from the river and its whispered secrets, a different reunion was taking place. Indra stood on the peak, the wind tugging at his Black hair and the edges of his cloak. His Six Eyes scanned the horizon, but his mind was not on tactics or chakra flows. A nervous, giddy anticipation, a feeling so foreign it was almost alarming, fluttered in his chest. He was waiting.
A soft swish of air, a disturbance in the Natural and Chakra Energy, and she was there.
Tōka Senju landed lightly behind him. For a moment, they just stood, the wind whipping around them, the world spread out at their feet. Then, she moved, closing the distance in two quick steps and wrapping her arms around him, burying her face in the familiar, solid warmth of his chest.
Indra's arms encircled her, holding her tightly, as if she might vanish into mist. He breathed in the scent of her hair—sunshine and wildflowers, so different from the clinical scent of hospitals, yet so intrinsically her.
"I'm sorry," her voice was muffled against his shirt. "I'm so sorry, John."
The name, his old name, spoken aloud after so long, was a key that unlocked a deeper chamber in his heart. He didn't correct her. He simply held her closer, one hand coming up to stroke her blonde hair with a tenderness that could calm a storm.
"Shhh," he murmured. "There's nothing to apologize for, Vidya. Nothing."
They stood like that for a long time, two souls clinging to each other across the chasm of death and war. Finally, they sat on a sun-warmed rock, their shoulders touching, their hands intertwined.
"How?" Tōka asked, her voice barely a whisper. "After I… after the accident. What happened to you? How did you end up here?"
Indra's serene expression tightened. The memory was a dark, poisoned well he had avoided for years. But for her, he would dredge it up.
He told her everything. The frantic rush to the hospital, the doctors' grim faces. The tiny, stillborn form of their daughter, who never took a breath in a world without her mother. The crushing weight of two funerals in one week. Then, the court case. The drunk driver's wealthy family, their slick lawyers painting Vidya as reckless, John as an unfit, grieving father who had caused the accident. The injustice of it all, a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth even now.
"I lost everything," he said, his voice flat, devoid of the emotion that had once ravaged him. "My hope. My faith. My will to live in that… that corrupted world." He looked at his hands, the hands that now held the power of life and death. "I ended it. I couldn't bear the silence, the emptiness."
Tōka was weeping silently, her tears soaking into the sleeve of his shirt. She had never known the aftermath. She had only seen his devastated face at the hospital. She had never imagined the depth of the hell he had been plunged into because of her sacrifice.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed, the words tearing from her. "It's my fault. All of it. If I hadn't pushed you—"
"No." Indra's voice was firm, brooking no argument. He cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. His ethereal blue eyes were intense, burning with conviction. "You saved me. You gave me a chance to live. And then… something heard me. In the void. A presence. It offered me a gift. Three wishes."
He told her of his wishes: to be reunited with her, to have the power to protect her, and to be reborn in a world where he could make a difference. "And so, we are here," he finished softly.
Her grief for his past suffering was a physical pain. She apologized again, her words a broken litany of regret.
Indra gently pulled her hands into his, his gaze unwavering. "I need a promise from you, Vidya. A real one, this time."
"What promise?" she asked, her voice thick with tears.
"I want you to swear to me," he said, his tone deadly serious. "That in the future, if we are ever in a situation where one of us is about to die… you will not try to save me by sacrificing yourself. Not again."
He leaned forward, his forehead almost touching hers. "Without you, my life is worthless. A hollow shell. I lived that once. I will not live it again. I would rather we live a full life together, or we die together. There is no other option for me. Promise me."
The demand was absolute. It went against every instinct she had, the very instinct that had defined her death. For thirty minutes, he persuaded, cajoled, and reasoned with her, his love for her a relentless force. Finally, worn down by his unwavering resolve and the memory of his suffering, Tōka relented. With a trembling voice, she made the promise, sealing it with a kiss that tasted of salt and sorrow and a desperate, hopeful love.
Their tender moment was shattered by a commotion from the slope below.
"Hey! Don't do that in the river! That's disgusting!" Hashirama's voice echoed up the mountainside.
"Mind your own business, you half mind dope!" Madara's furious retort followed.
The sound of a playful chase ensued, footsteps scrambling up the rocky path.
Indra and Tōka, their sensory abilities among the finest in the world, had felt their approach moments before. With a shared, resigned sigh, they melted into the shadows of a large cluster of bushes, their presence completely erased.
Hashirama and Madara burst onto the summit, panting and shoving each other.
"You have no respect for nature!" Hashirama scolded.
"It's just a river! It'll wash away!" Madara shot back.
They collapsed on the grass, their squabble forgotten as they caught their breath. From their hiding spot, Indra nudged Tōka playfully, a smirk on his face. Tōka, however, was fuming, her fists clenched. These two brats had ruined their first proper reunion!
Indra gently squeezed her hand, calming her. They listened as the boys' conversation turned serious.
"When we learn all the jutsus and get stronger," Hashirama declared, staring at the sky, "I'm going to build a place… a big village where kids don't have to fight. Where we can protect our brothers and sisters."
Madara looked at him. "Strong? Strong as who?"
Hashirama didn't hesitate. "Strong as my elder sister!"
Behind the bush, Tōka preened, a proud smirk spreading across her face as she looked at Indra, who rolled his eyes fondly.
Immediately, Madara countered, "No way! Strong as my elder brother! He's the only one who's truly strong!"
Tōka's smirk vanished. A visible vein throbbed on her forehead. She was about to burst from the bush and teach the Uchiha brat some respect when Indra's calm, bright blue gaze settled on her. Seeing the amusement and love in his eyes, her anger evaporated, replaced by a warm flush. He pulled her into a gentle embrace, and she relaxed against him, content to listen.
The squabble continued for a while before Hashirama asked, his voice utterly serious, "Madara… if you become strong… will you help me? Help me build that village?"
Madara, for once, didn't mock or hesitate. He looked his friend dead in the eye. "Without a thought, I will. Truly."
It was a monumental moment, a pact made between two boys on a mountaintop. And it was then that two long shadows fell over them.
Hashirama and Madara looked up, their eyes widening in identical expressions of pure, unadulterated horror.
Standing over them were Indra and Tōka.
Before revealing themselves, they had quickly hatched a plan. The masks of the War God and War Goddess snapped back into place.
Indra fixed a cold, disapproving glare on Madara. "You brat. What are you doing, consorting with a Senju?"
Tōka mirrored him, her hands on her hips, radiating fury. "Hashirama! Explain yourself! Fraternizing with the enemy?"
Madara and Hashirama were frozen, deer caught in the lantern-light of their siblings' wrath. Their secret world was crashing down around them. They stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence, their dreams of a village seeming like a childish fantasy about to be punished.
Indra and Tōka continued their act, their voices rising, feigning outrage, threatening to drag them back to their clans for discipline. They watched with hidden amusement as their younger brothers' faces paled, as Madara looked ready to fight his own brother to protect his friend, as Hashirama looked on the verge of tears.
Seeing their genuinely terrified, heartbroken expressions, Indra and Tōka could hold it in no longer. A snort of laughter escaped Indra's lips. Then another. Tōka followed, her stern facade crumbling into melodic giggles. Soon, they were both laughing freely, the sound echoing across the mountain peak.
Madara and Hashirama stared, utterly bewildered.
And then Madara understood. He had been tricked. His face flushed a deep red. He marched up to Indra and, with all his might, stomped on his older brother's foot.
"You big meanie! You big devil!" Madara shouted, his pride wounded. "You both scared us half to death!"
Tōka's laughter died instantly. Her eyes narrowed. "You brat! How dare you disrespect my—" She stopped, her hand flying to her mouth, but it was too late. The word had slipped out, unconscious and irrevocable.
"—husband?"
The silence on the mountaintop was absolute. Madara and Hashirama stared, their mouths agape, their brains struggling to process the word. They looked from Tōka's horrified face to Indra's calm one.
In unison, they screamed, "WHAT DID YOU SAY?!"
Indra reached out, ruffling both of their heads with a fond sigh. "Yes," he said, his voice gentle. "We love each other. We have for… a very long time. But because of our clans, we can only meet in secret."
The admission was a greater shock than any jutsu. Their siblings, the paragons of their clans, the War God and the War Goddess… were in love?
Indra's tone turned serious. "Listen, both of you. You cannot meet like this every day. It's too dangerous. It will raise suspicions in both clans." He then looked directly at Hashirama. "And you, Hashirama. If you want to build this village of yours, power alone is not enough."
Hashirama looked up, captivated.
"You need a courageous spirit," Indra continued. "A will that never gives up, no matter how many times you are knocked down. And most importantly, you need leadership. The ability to inspire, to unite, to make people believe in your dream. Without that, you will fall, and your dream will fall with you."
"Even with all of this, you will never truly be powerful. A man becomes powerful not through strength or wealth, but when he learns to bear responsibility. Power without responsibility is not a gift — it's a curse, a descent into madness. Remember this well: with great power comes great responsibility."
Hashirama gazed at Indra, seeing in him the embodiment of all those qualities. He wasn't just strong; he was a leader, a thinker, a man of unshakeable will, "A man who shouldered a responsibility."
"And don't exclude me and your sister," Indra added with a small smile. "We are both strong. When the time is right, we will both help you."
Hashirama's face lit up with a hope so bright it could have powered the sun itself. He had not just his friend, but his incredible sister and her… husband?… on his side.
It was then that a lone dove, wings beating frantically, flew towards them. It landed on Indra's outstretched arm, a small scroll tied to its leg. A sense of foreboding filled him. This was a messenger bird from Elder Tamiko, used only for the most urgent of news.
He unrolled the scroll. His eyes scanned the hastily written characters. The serene, sunny warmth of his chakra vanished, replaced in an instant by a scorching, oppressive heat. The very air around him seemed to waver with his rage.
Tōka felt the shift immediately. "Indra? What is it?"
Wordlessly, he handed her the scroll. Her eyes darted across the message, and her own chakra flared in response, a raw, furious storm.
The message was simple, and devastating:
Tajima Uchiha and Butsuma Senju ambushed by radicals from both clans. Injuries grave. Both on the brink of death. Return to the compound immediately.
Indra looked at Tōka, his eyes now chips of glacial ice. "The radicals from within," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "If we are ever to unite our clans, they are the first obstacle. And it seems they have just declared war."
For the first time, Madara and Hashirama felt the full, unrestrained killing intent of their siblings. It was a suffocating, terrifying force that promised not mercy, but absolute, annihilating judgment.
Without another word, Indra and Tōka moved. In a blur of motion, Indra grabbed Madara, Tōka grabbed Hashirama, and they were gone, leaving the peaceful mountaintop behind, racing towards a confrontation that would change the fate of their clans forever.
[Please Support me with Power Stones and Review's]