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Chapter Text

Izuna could practically smell the terror and confusion wafting off of the old man standing hunched over in front of the modest Aikawa estate. The head of the Aikawa family normally had a calm, gentle demeanor—well, as gentle as one could get in times of constant violence and murder.

At Izuna’s side, his older brother, Madara, cut a terrifying figure with his long, thick and wild dark hair barely visible beneath the new moon.

Shoto Aikawa had sent a messenger bird two and a half days ago containing both a warning and a plea for assistance. Located at the border of the Land of Lakes, a town inhabited by merchant civilians did not make it a habit to make enemies of shinobi. In fact, the Aikawa family had offered a contract to the Uchiha clan half a century ago; exclusivity on merchant goods in exchange for protection. The loyalty of the Aikawa had never been broken.

Which was what made the entire current situation confounding.

“As you can see,” Madara spoke, his deep voice conveying nothing of what he might have been feeling, “my brother is quite well.”

Aikawai-san’s brown eyes flickered back and forth between Izuna and Madara, thick grey eyebrows furrowing in confusion. With his sharingan activated and hidden behind genjutsu, Izuna could see the beads of sweat that stuck to the man’s withered skin and weighed down his chin length peppered hair. Down the tall hill that the compound sat upon, the rest of the town was quiet except for the warm breeze knocking into the tree branches.

“I–I don’t quite understand.” Aikawa-san shook his head, the fear not quite abating, but fading in place of bewilderment. “How can that be?”

Madara tilted his head to the side slightly, like a predator staring down prey that had gotten caught between his paws. “I do hope for the sake of both you and your family that this isn’t a poorly thought-out ploy.”

Floundering, it took Aikawa-san a moment to find his tongue. “I would never, Madara-sama! My family’s fealty has not been shaken.”

“And yet,” Izuna finally let his voice carry, “the missive you sent would suggest otherwise, seeing as I have not been anywhere near this territory for many moons now.”

With his eyesight sharpened, Izuna watched the pulse on the Aikawa-san’s neck. It hadn’t sped up when the old man had spoken, therefore indicating that he was either quite the accomplished liar to be able to fool him, or that he’d been telling the truth.

Izuna himself had wanted to suspect the former ever since the messenger bird had arrived at the roost in the Uchiha compound. But he didn’t think the man capable of such skilled deception.

(The Head of the Aikawa family humbly beseeches the aid of the Uchiha Clan in a matter that involves Uchiha Izuna, younger brother to Clan Head Uchiha Madara. He is currently in the care of the Aikawa family; however it is feared that he may succumb to his injuries if not tended to by those who are more proficient in the healing arts.)

Seeing as how Izuna was in perfect health and had not, in fact, been anywhere near the Land of Lakes for moons, they’d been positive that it was either a ploy or something more sinister. Perhaps the Senju had thought themselves clever; the brothers had been prepared to cut them down. It wouldn’t be the first time that a previously thought ally had turned traitor. While not common, it did happen, and the Uchiha didn’t take well to those who broke their oaths.

“If Madara-sama and Izuna-sama would like to accompany me inside, I would be glad to show you the subject of the missive.” Aikawa-san gestured to the shoji doors behind him.

Madara hummed in acquiescence, stepping forward to follow after the man. Izuna knew that his brother was prepared for an ambush, even if no hostile presence could be sensed. He also knew that he was hoping that it wouldn’t come down to a confrontation. His brother would blame himself if the Aikawa betrayed them. Even if it wasn’t his fault, Madara tended to take all matters of the clan as a personal offence.

Inside the halls of the compound, the two of them followed silently behind Aikawa-san’s shuffling steps. Lanterns lit with orange flames illuminated the way, Izuna carefully cataloging everything they passed. The interior was as modest as the exterior. There wasn’t much in the way of frivolities; the only decorations were a few tapestries that depicted merchant caravans or paintings of family portraits.

With his hearing, he was able to pick up the sounds of multiple people asleep throughout the estate. They had arrived on the cusp between the darkest part of the night and the early hours of the morning. If it was all a trap, it would be more effective to be able to work within the shadows then it would’ve been during the day. Not that anyone who had the misfortune of attempting to assault the head of the Uchiha and his named heir would stand even a sliver of a chance of defeating them.

“In here,” Aikawa-san spoke softly and stopped in front of a pair of shoji doors. There was a depiction of a four-pointed star–the Aikawa family crest–painted across the rice paper. The old man briefly glanced back at Madara and Izuna over his shoulder as if checking to make sure they were present before sliding the doors open.

Aikawa-san stepped into the room first before moving to the side to let them enter. Furniture spread across the large room in a way that clearly showed it was held in reserve for any high-status guests. Which would make sense if he’d truly thought that he’d had Izuna in his company.

Stepping up beside his brother, Izuna’s eyes caught on a figure lying on a futon in the center of the wooden floor, pressed up against the back wall, and it took all of his willpower not to let his mouth gape open like a dead fish.

A boy, not much younger than Izuna himself if he was going by appearance only, had thin white blankets pulled up to his waist. His chest was bare and displaying more bandages than pale flesh. And even without needing to check, Izuna knew that his eyes were Uchiha dark, and the labored breaths told of fever.

And his face. The same face that Izuna looked at in the mirror. The same curve of his mouth, straight bridge of his nose, and sharpness to his cheeks. Only a few subtle differences were present, like the boy’s wider eye-shape, broader shoulders, and shorter hair.

Izuna felt…At odds with himself. It wasn’t a genjutsu or any jutsu that he could detect and his sharingan never lied.

“Who is he? Where did you find him?” While Madara’s voice was calm, his chakra was not. As in tune with it as Izuna was, interpreting it wasn’t difficult, even if he had to work his way out of his own stupor. His brother was just as shockedsuprisedconfused as he was.

Aikawa-san stayed where he was as he replied, “He was found in the gardens by one of our house workers early in the morning of the day I sent Madara-sama the request for aid. As for who he is, we…Well, as you know, we were thoroughly convinced that he was Izuna-sama, given he looks…”

“Like he could be my twin brother,” Izuna finished flatly, though his attention wasn’t fully on his words.

“Due to his visible wounds,” Aikawa continued after nodding at Izuna’s comment, “I had called the closest thing to a local healer that we have here in town. He has a major laceration from the right shoulder to his left hip, as well as a few smaller cuts on his arms that look like the result of a blade, and blood loss due to the above. A stab wound through his left calf and a mild concussion.

“He has not awoken once since we brought him in. The healer did their best, but they do not have training nor are they a shinobi. The boy’s laceration has become infected despite the medicinal salve applied. We fear that he may not last more than a few days.”

Madara kneeled down at the boy’s side. “He is obviously of Uchiha blood. Though the matter of where hailed from remains a mystery.” He paused in thought.

“Brother,” Izuna murmured, “What shall we do with him?”

Sharingan eyes flickered over to him before fixating back on the boy. “Him being Uchiha means that he falls under my purview. We shall take him back to the compound to be healed. What happens after he recovers remains unclear.”

Izuna understood what his brother didn’t say. The resemblance between the boy and Izuna was too close to be ignored. A sibling perhaps? Had their father been unfaithful to his wife?

While their father was strict when he was alive, the relationship between him and their mother had never been warm. But to be unfaithful, even in an arraigned marriage, would bring shame to his honor as both a father and husband.

However, the obvious relation to Izuna—and therefore Madara—could not be ignored.

“It would be best if he were moved before he gets worse. I shall pack what medical supplies we can spare.” Aikawa-san turned and shuffled his way out of the room.

Madara met Izuna’s stare and a conversation passed without words.

Whoever the boy was, they would ensure that he survived.

(Izuna didn’t want to think about the possibility of losing yet another brother—this time without ever knowing his name.)

Chapter Text

The journey back to the Uchiha compound was fraught with tension. The unnamed teenager remained unconscious, his fever worsening as they moved.

Izuna stole glances at him. His eyes flickered back and forth between his brother and the unconscious teen slung over Madara’s shoulder every so often, noting the pallor of his skin, the way his breath hitched faintly now and then. He couldn’t ignore the unease gnawing at him, a sensation that only grew stronger with every mile.

They passed through dense forests, the cool night air thick with the scent of pine and earth. Moonlight filtered through the canopy above, casting fragmented silver patterns on the dirt path.

The silence between Izuna and Madara was heavy but familiar, the kind of quiet shared by shinobi who understood each other without the need for words. Only the occasional rustle of leaves or distant hoot of an owl disturbed the stillness.

The boy stirred weakly at one point, a faint groan escaping his lips before slipping back into unconsciousness. Izuna instinctively reached out, his fingers hovering near the boy’s arm before he thought better of it and let them fall to his side.

“Keep your focus, Izuna,” Madara said without looking back, his voice low but firm.

Izuna frowned but nodded, keeping his unease to himself. His brother’s composure didn’t make this any easier. If anything, it made the situation more troubling.

When they finally reached the gates of the Uchiha compound, the towering stone walls loomed over them like silent sentinels. The crest of the Uchiha Clan—a red and white fan—was engraved into the metal of the gate, a reminder of their proud lineage. The guards stationed there straightened immediately, their sharp eyes darting to the boy slung over Madara’s shoulder.

“Madara-sama, Izuna-sama,” one of the guards greeted with a bow, his curious gaze lingering on the boy. Everyone knew everyone in the clan, so a new face would be very obvious. “Welcome back.”

“Aoi, Botan,” Madara greeted the two guards and flashed his Sharingan eyes—it was a system designed to prove identity and prevent anyone from impersonating an Uchiha.

The guard nodded, stepping aside to let them pass.

Inside the compound, the air was warmer, tinged with the faint scent of wood smoke from the fires that still burned in the courtyards. The main paths were paved with smooth stone, leading to a sprawling arrangement of buildings.

Low, traditional houses with dark tiled roofs surrounded a larger central hall where the clan head resided. Red lanterns hung at intervals along the walkways, their glow casting flickering shadows on the walls. It was late enough that no one but the patrolling guards lingered outside  

Izuna’s gaze flickered to the main hall as they passed, its imposing structure a sharp contrast to the more modest homes around it. The Uchiha compound was a fortress as much as it was a home, built to withstand attacks and keep its inhabitants safe.

Madara made his way toward the healer’s quarters, his steps unhurried but purposeful. Izuna followed, his stomach twisting in knots. Every time he looked at the boy’s face, he was reminded of himself—too much, and not quite enough.

The healer’s quarters were tucked away in a quieter corner of the compound, a modest building surrounded by a garden of medicinal herbs. The faint scent of lavender and dried sage lingered in the air as Madara pushed the sliding door open.

Inside, Amane, the clan’s healer, was already waiting. How she always knew ahead of time that someone needed her assistance was a mystery to every Uchiha. She was a sharp-eyed woman with streaks of gray in her dark hair, her expression hardening as she took in the boy’s state. “Lay him here,” she instructed gruffly, gesturing to a futon in the center of the room.

Madara knelt and carefully lowered the boy onto the futon. The movement made Izuna’s chest tighten. His brother, for all his sharp edges, had an unusual gentleness about him in moments like this—a gentleness Izuna rarely saw but couldn’t help noticing now.

Amane moved swiftly, peeling back the boy’s bandages with practiced efficiency. The laceration across his torso was angry and red, the infection festering despite the earlier treatment. Izuna winced at the sight of it.

“This infection is deep,” Amane muttered, her hands steady as she worked. “I’ll need fresh water, salve, and a stronger antiseptic.”

“I’ll get them,” Izuna said quickly, already stepping toward the door. He couldn’t just stand there doing nothing.

The cool night air hit him as he stepped outside, a welcome relief from the tension inside. The storage building wasn’t far, and Izuna moved quickly, gathering the requested supplies before hurrying back.

When he returned, Amane was cleaning the wound with sharp, precise movements. Madara stood nearby, arms crossed, his expression unreadable as he watched.

“Will he live?” Izuna asked, setting the supplies down and kneeling beside Amane.

She didn’t answer immediately, focusing instead on applying a fresh layer of salve to the wound. Finally, she looked up, her sharp gaze meeting Izuna’s. “If the infection doesn’t worsen, yes. He has a strong will to survive, but he’ll need rest and care.”

Izuna nodded, his gaze drifting back to the boy’s face. There was something about him—something more than the resemblance, more than the Uchiha chakra that surrounded him like a whisper. It was a mystery, one that seemed to pull at Izuna’s very core.
For now, though, the boy’s survival was all that mattered. The questions could wait.

The hours passed slowly.

The room was quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of the boy’s breath as his chest rose and fell, shallow but steady. The flickering candlelight on the small table cast long shadows on the polished wooden floors, their grain dark and smooth. The walls, lined with shelves of scrolls and old books, seemed to close in, the room feeling both intimate and oppressive in its stillness. A few low cushions were placed along the walls, offering a place to sit, but the focus of the room was clearly the futon in the center, where the boy lay.

Izuna was seated against the wall, his legs drawn up to his chest. He couldn’t take his eyes off the boy, whose features were too familiar—too much like his own, like Madara’s, and yet still foreign. The soft yellow light from the candle illuminated the boy’s face, highlighting a faint scar over his right eyebrow and the sharpness of his jaw. It was hard to believe that such a resemblance could be accidental.

Madara sat across from him, his back straight, his posture rigid even in the quiet. His eyes were closed, but the presence of his chakra, a hum that could be felt in the air, made it clear he wasn’t asleep. The stillness of the room felt heavy, like the quiet before a storm.

Izuna shifted, discomfort creeping up his spine. He wanted to speak, to voice the thought that had been gnawing at him since the boy had first been brought in, but he wasn’t sure how to frame the question. After a long pause, he finally broke the silence.

“Brother,” Izuna’s voice was hesitant. “Do you think it’s possible… that he’s—”

“No,” Madara interrupted. His eyes flicked open, dark irises shining in the candlelight. “Our father was many things, but disloyal was not one of them.”

Izuna frowned, his mind racing. He was skilled at reading his older brother and knew that Madara was just as thrown off kilter as himself, even though he didn’t show it. 

“But how else do you explain this?” He gestured toward the boy, his hand hovering in the air. “He has our blood. His chakra feels like ours. His face…”

Madara’s gaze flickered briefly to the boy before returning to Izuna. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice softening. “But speculation will get us nowhere. Until he wakes, we have nothing but questions.”

Izuna wanted to argue, but he knew Madara was right. Even still, his thoughts were a mess of confusion and doubt. He had seen many things in his life, things that defied reason, things that could be explained away by jutsu or illusion, but this felt different. If this boy was a trick, it was a masterpiece—too perfect to be dismissed as an accident.

“I don’t know what to think of this all,” Izuna murmured, his voice low and uncertain.

“Neither do I,” Madara replied quietly. He stood, crossing the room to crouch beside the boy. His expression was unreadable as he examined the boy’s face, the sharp lines of his features and the faint bruise that marred his temple. “But he is Uchiha. That much is undeniable.”

Izuna nodded, but his gaze drifted to the window. The first light of dawn was spilling into the room, casting golden hues over the clan compound. The distant sounds of the Uchiha clan beginning to stir could be heard—footsteps on the stone paths, the murmur of voices, and the clanging of weapons from the training grounds.

Izuna ran a hand through his long ponytail, the weight of the uncertainty settling on his shoulders. “What do we tell the others?”

Madara didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the boy for a moment before he spoke, his voice calm but firm. “Nothing. Not yet. Until we understand who he is and where he came from, we keep this quiet.”

Izuna wasn’t sure how long they could keep such a thing hidden. The Uchiha compound was a fortress, but it was also a hive of activity. Secrets rarely stayed buried for long. And nothing brought people together more than gossip.

Just then, a knock echoed from the door.

“Enter,” Madara called, standing and turning toward the entrance.

The door slid open to reveal Hikaku, one of the clan’s most trusted members, and one who took over training the clan children in combat. His dark eyes flicked over to the boy on the futon, a brief look of curiosity before they landed on Madara. “Madara-sama, the elders are requesting your presence first thing this morning. They mentioned pressing matters about the situation in the north.”

Madara’s lips pressed into a thin line, irritation flashing in his eyes. “I will address them shortly.”

Hikaku didn’t leave immediately. His gaze shifted between Izuna and Madara before he spoke again. “Shall I inform them about the guest?”

“No,” Madara replied sharply, his voice unwavering. “This matter does not concern them. You will speak of it to no one.”

Hikaku hesitated, but then nodded and bowed. “As you wish, Madara-sama,” he said, turning to leave. He slid the door shut behind him.

Madara exhaled a long, weary breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s only a matter of time before they find out.”

Izuna rose from his seat, stretching his arms. “I’ll stay with him,” he offered. “You deal with the elders. I’ll make sure no one disturbs him.”

Madara gave a short nod, his gaze lingering on the boy before he turned and left the room.

Izuna sat back down, his eyes still fixed on the boy. He didn’t know what answers the stranger held, but he was determined to find out.

Izuna sat in silence, his thoughts a constant whirl of uncertainty and questions. The morning light was gradually spreading across the compound, spilling over the stone courtyard outside, but the stillness in the room felt unchanged.

The boy had not stirred since he had been placed on the futon, his breath shallow but steady, an odd calmness surrounding him despite the turmoil that was building inside Izuna.

Madara’s departure had left the room feeling emptier somehow, though his presence lingered in the form of the faint hum of his chakra. Izuna looked again at the boy, his eyes tracing every detail of his face, trying to find something—anything—that might answer the questions gnawing at him.

As the minutes ticked by, the quiet began to feel oppressive, the weight of the uncertainty pressing in on him. He had never been good at waiting, at letting time pass without answers. 

It wasn’t possible for this to be some trick—too many things lined up. And yet, there was still so much they didn’t understand.

The door slid open again, and Izuna’s head snapped up, his muscles tensing instinctively. He was already expecting it, but that didn’t lessen the tension in the air. Hikaku had returned.

The trusted clansman stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of disturbance. He seemed to register the boy on the futon immediately, his expression unreadable but guarded.

“Madara-sama is with the elders,” Hikaku said, his voice low, respectful. “Is everything in order here?”

Izuna nodded, though his gaze never left the boy. “Everything is as it should be.”

Hikaku didn’t seem entirely convinced, his dark eyes flicking from Izuna to the boy and back again. There was a subtle curiosity in his gaze, one that he was trying to suppress, but Izuna could see it nonetheless.

“You’re certain he’s... stable?” Hikaku asked, though his question felt more like an observation than a true inquiry.

Izuna shifted slightly, unsure of how to respond. He wasn’t a medic—he couldn’t offer an expert diagnosis. But what he could say was that the boy’s condition had not worsened since his arrival.

“He hasn’t worsened,” Izuna said simply.

There was a pause, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Hikaku’s gaze lingered on the boy for a few moments more before he cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

“If you need anything, I’ll be at the training grounds,” he said, his tone still steady but tinged with a hint of uncertainty. “Madara-sama gave orders to keep things quiet, but if you need to contact anyone, don’t hesitate to—”

“I know,” Izuna interrupted, giving a small nod. He appreciated Hikaku’s offer, but for now, he wanted to remain alone with his thoughts.

Hikaku paused, then gave a short nod of his own.

“Very well. I’ll be nearby,” he said, before turning and leaving the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

Izuna let out a long breath once the room was once again silent. He returned his attention to the boy, his eyes narrowing slightly as if the simple act of looking would somehow yield the answers he sought. He could feel his heart rate slow, the weight of responsibility and the need for answers pressing down on him like a boulder.

He leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees, watching the boy’s chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm.

Izuna sighed, glancing toward the window as the light of day continued to pour into the room. His mind drifted momentarily to the Uchiha elders and the potential storm Madara would have to weather with them. They weren’t fools—though they might not press the issue immediately, they would want answers. And soon. Izuna wasn’t sure how long they could keep this quiet.

A soft breath from the boy on the futon caught his attention again. He looked back down, his focus tightening on the boy’s face. Despite the unsettling feeling in his gut, he found himself thinking of the possibilities. If this was truly someone from their bloodline, what did that mean for the clan? What did it mean for them?

Izuna’s thoughts turned to the future. He would stay here, watching over the boy, keeping their secret safe—for now. But he knew it couldn’t last forever.

At that moment, something shifted in the room. Not in the physical space, but in the air, a faint stirring of chakra that made Izuna’s breath catch. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there. Like a small spark of something waking, something stirring beneath the surface.
The boy didn’t move, but Izuna’s eyes widened as he sensed it, that subtle change. The silence in the room felt thick now.

Izuna stood slowly, his heart thudding in his chest, eyes fixed on the boy. The change was so faint, so barely there, but it was enough to make him pause.

What was it?

The boy’s breathing seemed to deepen for a moment, before settling again. But Izuna could still feel that faint hum in the air, a disturbance, something that was undeniably there.

He took a step closer to the futon, cautiously, unsure of what it meant. Was the boy waking? Or was this something else?

Another quiet shift in the air made him freeze, his gaze locked on the boy. The anticipation grew. Izuna’s hand hovered over the boy’s forehead.

Without warning, the boy’s eyes snapped open, blood-red and blazing with a fully-activated sharingan.

Izuna barely had time to react before the boy moved.

With a sudden burst of speed that defied his injured state, the boy lunged forward, his hand striking toward Izuna’s throat. Instinct took over, and Izuna twisted away just in time, the edge of the strike grazing his collarbone instead of finding its mark. The force behind the movement was enough to send Izuna stumbling back, but he recovered quickly, his own sharingan flaring to life.

The room sharpened in detail.

“Stop!” Izuna commanded, his voice sharp, though he kept his stance defensive. “You’re injured—you’ll tear your wounds open if you don’t settle down!”

The stranger didn’t seem to hear him, his sharingan red eyes glazed over with fever. His movements were erratic, fueled more by instinct and desperation than precision. His lightning-tasting chakra surged wildly, unstable and crackling with intensity, as if he were running on pure survival instincts. He threw another punch, but it was sloppy, and Izuna easily deflected it with the back of his hand, catching the boy’s wrist in a firm grip.

“Calm down!” Izuna growled, tightening his hold just enough to immobilize the boy without causing harm. “You’re safe. No one here means you harm.”

The boy’s free hand shot up, aiming for Izuna’s face this time, but his strength was already faltering. The fever, the injuries, and the strain of chakra depletion were taking their toll. The strike barely made it halfway before his arm dropped, trembling, and his legs buckled beneath him.

Izuna caught him before he hit the floor, lowering him back onto the futon as the boy struggled weakly against him. “Enough,” Izuna said firmly, his voice softening. “You’re too weak to fight. You’ll only make it worse.”

The boy’s sharingan flickered, fading in and out like a dying flame. His breathing was ragged now, his chest rising and falling with effort. Despite his condition, his eyes burned with unfocused defiance, locking onto Izuna’s with a ferocity that seemed impossible for someone so battered.

“Who… are you?” the boy rasped, his voice hoarse and strained. His body trembled with the effort of speaking, but his gaze never wavered.

Izuna hesitated. The raw emotion in the boy’s eyes caught him off guard—exhaustion, rage, confusion—all layered beneath the sheer will to survive. He loosened his grip slightly, though he kept his guard up in case the boy lashed out again.

“I’m Izuna Uchiha,” he said slowly, his tone cautious but not unkind. “You’re in the Uchiha compound. We found you injured and brought you here to recover.”

Before Izuna could get any sort of response from the boy, the stranger’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he went limp—unconscious.

Izuna let out a quiet exhale as the boy’s body went limp in his arms. He gently lowered him back onto the futon, his eyes flickering between the boy’s pale face and the surrounding room. The boy’s sudden outburst had been a shock, but the underlying intensity in his eyes stayed, even in unconsciousness.

He lingered over the boy’s form, his mind racing with the implications of what had just transpired. The raw power in that brief moment—the instinctive strike, the flickering sharingan—had been unsettling, to say the least.

Izuna leaned back slightly, his mind racing once more.

Who are you?

Chapter Text

The battlefield looked like a scene from a nightmare.

The air was thick with the scent of blood, and the dust from the shattered ruins of the abandoned hideout clung to Sasuke's skin as he faced off against the one person who had been responsible for the eradication of his entire clan—Danzo Shimura.

Sasuke’s body ached, his chest heaving with the strain of relentless combat. His sword flashed through the air, clashing against Danzo’s kunai with the ear-splitting sound of steel meeting steel. Sweat dripped from his brow, mingling with the blood on his skin, but he barely noticed. Rage and revenge had consumed him, fueling him beyond his limits.

Sasuke snarled, his Sharingan spinning in fury.

Danzo’s eyes were calm, almost serene, as he parried each of Sasuke’s strikes with ease. His calmness was unnerving. Despite being old, Danzo moved like a shadow, his steps calculated, his strikes precise. But it was the arm—his right arm—that pissed off Sasuke most. The numerous Sharingan eyes implanted there stared back at him, cold and emotionless.

“You think those stolen eyes make you powerful?” Sasuke growled, his voice low and venomous. “You’re just a coward, clinging to other people’s strength.”

Danzo smirked faintly, lifting his arm. “These eyes were taken for the sake of the village. For peace.”

Sasuke’s grip on his blade tightened, his teeth gritting as fury surged through him. “Peace?” he spat. “You call slaughtering my clan peace?”

Without waiting for a response, he charged again. His blade moved with deadly precision, aiming for vital points—throat, heart, lungs—but every strike was countered, every attack deflected.

Sasuke’s blood heated as he leaped back, narrowly avoiding a kunai that Danzo had thrown, the blade cutting a thin line across his cheek. The wound burned, but the pain was nothing compared to the fury swelling in his chest. This man had killed his family, his entire clan; so hooked up on playing God.

Thinking about it too hard had Sasuke remembering the feel of Itachi’s blood cooling on his skin.

Sasuke’s blood boiled. He wasn’t going to let Danzo get away again. He shifted his stance, forming hand seals in a blur.

Katon: Great Fireball Technique!

He expelled a massive fireball from his mouth, sending it hurtling toward Danzo. The flames roared as they surged forward, engulfing the space in a wall of heat.

Danzo’s Sharingan eyes glowed brighter, and the flames evaporated in an instant, swallowed by an unnatural darkness. As one of the eyes implanted on Danzo’s arm closed, Sasuke’s anger reached a new height.

Izanagi. The ability to rewrite reality itself.

Sasuke growled, his hands flying through new seals. He couldn’t afford to stop now. He wouldn’t let this man erase his efforts.

With another battle cry, Sasuke formed Chidori in his hand, the crackling lightning lighting up the night. He charged again, the energy in his palm surging with deadly intent as he aimed directly for Danzo’s chest.

But Danzo’s eyes flared with that ominous red light, and in the blink of an eye, Sasuke’s attack vanished, undone by the twisted power of Izanagi.

“Coward!” Sasuke roared, frustration boiling over. The world around him seemed to flicker. He was fighting not just against Danzo’s strength, but against the very laws of reality.

In a blur of motion, Sasuke shifted, his blade flashing as he aimed for Danzo’s side. This time, his strike landed. His sword cut across Danzo’s torso, drawing blood, but Danzo didn’t even flinch. Instead, he calmly raised his arm, and the wound healed before Sasuke’s eyes.

The sight only spurred Sasuke on. His body moved without thought, every action fueled by fury and the overwhelming desire to end it.

Danzo chuckled softly, a low, sinister sound that made Sasuke’s blood boil. “Your hatred blinds you, Sasuke. You’re too reckless.”

Sasuke’s teeth ground together. “Shut up!”

The words were barely out of his mouth when he lunged again. His sword crashed against Danzo’s kunai, the clang of metal ringing through the air. His chakra was running low, but his resolve burned bright. Danzo was toying with him, manipulating time with his stolen eyes, erasing Sasuke’s every move, every victory.

Sasuke’s blood boiled. He could feel his chakra draining, his body exhausted, but his determination would not waver. He wouldn’t give up until Danzo was dead.

His eyes flared, the Mangekyō Sharingan spinning wildly in his vision. The world around him seemed to warp, bending at the edges as his chakra surged in an explosion of pain. It felt like his very mind was being torn apart, but Sasuke gritted his teeth, pushing through the agony. It was the only way to end it.

“I’ll kill you, Danzo.”

Sasuke’s Mangekyō Sharingan flashed with deadly desire as he activated Amaterasu. Black flames erupted from his eyes, spreading with a ferocious hunger, intent on consuming his target. The flames were unstoppable, relentless, and Sasuke watched them with a cold, determined stare.

Danzo’s form flickered again, but this time Sasuke was prepared. The black flames ignited the ground beneath Danzo’s feet, curling around him as if the earth itself was turning to ash.

Sasuke’s lips curled into a grim smile. This is it. You can’t escape this.

But Danzo didn’t flinch. Instead, his eyes glowed crimson, and Sasuke's heart dropped into his stomach as Danzo’s Sharingan flickered to life once more. The flames seemed to fizzle out, their scorching heat dissolving as though they’d never existed.

No…

Sasuke’s chest tightened. Danzo’s voice was cold, unbothered. “Izanagi rewrites the world, Sasuke. Your flames mean nothing.”

The world around Sasuke seemed to shift, bending at impossible angles. The air itself felt distorted, as though Danzo’s power was warping reality, erasing what had been. Sasuke’s fist clenched at his side, frustration bubbling in his chest, but he wasn’t done yet.

“That eye won’t last forever,” Sasuke retorted  

His Mangekyō Sharingan flared again, a deeper, darker power coursing through his veins. He drew on the bitter well of chakra in his body, despite the pain and the strain, and released a furious roar as the Amaterasu flames ignited once more, this time surrounding his entire body in a dark, burning halo. Sasuke’s vision was heavy, the world spinning as his body screamed for respite, but he kept going, ignoring the ache that clawed at his soul.

“Enough of this,” Sasuke growled, stepping forward.

He formed the seals, his chakra trembling beneath the surface. The world trembled with him as he summoned Kirin, the deadly bolt of lightning crackling to life above him. It roared through the air with a deafening sound, a serpent of raw, uncontrollable power that shot toward Danzo with a velocity that seemed to defy nature. Sasuke’s anger fueled it, his frustration making it all the more dangerous.

Danzo’s eyes narrowed, and for the briefest moment, Sasuke saw fear flicker across his face. The bolt of lightning collided with the ground, sending a shockwave that split the earth beneath their feet. The force of it shook the very air, and for a moment, Sasuke thought—This time, he has to be done.

But as the smoke cleared, Danzo was standing, completely unscathed. Danzo’s eyes flickered—those cursed eyes—and his wounds, everything Sasuke had inflicted, were gone.

Sasuke’s breath came in ragged gasps. His vision swam. The pressure of using his Mangekyō was overwhelming—his head was spinning, and his chakra reserves were rapidly depleting. But he couldn’t stop. Not now. Not after everything.

Danzo was right in front of him now, his form flickering as though he were stepping through time itself. His voice was calm, infuriatingly so. “You will never defeat me, Sasuke. I have seen it all.”

Sasuke’s body was already moving before his mind could catch up. He rushed forward, but as he did, he felt a strange pull—a sensation like reality was folding in on itself. His Sharingan flared one final time, but the chakra was too much. It felt like his very soul was being ripped from his body, and in that instant, Sasuke collided with Danzo’s gaze.

The world twisted violently.

The earth cracked, the air shifted, and Sasuke felt himself falling—falling through a vortex of darkness and light, his body and mind spinning wildly. A pulse of pain shot through him, sharp and excruciating, as if every fiber of his being was being undone. And then, with a final, brutal jolt, everything stopped.

Sasuke’s eyes snapped open with a jolt, the sharp pain in his body dragging him from the darkness.

A dull throb in his skull pulsed with each heartbeat, and the weight of his injuries—his side burning from the deep laceration, his calf throbbing from the stab wound—seemed to hold him down.

He was utterly still, his muscles stiff from pain, and it took every ounce of effort just to move. He could feel the familiar tightness of fresh bandages wrapped snugly around his torso, the cloth sticking slightly to his skin. His breaths were shallow, ragged, but he pushed through it, forcing himself to process his surroundings.

The room was dim, strange, and unfamiliar. The walls were papered in light brown wood, and the tatami mat beneath him was rough against his skin. There was an odd scent of herbs and antiseptic in the air, and the faint rustle of distant movement sounded from the other side of the room. His pulse quickened as he tried to sit up but his body resisted, the pain from his injuries spreading across his limbs like fire.

Where am I?

His mind raced, the events of the battle—the fight with Danzo, his Mangekyou Sharingan, the sudden shift in reality—were still sharp in his mind, but the sensation of the room around him felt surreal, foreign.

Sasuke winced as he shifted, pushing himself up, the world spinning with the effort. The pain in his side was a constant reminder of the battle he had just endured, the deep gash across his body still stinging despite the treatment. The stab wound in his leg made every movement feel like it was dragging him down. But his eyes narrowed as he tried to steady himself, eyes still struggling to adjust.

As if on cue, the soft sound of shoji doors sliding open reached his ears, breaking through his disorientation.

Sasuke froze, instinctively stiffening as he tried to focus on the figure entering. His heart skipped a beat, and he immediately tensed. His hand went to his side, searching for something—anything—to defend himself with, but there was nothing within reach.

A figure stepped into the room, silhouetted by the soft light filtering through the paper walls. Sasuke’s scattered thoughts grinder to a halt.

The man was tall, his posture calm and measured as he entered. There was a familiarity in the man’s appearance, but it was twisted, like a mirror showing a version of Sasuke that wasn’t quite right.

His dark hair was long, tied neatly into a low ponytail that contrasted with Sasuke's shorter, messier hair. His features were sharp—high cheekbones, a strong jawline—yet they differed from Sasuke's in subtle ways. His eyes were narrower, a little more piercing, and his frame appeared leaner, more refined.

Sasuke's gaze fixed on the man’s face, and the resemblance was undeniable. The curve of his mouth, the way his eyes held a quiet intensity—it was almost like staring into a reflection, yet something felt off. Sasuke's eyes were wider, his shoulders broader, and his expression… harsher.

The man’s mouth curved in a familiar shape—something that reminded Sasuke of his own reflection, but there was something different about him, something unsettling.

Sasuke’s pulse raced as his mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. His eyes narrowed in confusion, disbelief tightening his chest.

Who is this?

Sasuke’s body went rigid, instinctively preparing to defend himself, but his limbs were sluggish. His vision blurred as he tried to focus, but the world felt dizzying.

No… this can’t be happening. This isn’t real.

“Who the hell are you?” Sasuke growled, his voice hoarse and low with suspicion, though the words were laced with fury and disbelief. He couldn’t comprehend it. He couldn’t make sense of it. “Where am I? Where’s Danzo?”

The man stood there for a moment, silent, studying Sasuke with a measured gaze. There was no fear in his eyes, no urgency—just calm, unwavering observation and a hint of concern. The silence stretched between them like a taut wire, and Sasuke’s anger flared once more, hot and intense, fueled by confusion and the frustration of not being able to understand what was happening.

The man’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. As if he’d seen something he’d been looking for.

“I am Izuna Uchiha,” the man said, his voice calm and steady, the words hanging in the air like an accusation. “You are in the Uchiha Compound—more specifically, the medical ward. What is your name?”

Sasuke’s heart skipped a beat. His breath caught in his throat, as if the very name had sent a shock through his system. His eyes widened, his body instinctively recoiling, as his mind scrambled to make sense of the impossible words.

His chest tightened as frustration swelled within him, and his hand clenched into a fist. He wanted to lash out, to strike this imposter down, but his body was weak, sluggish from blood loss and the effects of his injuries. The fight he’d just been in—Danzo, the Sharingan, the time-bending technique—was still fresh in his mind, but now it felt like a distant dream, a fragment of some impossible reality.

Sasuke pushed himself up, his hands trembling as he struggled to stay conscious. His chakra spiked, but his body felt weak, heavy, as if it were rebelling against him. The room around him felt... wrong, like a jumbled reflection of reality. He couldn’t tell if it was his mind playing tricks or if this was some twisted genjutsu. But he wasn’t about to trust it. Not when everything about this situation screamed deception.

“Careful!” ‘Izuna’ said in a chastising tone, stepping fully into the room and sliding the rice paper door shut behind him. “You’ll aggravate your injuries.”

Sasuke absolutely did not heed his advice. “Fuck off!”

This has to be some kind of illusion, he thought, gritting his teeth. Danzo. Or maybe it was someone else trying to impersonate an Uchiha for whatever twisted reason. His fists clenched in frustration.

He reached for his chakra, trying to summon it with the desperation of someone who had no other choice. His Sharingan would break whatever genjutsu this was—he had to make it work. He forced his eyes to shift, the familiar sensation of the Mangekyou Sharingan locking into place.

But instead of clarity, his vision grew even more distorted. The edges of the room blurred, and the world twisted in on itself, as though it were melting. Sasuke’s breath caught in his throat, his body reeling from the overwhelming dizziness. His Sharingan sputtered, flickering weakly, unable to hold steady as the chakra drain intensified.

“I told you to be careful!” the huffed, exasperated words came to Sasuke as if from a long tunnel. “—adara, I swear.”

His head swam. Focus, damn it!

But his body was too injured, and his chakra too depleted. He couldn’t maintain control. His vision blurred again, the room around him spiraling into nothingness.

Chapter Text

Consciousness returned to Sasuke in fragments. First came the ache in his ribs, then the burn of his lacerated torso, and finally the persistent throb in his left calf. He kept his breathing steady, feigning sleep while he assessed his surroundings through barely cracked eyelids.

The room hadn't changed. Wooden walls, tatami mats, the lingering scent of medicinal herbs. No hospital monitors, no fluorescent lights, no familiar chakra signatures from Konoha (so he hadn’t been captured by those traitors at least). No Karin fidgeting at his bedside with anxiety. Just this archaic space that looked like something from a history scroll.

Then came the sounds: hushed voices beyond rice paper walls, footsteps on wooden floors, and somewhere distant, the ring of steel against steel. Training grounds. The familiar rhythm of combat drills reached him even through his disorientation.

He kept his breathing steady, feigning sleep while he assessed his situation. The futon beneath him was soft, the air cool. His chakra pathways felt raw and overextended, but functional. Barely.

Footsteps approached from the hallway. Sasuke forced his muscles to remain lax even as his mind sharpened. The door slid open, and that man entered again—the one who called himself Izuna Uchiha that Sasuke vaguely remembered from his fever induced hazy memories.

Sasuke studied him through his lashes. The resemblance was undeniable, but it went beyond mere physical similarities. The way Izuna moved, the subtle tilt of his head when listening, the precise economy of his gestures—they all echoed mannerisms Sasuke recognized from old clan records and the elder’s stories. Details that would be nearly impossible to fake.

"I know you're awake," Izuna said, setting down a tray near the futon. Steam rose from a bowl of rice porridge. "Your breathing changed."

Sasuke opened his eyes fully but said nothing. Let this imposter—or whatever he was—fill the silence.

Izuna settled onto a cushion, maintaining a careful distance. "You've been unconscious for two days since your...episode. The healer says your fever broke this morning."

Two days.

Sasuke filed that information away while keeping his expression neutral. His chakra felt sluggish, depleted but not sealed. They hadn't restrained him either, which meant they were either supremely confident or genuinely trying to help. Neither option sat well with him.

"You asked about someone named Danzo," Izuna continued, watching Sasuke's face closely. "There's no one by that name in any of the local clans."

Sasuke's jaw tightened involuntarily. Of course there wouldn't be. Danzo was—would be—born decades from now. The thought skittered across his mind before he crushed it. Time travel was impossible. This had to be an elaborate genjutsu, some new technique Danzo had developed.

"Where am I?" Sasuke asked, his voice rough from disuse.

"The Uchiha compound, as I told you before." Izuna gestured toward the window where morning light filtered through. "We're in the eastern district of Fire Country, near the border with Hot Water Country."

The geographical markers matched historical records, but that proved nothing. Any competent shinobi could research old maps. Sasuke pushed himself up slowly, ignoring the protest from his injuries. The bandages around his torso were fresh, expertly wrapped.

"The year?"

Izuna's brow furrowed slightly. "You hit your head harder than we thought. It's the seventh year of the Tiger Moon cycle."

Sasuke's mind raced. That dating system had been abandoned before the village system was established. His father had mentioned it once, explaining how the clans used to mark time before the standardized calendar. If this was real—

No. He wouldn't accept that. Couldn't accept that.

"I need air," Sasuke said, moving to stand. His legs trembled but held.

"You shouldn't be walking yet." Izuna rose as well, not blocking Sasuke's path but clearly prepared to catch him if he fell. "At least eat something first."

Sasuke ignored him, making his way to the door. Each step sent spikes of pain through his calf, but he'd endured worse. He needed to see more of this place, find the flaws in the illusion.

The hallway beyond was simple, traditional. Paper lanterns hung at intervals, their flames extinguished in the morning light. Other doors lined the corridor, some open to reveal similar medical rooms. Everything looked authentic, down to the wear patterns on the wooden floors.

Izuna followed at a respectful distance, neither helping nor hindering. Like some kind of twisted shadow. "My brother will want to speak with you when you're feeling better. He has questions."

Brother. That would be Madara, if this charade held to historical accuracy. Sasuke's stomach clenched at the thought. Madara Uchiha, the clan's most infamous traitor, the man who'd helped massacre—

Except that hadn't happened yet. Wouldn't happen for decades, if this was real.

But it’s not.

Sasuke reached the end of the hallway where it opened onto a covered walkway. Beyond lay a courtyard, and beyond that, the Uchiha compound stretched out in morning sunshine.

His breath caught.

The compound was wrong. Not fake-wrong, but wrong in its rightness. The buildings stood where they should, but newer, their wood dark with recent construction rather than age. The training grounds he could see in the distance lacked the memorial stone. Children ran between the buildings, their laughter carrying on the breeze. So many children.

And the chakra signatures. Dozens of them, all unmistakably Uchiha, all very much alive.

Sasuke gripped the wooden railing until his knuckles went white. This couldn't be real.

His clan was dead.

He'd seen their bodies, attended their funerals, lived with their ghosts for over a decade. This vibrant, living compound was impossible.

"It can be overwhelming," Izuna said quietly from behind him. "The compound is larger than most expect."

Sasuke barely heard him. His eyes tracked the people moving through the compound. People with dark hair and pale skin walked the streets, their clothing branded with the Uchiha crest. Some wore yukata and kimono, others wore more practical clothing. Men. Women. Breathing. Talking. Laughing. Someone out of sight was striking at a forge, smelting steel weapons that the Uchiha had been famous for.

All of them dead in his time. All of them here, now, alive.

The impossibility of it made his head spin. Or maybe that was the blood loss. Either way, Sasuke found himself sinking to his knees on the walkway, his injuries and the sheer weight of what he was seeing finally overwhelming him.

"Easy." Izuna's hands steadied him, surprisingly gentle. "You're pushing too hard too fast."

Sasuke wanted to shake him off, but his body wouldn't cooperate. The morning sun felt too bright, the air too clean, everything too vivid to be a genjutsu.

But the alternative...

"This isn't real," he said, the words coming out more desperate than intended.

Izuna's expression shifted to something almost sympathetic. "Head injuries can cause confusion. Give it time."

Time.

Sasuke nearly laughed at the irony. If this was real—if he'd somehow been thrown decades into the past—then time was exactly what he had too much of. Time before the village system, before the massacre, before everything went wrong.

The thought terrified him more than any enemy jutsu.

"I need to go back to the room," Sasuke said, hating how weak he sounded.

Izuna helped him stand without comment, supporting him back down the hallway. Sasuke catalogued every detail as they walked—the grain of the wood, the scent of cooking fires, the distant clang of weapons training. All perfectly authentic, all impossible to reconcile with what he knew to be true.

Back in the medical room, Sasuke lowered himself onto the futon. His body screamed for rest, but his mind raced. If this was real—and he still couldn't accept that—then he was decades in the past, before the villages, before the massacre, before his entire life went to hell.

And these people, these Uchiha wearing the faces of legends, had no idea who he really was or where he'd come from.

"The porridge is cold now," Izuna noted, glancing at the forgotten tray. "I'll have fresh brought."

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat to heal." Izuna's tone brooked no argument. "Whatever happened to you before we found you, you nearly died from your injuries. You're lucky the Aikawa family recognized Uchiha features and sent for us."

Aikawa. Another name from dusty history scrolls, a merchant family that had ancient ties to the clan. Sasuke closed his eyes. Every detail lined up too perfectly.

"What's your name?" Izuna asked, settling back onto his cushion. "You never said."

Sasuke hesitated. His name would mean nothing here—Fugaku wouldn't be born for decades. But lying felt dangerous when he didn't fully understand the situation.

"Sasuke," he said finally. No family designation, no additional context.

Izuna's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. "Just Sasuke?"

"Just Sasuke."

They sat in silence for a moment. Sasuke could feel Izuna's gaze on him, assessing, calculating. The man was sharp—sharper than Sasuke had expected from historical accounts that mainly focused on his death.

"You look like an Uchiha," Izuna said eventually. "Your sharingan is fully mature. But I don't recognize you, and I know every member of our clan."

Sasuke kept his expression neutral. "It's a big world."

"Not for us." Izuna's voice carried an edge now. "The Uchiha keep careful track of our bloodline. Every child is recorded, every branch family monitored. So, either you're from a line that's been hidden for generations, or..."

He let the sentence hang. Sasuke didn't fill the silence. Sometimes it was better to let people make their own assumptions to make sense of things.

"My brother thinks you might be our younger sibling," Izuna continued, watching for a reaction. "The resemblance is...significant. But that would mean our father had another family, which seems unlikely."

Sasuke almost laughed at even more irony. They thought he was their bastard brother rather than their time-displaced descendant. It was a more logical conclusion than the truth.

"I don't know anything about that," Sasuke said, which was technically true.

Izuna studied him for a long moment more, then rose. "Rest. Whatever your origins, you're Uchiha, and that makes you our responsibility. My brother will want to speak with you when you're stronger."

He left, sliding the door shut behind him. Sasuke waited until the footsteps faded before letting out a shaky breath.

The compound sounds continued outside—life going on as normal in a world that shouldn't exist. Sasuke pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to think through the impossibility of his situation.

If this was a genjutsu, it was unlike any he'd encountered. Too detailed, too consistent, his own chakra too depleted to maintain such an elaborate illusion. But if it was real...

He thought of Danzo, of their battle, of the way reality had seemed to tear around them in those final moments. The Sharingan on Danzo's arm, the time-bending properties of Izanagi, his own Mangekyou pushed beyond its limits. Could their techniques have collided in a way that—

No. He was thinking about this too hard, accepting the impossible too readily. There had to be another explanation.

But as the morning wore on and the sounds of the living Uchiha compound continued outside his door, Sasuke found that explanation increasingly difficult to find.

He closed his eyes, exhaustion finally overwhelming his racing thoughts. Whatever the truth of his situation, he was too weak to do anything about it now. He needed to heal, to gather information, to understand what had happened to him.

And above all, he needed to keep his mouth shut about who he really was. These people might wear familiar faces, but they were strangers from a violent era. The wrong word about the future—about their future—could change everything.

If this was real, if he really had traveled through time, then he was holding the fate of his entire clan in his hands.

The thought was almost enough to make him wish this was just an elaborate genjutsu after all.