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Chapter Text

THE WOMAN WITH A THOUSAND SUMMONINGS

— Kiyo-san. You cann explain the situation to the Uchiha Lords, ordered the Daimyô of Fire, waving a finely embroidered fan in front of his face.

He was hot. The air was thick and tense in the room. The man was gasping for breath, opening and closing his mouth like a koi fish out of water. Sweat covered his face and his breathing was labored. The assembly had been hastily summoned by this little, agitated, sweating man.

The scene was so ironic: he was the most powerful and also the weakest of all men here.

Indeed, the most powerful samurai of the Land of Fire and the best strategists were present. Men in heavy armor and others in impeccable suits. The samurai’s shiny armors appeared dull next to men with the blood-red eyes. Those men with the blood-red eyes were dominating the room simply by their presence. They exuded a slow and silent violence.

Shinobi, yes.

But not just any shinobi.

They were Uchiha warriors. They had come to the palace, concerned by the request, and especially interested in the benefits that were promised from this affair.

The young woman summoned by the Daimyô slowly detached herself from the wall and bowed to respond to the order. She commanded the attention of everyone without truly having it. Kiyo was just a mere servant of the Daimyô. Her eyes slowly lifted to meet the gazes of the men present.

Of course. This was an all-male council.

— Lords Uchiha, our honorable Daimyô of Fire wishes to call upon your warrior qualities. The council is very concerned about the presence of a thief within the imperial palace, she began.

Kiyo who was designated to explain the reason for their presence here to the Uchiha lords and answer their questions. An intermediary. The servant's eyes drifted over two Uchiha men; she knew they were listening to her words attentively, and she also knew they were strong warriors.

Bloodthirsty rumors about them circulated throughout the Land of Fire and beyond. Rumors whispered that they had fought bloody battles against the Senju clan, surpassing violence itself and even death. And other clans as well, massacred entirely. Everyone knew the rumors about the Uchiha clan.

Her grey eyes observed the Uchiha brothers: the younger of the two stood upright. He awaited the young woman's further explanations, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows slightly furrowed. His charcoal eyes were fixed on her. She subtly slid her gaze to the man beside her, now observing the older Uchiha. He was slightly withdrawn, his elbow resting casually on his knee. The master of the place through nothing but attitude and ease. His back leaned against the wall behind him. And his eyes were fixed on her as well, an intensity that suffocated.

Their gazes were intense. They were listening to her. Kiyo continued, bowing again and now watching the floor.

— The council suspects a thief within the palace. He possesses important information about various military positions, upcoming gold transfers between the noble families of the Land of Fire, as well as information on some shinobi clans and their distribution across the territory. These infor—

— You collect information on the shinobi clans? Interrupted the younger Uchiha Lord, turning his eyes toward the Daimyô with the fan in front of him.

The man, flanked by two massive samurai, recoiled, pierced by the sharp words of the warrior.

Amusement leaked beneath the voice of the Uchiha. An amusing situation, wasn’t it? Several of the men at the table stiffened at the cadet’s sharp remark. He had touched on a sensitive point of the Daimyô’s request. Indeed, asking shinobi to recover stolen information about other shinobi. The Daimyô waved his fan a little faster, uncomfortable, and responded with an unsure voice.

— Lords Uchiha, the situation is very particular. I implore your help in this urgent matter, his tone faltered on the last syllables. Continue, Kiyo-san.

— Yes. As our honorable Daimyô points out, this matter is very important as it concerns both the imperial court and the shinobi clans established in my land. The council believes the information was stolen by a shinobi. None of the palace guards or samurai have managed to get hold of him.

— And your samurai and guards are unable to catch him ?

The arrogance in the words of the Uchiha. A brief hiss from a samurai responded. A warning, clearly indicating what many thought here. A boy among men. Indeed, the younger Uchiha was the youngest at the table — Kiyo was certainly older than him. Wasn’t it arrogant to make a remark that emphasized the inability of the samurai and palace guards in a room full of samurai and guards?

A bad move, indeed. But no man from the council responded to the Uchiha's provocation, fully aware of the young man’s abilities and rank. The Uchiha was made of fire, a powerful fire on which no one would dare blow at the moment. Kiyo’s eyes shifted slightly from the floor to rest on the grimacing samurai. His angry expression left no doubt about his thoughts on the young Uchiha warrior.

And she turned her gaze, drawn to the Uchiha Lords.

The older Uchiha's eyes were on his little brother.

— Hm, he muttered, still leaning against the wall.

The adolescent with the upright posture shrugged in response, without much concern for the anger he had provoked in front of him. The servant uncrossed her hands from her back to reposition a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The long metal bracelet adorning her forearm caught the attention of the samurai and shinobi, focusing their attention on Kiyo. An unusual piece of jewelry.

The servant resumed her explanation, confident that she had everyone’s attention.

— Lords Uchiha, our Daimyô is prepared to pay generously for your services. Your price is his. He also wishes to offer you some information about the clans of your choosing in exchange for your help.

— Yes! the Daimyô punctuated, finally folding his fan with a sharp snap, supporting the young woman’s words. I need this matter settled quickly to move about safely! I need to know my gold isn’t under the greedy gaze of a shinobi clan, or even several! What is your price? I’ll pay you.

The silence enveloped the room.

The Daimyô’s agitation and anxiety over the matter were easy to perceive. But, he was the only agitated man in the room. All the other men had been still since the beginning of the emergency council, including Kiyo. Calm and composed. The men’s faces grew harder as seconds passed. They were waiting for a response from the Uchiha leader.

The atmosphere was heavy. The servant did not move, calm and focused. The impression of a submissive and respectful woman? No. Her position as a woman within the imperial palace required a submissive and discreet posture, but she was much more than that. Far more.

The Daimyô of Fire repeated his question. Wasting time meant giving the hidden shinobi within the palace more time to react. The man in robes resumed his fan and waved it in front of his face again. He repeated his question, addressing the older Uchiha specifically.

— Uchiha-sama, what is your answer?

Kiyo lifted her eyes slightly through her lashes, wishing to see the warrior’s reaction. Her eyes met the red pupils of the Uchiha. Since when had he activated his Sharingan? The visual exchange lasted a few seconds before she lowered her gaze again, feeling the adrenaline stirring in her stomach.

She inhales.

Calm. Focus.

The adrenaline dissipated and left the young woman’s system.

The man leaned back against the wall and then slowly shifted his red eyes toward his brother. His eyes were red, a mark of the Sharingan and a testament to the Uchiha clan. He caught the gaze of his younger brother nearby. The seconds were silent; they communicated silently. They remained thus, looking into each other’s eyes, without a word, motionless like two sacred statues. A silent communication, more than admirable within a sibling relationship.

Then, they broke the eye contact.

— It’s settled, Madara Uchiha said, his voice calm and heavy with unspoken promises.

— Lords Uchiha, how do you plan to act? asked a samurai in armor, his acidic eyes on the elder Uchiha.

He asked the question that was on everyone’s lips: how? The age of the samurai left no doubt about his combat experience. His features were tired, marked by old and monstrous scars. Madara Uchiha glanced at the samurai, closed his eyes without responding to the question. He adjusted his back against the wall, comfortably resting the crook of his elbow on his knee. Confidence and assurance.

It was Izuna who responded, just as confident and assured as his elder.

— A trap, he paused, turning his attention slightly to the servant and catching the glare of the angry samurai. We will provide a scroll with enticing information about the Uchiha clan and capture your thief.

— With all due respect, we have already tried this method, the same man countered.

— Perhaps. We’ll see, was his only response.

The Daimyô snapped his fan, satisfied with the exchange and now certain of the Uchiha warriors’ help. He stood, signaling the end of the emergency council, and left the table with two guards at his side and the servant following in his steps. The next steps depended on the shinobi with red eyes.

The young woman with dark hair placed her hand on the top of the little girl's face, clinging to her leg. Tears were flowing down the chubby cheeks of the child. She was the youngest of the Daimyô's eighteen daughters, little Bara-hime. Indeed, the Daimyô of the Fire Country had many wives, all different and with more or less exotic appearances depending on his whims. He desperately wanted an heir to take the throne of the Fire Country after his death. However, all of his wives gave birth to girls. So, he had eighteen daughters, all of whom he named after colors, without thinking or even glancing at the newborns.

Complete indifference.

Kiyo gently wiped the princess's face, removing the large crocodile tears that clouded her eyes. The chubby face of the child was pressed against Kiyo's thigh, leaving wet marks.

— Kiyo-san... The child sobbed, her breath irregular and almost exhausted. Shiro-hime doesn't want to play with me.

— Shiro-hime is very busy right now with her dancing lessons, Kiyo answered soothingly and tenderly. Don’t be sad, you’ll always find someone to play with.

Bara-hime sniffed, unsure of how to respond, her tears calming in a sudden burst of hope. The child's heart also eased, becoming lighter with the softness in front of her. The princess was only five years old, but she knew Kiyo was different from the other servants. She didn't put on airs or fake smiles; she was real, and that was enough for her to have a place in Bara-hime's heart. She really liked Kiyo. She took care of her often, playing with her when others were busy and telling her beautiful stories.

The princess stretched her arms out, asking for a hug.

— Kiyo-san! Kiyo-san, pick me up! The little girl raised her tiny arms, asking for a hug.

The young woman bent her legs gracefully, wrapping the little girl in her arms with a soft, cotton-like tenderness. Bara-hime adored her servant, yes. She adored her more than her own mother. Kiyo’s authenticity was striking. A unique and biting authenticity. Nothing compared to the other servants in the palace who giggled or shouted at the little princess. Bara giggled, happy to be in the arms of the young woman. Bara-hime’s arms wrapped around her neck, a palpable relief in her gestures. The calm returned.

She looked at her servant, at her height, and laughed innocently. A simple, childlike laugh. Kiyo was simple. She was everything but a typical palace servant. Far from standing out physically from the other women, she was average. Dressed modestly in worn black clothes and sandals aged by time, only her forearms were visible, highlighted by long metallic bracelets. The young woman’s features were not made up, nor did she wear any extravagant hairstyle (unlike many many women in this palace). Kiyo didn’t flaunt herself like the other ladies or servants of the court, dressed in rich fabrics and with perfectly white skin, but her straight posture and silent presence exuded an unshakable strength, a bearing that few would dare challenge.

The child’s hazel eyes lingered on the long metal plates adorning Kiyo’s forearms. They shone softly in the light, catching the eye with fleeting glimmers. No one had ever seen the young woman without her bracelets, not even the little girl.

— Why do you always wear your bracelets? asked the little princess, fascinated.

Kiyo smiled softly, without hesitation.

— Because they remind me of my strength.

At these words, a fleeting gleam caught her attention, and she slowly turned her head toward the window. Her gaze hardened, her features tightening slightly. Bara-hime, absorbed in her childlike thoughts, didn’t notice the change in her servant’s posture. The young woman’s attention was no longer on her; Kiyo was looking out the window with a strange expression.

Bara-hime turned to look at the gardens, trying to find what had caught her servant’s attention. But her eyes met only darkness, and the child didn’t see the two shadows. Kiyo’s position had slightly moved back into the window frame, as if to hide. A thought pierced the princess’s mind, joyful and unaware of what was happening.

— Kiyo-san, I want to see the fish!

Kiyo smiled, and with a knowing look, she lowered her head toward the princess.

— Very well. But be quiet, and don’t forget: your father wouldn’t appreciate seeing you outside at this hour. We must be discreet.

— I will be! I promise! replied Bara-hime, determined, a spark of joy in her eyes.

Kiyo’s peaceful smile elicited another childlike giggle from the princess.  Kiyo-san had an amazing patience that allowed the five-year-old to flourish quietly in an environment far from perfect: the imperial court of the Daimyô of the Fire Country, a real nest of vipers.

The brunette wrapped her arms around Kiyo’s neck, obeying her order—to be quiet. It was late. The guards had already begun their nightly patrols. The women were removing their layers of makeup, relaxing in the palace baths or in their beds. The men were gambling in the upper floors. And the servants were preparing for the next day, except Kiyo, who was with the princess. Was she really a servant?

The young woman stopped at the corner of a hallway, standing still.

Bara-hime breathed softly, her eyes wide open in the dark. Impressed by Kiyo-san’s talent. How did she manage to see in the dark or move so silently? The little game continued. She walked with confidence through the dark corridors of the imperial palace, easily finding her way.

— Bara-hime, whispered the young woman in a low voice into the princess’s ear on her shoulder. Let’s play a game: close your eyes and count to ten. If you open your eyes while we’re still in the palace, I’ll have lost.

— Do I win something?

— I’ll give you something.

— Really?

— Really, she confirmed.

The idea of the game excited the princess: the thought of receiving a gift from Kiyo-san was simply magnificent. What kind of gift? A jewel? The brunette tightened her grip around Kiyo’s neck and began counting immediately in her head. She wanted to win the game. Her head buried in her servant’s neck, she closed her eyes. The fresh scent rocked her.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

The little girl noticed a fluid movement from Kiyo but didn’t open her eyes, not wanting to be disturbed in her count. She felt nothing, no movement from the young woman. The world seemed still, and so did Kiyo.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten !

Her large brown eyes opened suddenly, trying to see if they were outside the palace or not. If she had won. She squinted and pouted, realizing her servant had won. They were outside, in front of one of the large koi ponds of the palace. Kiyo-san’s hold tightened gently around the child in her arms. She was quick and light, amazing the child. She had crossed the last corridors where the guards were numerous without making a sound, and without the princess sensing any movement.

The dark eyes locked with those of the young woman, glowing with admiration and joy. Kiyo’s bright gaze responded, but a finger slipped over the child’s mouth. She was asking for total silence, just as she had requested moments earlier in the princess’s chambers. Silence. It was key. The princess nodded eagerly, obedient to the request, and turned her attention back to the koi in the clear water before her.

The servant moved slowly, the child still in her arms. She circled one of the fish-filled ponds, leaving the little princess absorbed in the colorful shapes moving in the water. The palace lights reflected in the clear water. Absorbed, so much so that she didn’t see Kiyo-san move lightly through the grass.

A few stealthy steps, listening to the murmurs a few meters away.

Bara-hime was focused on the koi, hearing nothing. The young woman crouched down, placing her hand on the edge of the pond to remain steady and turned her head toward the direction where the voices came from. The princess, meanwhile, leaned closer to touch the water, silently.

The conversation continued. Kiyo furrowed her brow as she recognized the voice of the younger Uchiha. What was he doing here at this hour in the gardens? Was he coming to see the koi like the princess? She doubted it. The servant’s lips pressed into a thin, tight line.

— Everything is arranged with the Daimyô. We should know soon. His chakra is very subtle and hard to detect...

Silence responded to the brief explanation. Kiyo pulled back gently in the grass, distancing herself from the princess, who moved a bit further, touching the curious fish at the pond’s edge. Her hand rested on her hip, gently, ready to react. She slightly lifted a side of her pants, revealing a metallic shine. Reacting to what?

She paused, resting her hand back on the ground. Uncertain.

Not showing her hand. Not here.

— I’ve asked the men to burn the documents. There’s no trace left. The information on the Sharingan and military strategies…

— Understood, answered a deep voice. That of Madara Uchiha, unmistakable.

Kiyo took a step back, straining to hear, her gaze hardening. The Uchiha Lords, Madara and Izuna, were nearby—silent, deliberate. The air was tense, weighing on her like a suffocating force. But she knew that espionage in this palace carried its risks. Too many risks. 

She moved cautiously through the grass, returning to where Bara-hime was still occupied with the fish in the water. The princess played joyfully, gently stroking the backs of curious carp as they swam near the edge. The servant stretched out a hand to place it on the princess’s shoulder, intending to guide her upright and lift her into her arms.

But her movement was halted.

Her gaze turned steely.

An arm stopped her, gripping her shoulder firmly and pulling her backward. She was caught against someone. Her reaction was instant and instinctive. She twisted to grab the wrist on her shoulder, holding it in a threatening angle—not painful, but a clear warning to whoever had seized her. Swift and silent. The scene played out in complete silence. She made no sound, gritting her teeth and ready to strike if necessary.

A few meters away, the princess remained unaware of the tension behind her, still engrossed in the carp.

Kiyo was a shadow, poised to attack.

A mocking voice cut through the stillness.

— A delightful surprise for the night, Kiyo-san.

The tone left no doubt about the identity of the speaker: Izuna Uchiha. She held his wrist at an angle of threat, but there was no mistaking that he could easily free himself with a simple move.

— Lord Uchiha, she replied, her voice steady.

The calm exuded by Kiyo was utterly unnerving. Others might have panicked, cornered by one of the Uchiha brothers. Not her. She was impervious to the pressure. A deadly calm, drilled into the elite fighters. Izuna’s eyes narrowed as he studied the servant. No, not a servant. What kind of servant knew how to defend herself, holding an opponent's wrist in such a precise angle?

Kiyo released his wrist, fully aware of the keen gaze analyzing her every move. She bowed slightly, her lips pressing together as she noticed the crimson pupils of the Sharingan.

— What are you doing out here?

— Bara-hime wanted to see the fish.

The tension grew, but Kiyo didn’t flinch. Even under the piercing gaze of the Sharingan, she remained composed, serene.

Hearing her name, the princess turned with a smile. But her expression quickly vanished when she saw the scene. Kiyo, face-to-face with an unknown warrior, his eyes glowing red. Fear drained the color from Bara-hime’s face. She scrambled to her feet and ran toward her servant, clutching at her leg with desperate strength. Tears spilled down her cheeks, breaking the heavy silence of the night.

— I’m sorry! I just wanted to see the fish in the water, I… I’m sorry! Don’t punish Kiyo-san! Don’t hurt her! Kiyo-san isn’t bad!

A sharp, commanding voice silenced the child.

— Be quiet child, snapped the icy voice of Madara Uchiha.

The child immediately fell silent, terror wiping any trace of resistance from her.

Madara stepped forward, emerging from the shadows. With an almost fluid motion, he grasped Kiyo’s jaw with gloved fingers. His eyes were red as well, burning with violent intensity. His grip was firm, but Kiyo didn’t pull away. She felt the weight of his hand, heavy as death itself. The air grew tighter around her, suffocating. His hold was unyielding, but Kiyo didn’t utter a sound. She had been trained to endure such pressure.

Her masters would have been proud of her restraint.

Madara’s fingers dug into her skin, forcing her face into a position that made breathing difficult. Kiyo’s eyes hardened as she observed his movements with an icy precision. Slowly, mechanically, one of her arms lifted, her wrist aligning with a precise point where she could apply pressure to his arm. A vital point. A calculated movement, though she held back. She knew a wrong move would end everything.

Madara’s gaze flicked to her fingers, comprehension flashing in his eyes. He recognized her positioning—familiar with the chakra network and its pressure points. His eyes bore into hers again, the silence between them thick with tension. Neither moved. Time seemed frozen.

Kiyo waited, the atmosphere growing heavier. Neither flinched.

— Interesting, he finally murmured, a faint, almost imperceptible smile curling his lips. T

hen, to Kiyo’s surprise, he released her wrist and stepped back, calling to his younger brother. Izuna.

— Yes, the younger man stepped forward to lift the princess into his arms.

Bara-hime gasped in shock, startled. Her grip on Kiyo’s leg slipped as the younger warrior lifted her easily. The child sought her servant’s gaze, but found none. Kiyo’s focus was locked on the elder Uchiha, now at a more reasonable distance. Bara-hime stifled a cry of terror as she was carried away, her wide eyes darting to her servant. The Sharingan eyes remained locked on Kiyo’s.

— Allow us to escort the princess back to her chambers, said Izuna, his tone void of emotion.

Kiyo, her composure restored, bowed slightly and reached to take the princess into her arms. The child stretched her arms toward her, clinging desperately to the only anchor she had. Kiyo carefully avoided any physical contact with the younger Uchiha. His curious gaze flickered over her forearms, lingering on the long bracelets covering them. She caught the look but didn’t respond, adjusting the weight of the child in her arms. The princess wrapped her arms tightly around her neck, trembling as she cried silently. Kiyo ran a soothing hand down her back, calming her shakes.

The walk was swift. Kiyo took every shortcut she could to reach the princess’s chambers, eager to end the Uchiha warriors' presence at her back. Her calm began to waver, feeling the danger trailing behind her. Vulnerable.

Arriving at the door to the chambers, she gritted her teeth as the younger Uchiha stepped forward to open it. They were silent, effortlessly tracking her movements.

A bead of sweat slid down her spine. They were dangerous.

— Good evening, Bara-hime, murmured Izuna with a smirk before slipping into the shadows, his eyes still fixed on the servant. Kiyo-san.

— Thank you, she replied, her tone polite but cold.

She entered the princess’s chambers, feeling the weight of the door closing behind her. An imperceptible sigh escaped her lips. The danger had not yet passed. She gently laid Bara-hime in her bed, her gaze fixed on the door, attuned to every sound and movement around her.

Bara dared to speak, her voice weak and anxious.

— Why are they so mean to you?

— It’s in their nature, Bara-hime, she said softly. Kiyo adjusted the blankets around the child, her expression hardening momentarily as a shadow crossed her eyes. Shinobi have never been kind to others. But don’t worry. They won’t touch me. I promise.

— But… what if they hurt you?

Kiyo smiled gently, though her eyes glinted like steel.

— Then, I will summon Jeongal-sama to protect me.

A reassuring smile spread across her lips as she looked at Bara-hime, whose eyes sparkled with wonder. The princess, suddenly captivated, forgot her fear.

— Jeongal? The great scorpion from your stories? she repeated, her eyes wide with awe, sparkling. The tension faded from her mind. He’ll protect you like in the stories?

— Yes, Jeongal will come to my aid. He won’t let anyone harm me.

A small gasp of admiration escaped the princess’s lips. Fear and sadness melted away. Jeongal. The enormous scorpion, revered by all. He was the star of the servant’s tales. Kiyo smiled at the child’s shining eyes, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on her forehead.

— I want to be like you one day, Kiyo-san, whispered Bara-hime with conviction. I want to be beautiful, strong, and kind, just like you!

— Bara-hime, you’re a princess. You’re not meant to live as I do. Your hands shouldn’t be stained with blood or dirt.

— But I’ll be like you! I’ll do everything to be like you!

The princess’s words were sincere, but Kiyo knew that dream was an illusion. She gazed at the little girl with a soft smile before joining her hands in a complex shinobi seal.

— Madara? called Izuna as they walked the long corridors of the imperial palace.

They knew. They understood.

— Yes. She masks her chakra better than our own sensors, and her control is flawless. I believe she is skilled. 

The heavy silence in the Daimyô's audience chamber was shattered as murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd. The air, tense and oppressive, carried the faint rustling of fabric as servants and officials shifted uneasily.

Izuna Uchiha, commanding attention with each deliberate step, strode forward, dragging a battered prisoner behind him. The man’s face was grotesquely swollen, marred with deep bruises, and streaked with dried blood at the corner of his lips. One of his arms hung limp at an unnatural angle, a silent testament to the ruthlessness of his captor.

The crowd instinctively parted to make way for the Uchiha, their voices falling to hushed whispers.

At the back of the room, concealed among the ranks of silent attendants, Kiyo watched. Her dark eyes were sharp, her expression controlled, yet a subtle tension stiffened her posture. Something about this display felt off—deliberate, like a trap. Her brows furrowed as she scanned the room, noting every movement, every shift of power in the air.

Her gaze flicked to Izuna, who suddenly turned his head, locking eyes with her. A chilling glint passed through his Sharingan as a cold shiver ran down her spine.

Danger.

— Lord Daimyô, Izuna declared, his clear voice cutting through the murmur of the chamber. We have found your thief.

The Daimyô, seated imperially on his high throne, narrowed his eyes at Izuna, suspicion clouding his expression.

— You may rest assured, my lord, Izuna continued, a hint of dramatic flair tainting his tone. The thief has been identified. He paused deliberately, turning his body slightly toward Kiyo, as if signaling her out without a word. First of all, surprise .... the thief is a woman.

Alert.

Kiyo's heart quickened, though her exterior remained stoic. Her mind raced, calculating. Every muscle in her body coiled like a spring. She was already shifting into a defensive stance when she felt it—a blade, cold and unyielding, pressed lightly against her throat.

The crowd gasped, retreating in a wave, leaving a wide, empty circle around her. Madara Uchiha had moved silently, and now he stood behind her, his presence as oppressive as a thunderstorm. The faint glow of his crimson

Sharingan bored into her, dissecting her very being.

— Don’t even think about moving, he murmured, his voice low and full of unspoken promise of retribution.

But ....

Stillness was very not her nature.

Slowly, deliberately, Kiyo reached for her wrist, her fingers brushing against the silver bracelet encircling it. The motion was calculated, deliberate—a subtle act of defiance. She slid the bracelet free, revealing an intricate network of black ink kanji tattooed along her forearm. Her movements were graceful yet methodical, drawing every eye in the room.

Madara's sharp gaze followed her hand, his curiosity piqued, though he made no move to stop her. He watched, silent and unreadable, like a predator gauging his prey’s final attempt at survival.

Kiyo bit down on her thumb, drawing blood, as the blade at her throat grazed her skin. A single drop of crimson trailed down her neck, but she paid it no mind. She smeared the blood across the tattoo, activating the seal.

— Summoning Technique: Jeongal!

A deafening boom resounded through the chamber as a massive plume of smoke erupted, swallowing the space in an opaque shroud. Cries of alarm and confusion rose from the assembled crowd as the thick fog cloaked their vision, sowing chaos.

Then came the tremor—a deep, resonant vibration that rattled the very foundation of the chamber. The smoke began to clear, revealing a colossal form.
Towering over the crowd was Jeongal, an immense black scorpion. Its chitinous exoskeleton gleamed like polished obsidian, its segmented legs clawing into the floor with terrifying weight. Luminescent eyes burned with cold intelligence, surveying the room with eerie precision. Massive pincers clicked menacingly, sending an audible crack reverberating through the air. Above, its barbed tail lashed, the venomous stinger glinting in the dim light.

The chamber was consumed by stunned silence.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Then Jeongal let out a guttural hiss, a chilling sound that sent shivers through the onlookers.

Kiyo stood at the scorpion’s base, her presence now magnified by the towering beast. Her eyes, cool and calculating, locked onto Madara, whose Sharingan swirled ominously, absorbing every detail.

— Well, Madara finally spoke, his tone even yet edged with intrigue. It seems the little shadow has claws.

Chapter Text

THE WOMAN WITH A THOUSAND SUMMONINGS

The Uchiha warriors were on high alert.

But curiosity prevailed. A chakra so powerful... a creature summoned at lightning speed. The cloud began to slowly dissipate, but the random bursts of energy emerging from it were dangerous.

The Fire Daimyo, seated on his throne, had frozen, his eyes lost in the void, not yet realizing the gravity of the situation. A circle of samurai surrounded the paralyzed Fire Daimyo. His hands were white from the strength with which he clung to the armrests. His glazed eyes prevented him from releasing any force around him. The narrow circle of samurai served as a shield while the civilians evacuated the room, screaming and terrified for their lives.

The civilians scattered, trying to flee the room, running in all directions, trampling on those who fell beneath their feet. The long minutes of chaos ended as the last civilians left the room, shouting. Calm slowly settled in, giving way to a heavy silence. The cloud floated, hiding the core for a few more seconds.

The air rumbled, the chakra vibrated a little more, and a gruff voice cut through the silence.

"Kid. Why did you summon me?"

The cloud finally dissipated, and before everyone's eyes, the enormous scorpion appeared. Its threatening pincers lifted into the air like iron jaws, positioning themselves in front, ready to attack. Behind it, its stinger slowly rose, poised for an attack, and its yellow eyes scanned the warriors in front of it. Its gigantic figure towered over the room, effortlessly filling the space. Its two pincers were... A terrifying creature, from another world.

The Uchiha warriors scrutinized the apparition. The creature was immense, its size disproportionate to the room. They easily spotted the red kanji inscribed on the top of the scorpion’s head. The chakra signature was overwhelming, filling the air, and at the top of its head, they sensed another energy. That of the warrior.

At the top of its head, Kiyo stood with regal composure, her sharp sword in hand, ready to defend herself. The young woman was royal. Her arms were covered in black kanji, summoning seals that spiraled across her bronzed skin. The chakra emitted an unrelenting heat, and her steel-colored eyes gleamed with icy determination. Ready for battle.

She was more than just a thief.

She was a warrior.

The scene was exquisite.

The chakra of the summoning weighed down the air, her pupils screamed urgency, and her defensive stance demanded combat. A delight. Madara Uchiha's adrenaline stirred slightly, his hand tightening on the weapon with which he had threatened the supposed servant. Interesting.

The call to battle. Her aura stoked his desire to fight, like blowing on embers to kindle a fire. She was too royal, far too royal for someone who had been a mere thief only minutes ago. It was unusual for a woman to be so comfortable in such a dominant position. Madara's adrenaline stirred even more.
Indeed, very few women were allowed on the battlefield. They could be counted on one hand.

Uchiha womans warriors were incredibly rare around him, almost non-existent. But the Uchiha warrior was interrupted in his observations by the voice of the summon.

"Kid. Answer."

It was addressed to the summoner.

"Jeongal-sama," Kiyo whispered, respectfully greeting the summon.

The enormous scorpion growled, its pincers tightening.

"A fight against Uchiha warriors? Kid, you’ve really asked for trouble this time." He paused, his threatening stinger rising, poised to strike. "After the Senju, the Uchiha. You've targeted the wrong family this time."

Izuna growled, a wave of hatred and rage overtaking him at the mention of the "Senju" name – no surprise. Just hearing the name Senju stirred the younger one’s anger. But Madara remained calm, his eyes glowing with intensity. He analyzed the situation with clinical precision. There was no doubt about the relationship between Kiyo and her summon: she wielded considerable power. But how to exploit it?

"My apologies, Jeongal-sama," she apologized. "I didn’t plan to fight them."

"Doesn’t matter," he cut in. "Prepare yourself."

"I’m ready," Kiyo answered in a calm voice. She joined her hands, her eyes closing as she began to form her mudras again.

The samurai and warriors in the room took a collective breath at the young woman’s words. They watched the battle with a mix of fascination and fear. Things were about to get truly dangerous. The armed men of the Daimyo kept their distance, preferring not to get involved in this titanic clash.

They had realized that the young servant was a dangerous woman. Dangerous and capable. Yes, capable of infiltrating the Daimyo's court, taking a position within the country of Fire’s war council under the guise of an innocent servant, and summoning a monstrous entity in a matter of seconds.

But was she capable enough to face a Uchiha of Madara’s caliber?

Few, even among the most powerful, stood a chance against Madara Uchiha. Many understood that the young woman would not win this battle, even though her potential was much greater than they had imagined. This wasn’t just a fight; something deeper lay in the way each movement was executed.

Kiyo tightened her stance with relentless focus, her fingers moving, composing a complex seal in the air, a precise dance that left no room for improvisation. Madara Uchiha watched closely, his Sharingan activated, his muscles coiled, ready to explode into action at the slightest sign of movement from the young woman that might betray an opening. His legs slightly bent, he was prepared to land a devastating blow before the final seal was even completed... but a deafening sound interrupted his concentration.

A massive pincer whistled through the air, the attack as fast as it was violent. Despite its massive size, Kiyo’s summon, Jeongal the scorpion, was incredibly fast. The two Uchiha brothers were separated in an instant, the pincer crushing the space where they had just stood seconds before. The creature moved at a speed that defied the laws of physics, its pincers slicing through the air with deadly precision. Very fast for its immense size. Impressive.

The summon was dangerous.

Madara dodged another attack while Izuna found himself in the line of fire. They had no more time to lose. The situation had just escalated. Adrenaline pulsed through the battle. The summon swung its pincers toward the two brothers, keeping them away from the young woman, still forming her seals. The warrior used the scorpion as a shield, a giant and responsive defense to every attack.

Kiyo furrowed her brow, her determination sharpening as the pace of her mudras quickened. Her eyes slowly closed, her body becoming an extension of the chakra flowing through her. Lips pressed together, she focused, her inner voice becoming a silent murmur, a call to her summon. She stopped her seal formation at the sign of the monkey and pressed her hands against Jeongal's carapace.

Chakra transfer. Her chakra infiltrated the scorpion, granting it a portion of her own energy.

The change was immediate. The scorpion’s carapace took on a metallic, almost gleaming hue. Its power multiplied. Madara furrowed his brow, sensing the summon’s power grow before his eyes.

The scorpion had taken on an even more dangerous form, as if it had become a living weapon, a monster of steel.

Before the warriors could react, another pincer whistled even faster, slicing through the air with deadly precision. Izuna, reacting at the last moment, jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding as the pincer grazed his skin. The speed of the attack was doubled, and the force behind the strike made the air around him tremble. The summon was becoming more and more formidable, faster, more lethal. The danger was very real. They sprang into action, truly entering the battle.

Izuna made the first move. He threw his sword toward the pincer he had just dodged, striking with all the force he could muster. The metal of the pincer left his blade no chance, and the strike only left a small scratch on the carapace. Nothing more. The scorpion was relentless, its carapace nearly invulnerable.

Jeongal continued its attacks, swinging its pincers without pause at the Uchiha brothers. A frantic dance. No moment of respite, constantly dodging blows and searching for a flaw in the giant creature. Madara, however, remained focused, his Sharingan scanning the energy around him, analyzing each movement. The opening was clear but extremely difficult to access. The warrior, Kiyo, atop the summon, was not just a leader. She was the key to this fight. If they could dislodge the young woman from the back of the beast, things would be simpler for them. They needed to get on the creature’s back.

But how? The threatening stinger was ready to impale anyone unauthorized on the creature’s back. It required a coordinated attack between the brothers, as there was no doubt that the stinger was as fast and agile as the pincers, if not more.

Madara slowly turned his gaze to Izuna, a single thought running through his mind. Now or never.

Without a word, he nodded to his brother, a barely perceptible movement. Izuna, without hesitation, moved forward to position himself in front of Jeongal. The most dangerous zone, as the summon could strike simultaneously with both pincers. The most exposed zone, but also the best one to trap the summon and force it to strike both pincers in the same place.

Izuna assumed a defensive stance, his blade ready to parry any attacks. He carefully observed the scene, instinctively placing himself in front of the scorpion, thus blocking its direct path to Madara and Kiyo. The beast, threatening and imposing, stirred, its massive pincers thrashing violently in the air. Izuna remained calm, fully aware that a hasty move could cost him his life. Never underestimate your opponent, especially when they summon such a large beast.

Meanwhile, Madara stepped back, disappearing from the scorpion's line of sight, silently slipping toward Kiyo. She lifted her head, immediately spotting the Uchiha lord approaching with a nearly satisfied smile on his lips. Her hands came together in another seal. She summoned a tanto and assumed a defensive position. The young woman was going to fight to the end.

"Which clan do you belong to?" Madara asked as he moved toward her, his tone cold and sharp like a blade.

Kiyo didn’t answer. In a quick leap, she lunged at him, her sword cutting the air with relentless violence. The distance closed rapidly. The clash of their blades echoed through the room. They collided with extreme force, vibrating under the tension. Their gazes met, but the silence between them was heavy with threats. The Uchiha warrior deflected her attack with disconcerting ease, his knee aiming to destabilize Kiyo. But she dodged, her agile body moving with almost supernatural fluidity.

The atmosphere was tense, electric. The outcome of the fight still uncertain.

A moment later, she renewed her attack stance, her sword ready to slice the air and cut the Uchiha’s throat. Her powerful footing propelled her toward him, her sword threatening to sever his throat. But he defended with unsettling ease, raising his weapon at lightning speed to parry the attack. Madara’s attention shifted to a sharp noise behind him, a burst of raw energy directed toward him. The scorpion’s stinger sliced the air, targeting the warrior. Poisoned stinger. This time, the scorpion struck in perfect synchrony with its summoner.

However, Madara was not caught off guard. He raised his katana with blinding speed to deflect the young woman's attack, sending her flying a little further and leaping back to avoid the deadly venom. His parry was immediate, and he followed up without hesitation, positioning himself in front of the young woman, who was just regaining her footing after the previous blow. He struck swiftly at Kiyo’s abdomen, aiming for the last ribs in her ribcage and breaking her concentration effortlessly. Her vision briefly filled with black dots from the pain, but that second of pain was enough.

That second of fatal pain. The young woman's mind was torn between the dull ache that bent her body in two and her concentration. The scorpion, deprived of some of its chakra, became slower. Its slowness made Kiyo more vulnerable. This was the moment. Madara charged, not stopping, his fiery red eyes locked on her, and in one swift motion, he struck her wrist, disarming her and breaking her back in the process.

He continued his movements. The warrior delivered another kick to the warrior's abdomen, throwing her off the top of the scorpion. A muffled cry of pain escaped Kiyo as she fell from the scorpion’s back, her hands desperately searching for a support but with no real effect due to one of her wrists being numb from the pain. She struggled to land on her legs, the pain in her abdomen still intense. The blow had likely cracked her ribs.

The young woman didn’t have time to move. Uchiha Madara was already upon her, his piercing, cold gaze locking into the warrior’s eyes. He stood straight before her, grabbing her shoulder with his free hand to hold her in place, still positioned low in front of him. As soon as his hand gripped her shoulder with force, the Uchiha’s knee slammed into her face with brutal violence.

Her gray eyes snapped shut from the pain, and her breath choked under the impact. Slowly withdrawing his knee from her face, a stream of blood flowed from her twisted nose and mouth. Her mouth opened wide, gasping for air like a fish. Tears of pain welled up in the corners of her closed eyes. Kiyo groaned in agony, the intense pain paralyzing her face. He had literally broken her nose.

A low growl sounded above him, the scorpion stirring, but a gesture from Madara halted its movement. His hand moved from the warrior's shoulder, grabbing the back of her skull and her hair. The Uchiha warrior yanked her head back forcefully, unfolding her so he could see her battered face. The creature seemed to hesitate, aware that its summoner was now out of the fight.

The submission movement didn’t have the intended effect. Barely had her face been revealed when her pain-filled eyes opened, and her blood-spattered spit hit the Uchiha’s breastplate. The response was immediate, and he sent a tight fist into her face. Second blow to the face. This time, her nose cracked under the force, her vision blurring further and her other senses becoming completely muddled. The metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth, and Kiyo distinctly felt the vital liquid now running down her chin and neck.

The summon dissipated with a low, displeased growl. The young woman's energy had drastically diminished and was no longer enough to maintain her technique. The scorpion vanished in a thick white cloud.

"It’s over."

He didn’t release his grip on the young woman’s hair, still holding firmly. The only thing Kiyo felt, besides his violent grip on her head, was a precise pressure on her sternum. Her body relaxed, her muscles no longer responding to her commands, and her senses were completely out of order. Definitely out of the fight in a matter of seconds. Her hand lifted, grabbing the warrior’s wrist to attempt one final movement, but she collapsed, her brain shutting down.

Unconscious.

Uchiha Madara, victor.

The elder Uchiha looked at the young, inert woman, held only by his strength, and released his grip. Without any regard for the warrior, her body slumped lifelessly to the ground. Chaos was the backdrop. The audience room had been ravaged, part of the ceiling collapsed, and walls destroyed. Some samurai bodies were visible beneath the fallen stones, too slow to evade the destruction of the surroundings. As the warrior turned away, his brother called out to him.

"Wait."

The younger Uchiha knelt near Kiyo’s unconscious body. His gaze examined the tattoos on her forearms, her broken nose, and blood-covered face. He then raised his eyes toward the clan head, who stood a few steps away, his Sharingan still active and focused on Izuna. His fiery red pupils slightly contracted.

"Why waste time?" he replied coldly, his fingers tightening slightly around his katana. "She’s shown what she’s capable of. But she’s just a nuisance. We might as well let the imperial court finish the job."

Izuna stood up, absently wiping a blood splatter from his chestplate.

"She’s not just a warrior, Madara. This woman is clever, trained... And she knows things."

Madara narrowed his eyes, his features hardening further as he waited for his brother’s explanation.

"I know you noticed the precision of her infiltration and how she hides her chakra. It’s not by chance. She must have received extensive training. And you saw her techniques... They don’t resemble those of a minor clan. She could be linked to the Senju."

Madara crossed his arms, his expression still skeptical.

"Even if that were the case, why should we bother? There’s no guarantee she’ll talk. And even if she did, her information might be useless."

"If she has information on the Senju or their allies, it could give us an advantage. We could uncover their weaknesses, their plans. Once she tells us what she knows… He shrugged, his tone growing colder. Then, we’ll get rid of her."

Madara remained silent for a moment, his eyes scanning Kiyo’s body, then his brother. He turned, retracing his steps while keeping his katana in hand. Pointing the blade toward the young woman's face, he used it to turn her head, observing her from a new angle. The blade left a thin, straight line on her cheek.

"Very well. You're right. If she can help weaken the Senju, she’s more useful alive than dead… for now."

"We'll see how long she holds out."

Madara turned away, already on the move.

"Let’s go."

The younger Uchiha smirked, though his expression remained cold. He bent down, lifting Kiyo and placing her over his shoulder like a mere burden. He followed his brother in silence. A plan was already forming in his mind. She would talk. They would make sure of it. And when she was no longer useful, she would just be a forgotten memory erased by the flames of the Uchiha.

"Stop, Uchiha Lords!"

The Daimyo’s voice echoed urgently through the wreckage of the battle. The warriors halted as the figure draped in golden silks emerged from the shadows, framed by a tight circle of samurai moving in their direction. The samurai’s blades shimmered with palpable vigilance. Every movement of the warriors, fluid and precise, coordinated perfectly to protect their lord, forming a wall of steel.

The Daimyo’s eyes fell on Kiyo’s inert body, slung over the Uchiha warrior’s shoulder. He flinched. A mix of fear and anger distorted his features. Around him, his men eyed the defeated enemy with suspicion. Even on the ground, the young woman remained a threat in their eyes. She had deceived the entire palace with such skill that her apparent defeat seemed almost unreal.

"Take this woman away from here!" the Daimyo shouted, his voice wavering between panic and forced authority. "Your reward will be tripled! But I never want to see her face in my palace again. Get rid of her, once and for all!"

The words, though imperative, had no effect on the Uchiha brothers. They stood still, unmoving, their red armor gleaming under the heavy ash-laden air. Their Sharingan eyes glowed ominously, a terrifying calmness in stark contrast to the surrounding chaos. They regarded the small, hysterical lord. With cold disdain, like predators sizing up a prey too weak to deserve any real interest.

Izuna exchanged a brief glance with his brother, a silent message passing between them. The Daimyo, despite all his power in this place, was nothing more than an insignificant obstacle. He had no right to issue orders to them. As the lord prepared to insist further, his trembling hands tightening on his sleeves, the elder Uchiha spoke in a grave, icy voice.

"You have no authority over us."

The Daimyo stammered, cut off before he could begin his tirade. The two Uchiha disappeared in the blink of an eye, their silhouettes melting into the darkness of the ravaged palace. The samurai stirred, their eyes searching the shadows, but it was already too late.

"Pathetic. He trembled before her, and she’s just an spy," Izuna remarked.

Madara didn’t respond immediately to his younger brother. His gaze briefly landed on the young woman in a sorry state. Despite the blood staining her face and her twisted nose, he could clearly see her furrowed brows in displeasure, even though she was unconscious. She hadn’t given up, not until the last second.

"An spy, perhaps, but useful," he murmured eventually. "I’m curious to know just how connected she is to the Senju."
"Then let’s make sure she talks," Izuna concluded with a cold smile.

And without a backward glance at the palace, the Uchiha brothers plunged into the night, heading towards the Uchiha estate. They carried with them not just a prisoner, but the promise of an advantage in their war.

Chapter Text

THE WOMAN WITH A THOUSAND SUMMONINGS

The touch of cool air awakened Kiyo.

She became aware of her body with difficulty. Her senses were muddled. The sounds, distorted. The smells, faint. Where was she? Her vision was blurry. Her eyelids struggled to open. The world around her wavered, with no real anchor point. Colors flashed randomly: sometimes black, red, or white splotches. There were also indistinct silhouettes, rough dark shapes cutting through the hazy background.

Kiyo was in pain. Cold sweats. She didn’t know where she was or who she was with.

She closed her eyes again, fleeing the brightness that burned her retinas. Her consciousness returned slowly, too slowly. Her mind was numb, far too much to make connections and understand what was happening. Her senses, still foggy, tried to focus on the wavering environment around her.

But everything remained confused, too chaotic.

Even the caress of the cool air hurt. The mere contact of the breeze against her blood-smeared and clammy skin was painful. Her body burned, as if millions of tiny needles were piercing her sore flesh, stabbing her nerves and muscles. Every movement, however slight, reignited the pain beneath her battered skin.

She was hurting, badly. The creeping anxiety only made it worse.

Her body swayed rhythmically. A steady rocking that matched someone else's stride. The stride of someone moving quickly. Kiyo took a few long seconds to grasp her position: she was being carried. Or rather, folded over a shoulder covered in armor.

Her head knocked lightly against the armor of the one carrying her with each step, the impacts amplifying the pain splitting her skull. Her bruised ribs throbbed under the forced pace, her airways clogged with sticky blood, her muscles too exhausted to resist, and the headache ravaging her senses.

The Uchiha lord had hit her hard, hard enough that she was still in pain hours later—or was it days? The young woman had no idea how much time had passed since the confrontation at the Daimyo’s palace. Her throat tightened further at the lack of information.

She didn’t know. And she was very vulnerable.

Kiyo attempted to lift her head to catch a glimpse of the one carrying her, but a violent wave of dizziness crushed her instantly, forcing her to give up. A hoarse groan of pain escaped her throat. Pushing the pulsing pain in her skull aside, she forced her focus and squinted.

The forest stretched below them like a dark ocean, barely disturbed by the rustling leaves and the subtle cracking of branches under the weight of figures moving at high speed. She didn’t move, choosing instead to feign unconsciousness and let her body follow the warrior’s rhythm despite the pain and growing anxiety.

So vulnerable.

The smells were faint yet overwhelming as she concentrated further on her surroundings. The scent of leather, fire, sweat, and the iron of dried blood. They were aggressive, making the air even more suffocating. The young woman tried to inhale through her mouth, feeling fear and anxiety rising fast—too fast—but a bitter, metallic taste filled her mouth. A mix of blood and saliva.

So vulnerable.

She listened then, suppressing her fear and refusing to panic.

The noises.

The breathing.

The voices.

There were several of them. Five, maybe six. The strongest led the way, their steps barely audible on the tree branches. The warrior carrying her was heavier, his footing more pronounced. She heard the footsteps and made out the group. Two other warriors followed closely, lighter on their feet.

A long shiver ran down her body as anxiety tightened its grip on her throat. Weak and vulnerable. Too vulnerable. She had always hated this feeling of helplessness. Her heart pounded hard, hammering against her aching ribs, but it wasn’t just the pain that made her want to scream at that moment—it was the fear of what was to come.

No. She couldn’t be vulnerable. Not without a fight.

Kiyo gritted her teeth, forced herself to breathe more slowly, and tried to push back the panic. She was not a helpless prey. Inhaling again, she counted the men around her to anchor herself in reality and focus. She couldn’t give in to panic.

Six men. Six warriors. They were a trained and disciplined group, judging by their coordinated strides. They were precise, militarily structured, and moved with rhythmic precision. An organized formation.

Organized, therefore predictable.

She refused to be vulnerable.

Kiyo moved abruptly, sharply, shifting her weight backward. Her body twisted from the effort, eliciting a groan of pain. Desperation's energy. She tipped forward, dragging the Uchiha warrior carrying her into his fall. Surprised by the movement, he immediately released the young woman to regain his balance.

She fell, freed from his grip but paralyzed by the spike of pain. The air whistled past her ears, but in her freefall, she struck a thick branch. Her back slammed against the bark with a dull crack. A wave of pain exploded in her ribcage, her bruised ribs amplifying the suffering. Her breath was cut off, muffling her internal agony.

Her fingers clenched at the empty air in pain, searching for support. But in vain.

Barely stopped by the branch, Kiyo tumbled again under the pull of gravity. The air whistled past her ears once more, but she extended an arm and caught hold of a frail branch at the last moment. Her shoulder protested violently, absorbing her full weight. The tearing pain shot up to her neck, a white flash searing her vision, and tears welled up on their own.

But she held on.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, each inhale burning like hell.

She couldn’t stop now. She wasn’t weak. A glance upward—the Uchiha warriors were already moving toward her, their silhouettes descending upon her like deadly shadows. Fast. Kiyo tried to swing her legs, giving herself a weak push to reach another branch further away while tears blurred her vision even more.

She leaped.

A single jump, a single movement toward freedom.

But before she could even reach the targeted branch, a red shadow intercepted her. The aura was unmistakable—the younger Uchiha: Izuna. The speed at which he cut across her path, blocking her jump, stole her breath—he lunged at her with terrifying precision, his sword gleaming menacingly.

Kiyo reacted at the last second, too slow, too numb. Her body twisted to dodge as she let go of the branch to propel herself. Too slow. Too late. Too weak. Her landing was disastrous—her feet slipped on the edge of the branch she aimed for, and she plummeted again toward the ground, meters below. Her body struck the ground with brutal force, a dull thud echoing through the forest.

The pain she had momentarily pushed aside now exploded freely in her skull. The impact was so violent that her vision blackened, not clearing right away. She felt something warm trickling down her temple and throat. Blood—her own. Her heart pounded wildly, her breathing was ragged. Her whole body trembled from the fall and the impact. Tears streamed down her cheeks now, beyond her control.

The pain was unbearable.

She fought to stay conscious, to resist slipping away. But her body refused to respond, pain receptors firing warnings in every direction. She refused to give in, struggling to stay awake.

Shadows loomed over her.

First blurry.

Then clearer.

Two pairs of scarlet eyes fixed on her.

Izuna crouched near her, hovering over her face, his sword still in hand, his gaze gleaming with amusement. Kiyo didn’t miss the other face, slightly farther back, just behind the younger warrior’s shoulder — Madara Uchiha.

Though standing a little behind, the clan leader’s presence was overwhelming, a silent force that needed no words to impose its authority. Her trembling worsened under his gaze. The air seemed colder around him. His deep red eyes, as piercing as a blade, observed her with an intensity that twisted her stomach.

But it was the younger one who broke the silence, his voice smooth and laced with obvious mischief.

"You know, I really like your eyes."

Kiyo didn’t answer, struggling simply to breathe properly and not lose consciousness. The fall had knocked the wind out of her. Izuna tilted his head slightly, as if analyzing her from a new angle.

"They hide secrets and lies," he murmured, brushing the tip of his sword against a strand of her hair, sticky with sweat and blood. "But they’re also full of anger."

He smiled.

"And that, I like."

Kiyo tried to turn her head away, anger simmering in her gut. She opened her mouth to retort at the irritating warrior, but the movement cost her dearly. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, and she felt as if her mind was floating in thick fog.

Her world tilted into darkness. The pain swallowed her consciousness in an instant.

Unconscious.

Almost disappointed by the abrupt end of their exchange, Izuna slowly straightened. His eyes remained fixed on Kiyo’s unmoving form. Even in unconsciousness, her breath was shallow, a sign of her pitiful condition. He shifted his gaze toward his older brother behind him.

"Hn. She’s got guts," he remarked, resting his weapon carelessly on his shoulder. "She’s in worse shape than I thought."

Madara stepped forward with a measured pace, his imposing shadow partially covering the kunoichi’s motionless body. He looked down at her for a moment, expressionless, before stating in a calm, sharp voice:

"Her chakra is drained, and her body is broken. If she tries anything, she’ll collapse before she can even lift a finger."A heavy silence settled. He kept his attention on the unconscious woman. It was hard to consider her a threat in her current state, yet caution was necessary. Too many unknown variables.

Behind them, the Uchiha warriors awaited their orders. Madara lifted his chin slightly and commanded in a firm voice:

"Akaro," he said, designating the man to his right, "leave immediately and go ahead. You’re the fastest. Gather our men at the camp. I want the clan council assembled and ready upon my return."

The chosen Uchiha bowed his head, striking his fist against his chest in a sign of obedience before vanishing into the shadows. Madara continued without taking his eyes off his younger brother:

"A second man will accompany him. We take no risks."

Another warrior nodded, silently acknowledging the order before dashing off after the first. Izuna watched the scene unfold, a glint of excitement in his gaze.

"The clan council? They won’t be happy about being woken up."

"They’ll be even more displeased to learn we’re bringing back a prisoner," Madara replied, an almost imperceptible smile curving his lips, as if amused by Izuna’s remark.

They both knew the elders were strict and highly reluctant when it came to risks. The role of clan leader was not just a military position—it was a political and diplomatic one as well. Bringing a prisoner into the Uchiha domain would stir tensions among the older generation. Both brothers were well aware of that.

Izuna burst out laughing, realizing the elders would be even more stubborn than usual. He cast one last glance at Kiyo before turning on his heels.

"In that case, I can’t wait to see their faces and hear what you’ll say, big brother."

They locked her in a cell under watch.

She was alive.

But barely.

The only sign of life in her was the occasional pained sigh that escaped her lips. Her face was covered in dried blackened blood, her lips split and stained red, and her dark hair was drenched in sweat and dampness. She was utterly drained.

The Uchiha warrior carrying the captive let out a relieved sigh as he rid himself of her dead weight. He dropped her unceremoniously inside the cell, her body hitting the ground with brutal force. In the careless motion, her head slammed against the cold stone floor.

The impact sent a sharp shockwave through her skull, like an electric jolt. Kiyo’s eyes snapped open as a searing pain shot through her head, and she gasped sharply.

Her eyelids fluttered for a few seconds, trying to grasp the scene around her without truly registering it. She struggled for air, taking in another breath that came out as a harsh, wheezing hiss. Her gaze was drawn to a single point in the room, as if pulled by an unseen force.

And her steel-gray eyes locked onto those of the Uchiha leader.

Madara Uchiha.

Their gazes clashed, tension crackling between them.

A heavy silence fell, almost sacred. Madara’s eyes, sharp as razors, remained fixed on her—unmoving, piercing. He said nothing, but the sheer weight of his attention bore down on her like an iron grip. Little by little, his silhouette took shape in the darkness—imposing, silent.

They measured each other without a word. Only Kiyo’s ragged breathing disturbed the stillness. She felt the pressure of his gaze. And despite her wretched state, something inside her stirred beneath those black pupils.

Anger.

Anger at being so weak, so helpless.

Slowly, she reached out, her trembling fingers brushing against her opposite forearm. Madara didn’t look away, his gaze anchored in her steely irises. He was analyzing. Kiyo let her fingertips trace the inked markings on her skin, desperately trying to summon what little chakra she had left.

But the moment she so much as touched her own skin, a wave of unconsciousness crashed over her once again. Her body surrendered to the darkness.

Unconscious again.

Vulnerable, always.

They were heading toward the council house, where the members were already gathered. Izuna and Madara, covered in sweat and dried blood, walked side by side. The heavy sound of their footsteps echoed against the beaten ground, filling the air with a palpable tension. They were preparing.

Izuna spoke first, his clear and steady voice breaking the silence.

"I wonder which clan she belongs to. She has a fighting style… and an angry gaze. Maybe a Senju. But something doesn’t add up—there’s a detail in her techniques, in her control."

Madara remained silent for a moment, though he thought the same. Both had fought the giant scorpion named Jeongal and the warrior. They had seen the same thing and had the same questions. The tattoos. The summoning seals inked onto her skin.

"Her chakra control is different. More refined. Not all Senju have that level of precision."

Izuna shrugged, thoughtful.

"Maybe they trained her in summoning? They’re capable of playing a double game."

"If she’s linked to the Senju, we must be cautious," Madara replied. He paused before his tone turned graver. "This isn’t a double game—it’s a silent war."

Izuna fell quiet, his thoughts swirling. He knew the situation was far from simple. His gaze scanned the horizon as he considered his brother’s implications. They knew the scorpion summon wasn’t just a weapon of war—it was a deep connection to the mysteries of chakra and nature.

The conversation ended as they arrived before the house where the clan’s council was held. With a sovereign gesture, Madara pushed aside the embroidered fabric bearing the Uchiha crest and stepped inside, Izuna close behind.

His gaze swept over the assembly. The flames from the braziers cast flickering shadows over the solemn faces of the warriors gathered in a semicircle. The scent of fire and burning wood thickened the air.

Madara was satisfied to see that everyone was present, clad in their armor, weapons in hand. An emergency meeting. He hadn’t wanted to wait. The issue of the prisoner needed to be settled quickly to prevent unnecessary tensions within the Uchiha clan.

The men bowed in greeting as he entered the space. Madara advanced and took his place on the dark tatami at the center, legs crossed, dominating the assembly. Silence settled as he did. His very presence imposed order.

The Uchiha leader exuded an undeniable authority, carved into every line of his face and body. His dark gaze burned with a cold, piercing intelligence. His long, ebony hair was a mark of tradition—the belief that the warriors with the longest hair were those who had won the most battles. He didn’t need words to rule over the assembly.

He was Madara Uchiha. And that was enough.

The semicircle arrangement of the warriors around him had meaning—the closest to the leader were the strongest fighters of the clan. Power was everything among the Uchiha, even more so in times of war. To his left, the three elders were also present. Veterans, survivors of ruthless battles. Their faces bore the scars of war, their hands, the marks of wielding weapons. One of them had no arm, his sleeve hanging loosely in the air. Respected figures, whose words carried weight in the clan’s decisions.

Madara spoke.

"I have called this council in urgency to inform you of an important decision and to define our next moves."

His voice, calm and steady, carried throughout the room. No one dared to speak before he finished.

"We have captured a kunoichi who infiltrated the Daimyo’s palace. She could have obtained sensitive information about our clan and other clans of the Land of Fire."

He paused, scanning the unreadable expressions before him.

"She is being held here. And she will remain here."

A ripple ran through the assembly. Worried glances were exchanged. Then, as he expected, one of the elders spoke up.

"Madara," he said gravely, "this decision is a mistake."

He bowed slightly, placing his hands on his knees as the clan leader’s gaze fixed on him.

"This woman is an enemy. We don’t know who sent her or the extent of her danger. Keeping her here, in the heart of our domain, is madness."

The one-armed elder nodded.

"Our enemies deserve neither mercy nor hospitality. Her fate should have been decided on the spot."

Madara raised an eyebrow. Was that a challenge? He remained silent, predicting that the third elder would soon add his voice. And he did not disappoint.

"Tajima-sama would never have allowed this," he added coldly. "She could sow discord. Even as a captive, her presence is a threat."

Madara waited, observing their tense faces. Then he spoke, cutting through the discussion.

"You are afraid."

Three words. Cold. Uncompromising.

The elders stiffened.

"You speak of threats, of danger, of weakness… But where is your faith in the strength of the Uchiha clan? A single woman would be a threat to us?"

The first elder opened his mouth to argue, but Madara raised a hand, commanding silence.

"You doubt our strength. You doubt me."

A heavy silence fell. He straightened, his gaze glowing red with the Sharingan.

"This discussion is over. Izuna," he called, drawing his brother’s attention. "You are in charge of her."

The younger Uchiha wanted to know. Izuna wanted to know.

He wanted to understand what kind of relationship the warrior had with the Senju clan.

He wanted to analyze and exploit any potential weaknesses to win.

Having additional information on tactics, lifestyle, and strategic points of the enemy allowed for victories in battles, and on a larger scale, in the war. The younger Uchiha did not waste time, leaving the council as soon as the meeting was dismissed by the leader. He made his way straight to the cell where Kiyo was imprisoned.

The Uchiha clan's dungeons were rarely occupied, as prisoners were generally executed on the battlefield. Few had the privilege – or misfortune – of staying there. When he entered, the humid air immediately hit him, and subtly, his breaths became heavier. A heavy atmosphere hung in the air. Darkness reigned, only broken by the timid glow of a small torch mounted on the wall.

The flame cast moving shadows across the damp stone, distorting the shape of the warrior huddled in a corner. Izuna easily caught the brilliant gray eyes of anger fixed on him. A gaze of steel. She was alert, tense, ready to react to the slightest movement.

How long had she been awake? They had left her alone for only a few hours.

Izuna didn’t need to observe the cell to assert his presence; the space seemed to bend around him. His katana hung at his waist, his hand casually resting on the hilt. He grabbed a small wooden stool leaning against the wall, dragged it to the center of the room, and sat facing her without taking his eyes off her. The stool’s legs were covered in dried blood.

The warrior’s gaze was sharp, lit with a mocking glint, and a smirk curled the corner of his lips. She was clearly aware of him, judging by the rage and energy radiating from her eyes.

"You’re very quiet," he murmured.

He leaned on his knee, resting his chin on his fist, studying her reactions. A heavy silence followed.

Then, he spoke:

"Senju."

The name echoed in the confined space, bouncing off the sticky walls. Kiyo did not flinch, simply staring at him. The tension that twisted her gut was stifled, the chakra spikes that might have betrayed her buried deep within.

Izuna tilted his head slightly, attentive to any signs of movement.

"We know you have information," he continued lightly. "But you’re playing mute."

She furrowed her brow before replying, biting:

"What exactly do you hope for? That I’ll start singing?"

A mocking smile stretched across Izuna’s lips.

"You might not talk about the Senju, but there’s something else you’re hiding."

With a fluid gesture, he pointed to her forearms, where intricate tattoos stretched. Black ink seals, remarkably fine, intertwined and merged into a labyrinthine pattern that was impossible to follow with the eye.

"These tattoos aren’t just for aesthetics."

The red glow of the Sharingan flared in his eyes, punctuating his statement like a gong. Kiyo stiffened imperceptibly, her heart pounding in her chest. The weight of that gaze seeped into her, suffocating. Dangerous. A trap. She quickly turned her gaze away, clenching her teeth to suppress the panic threatening to overwhelm her.

Izuna caught her reaction, satisfied.

"Ah..." he murmured. "You’re afraid."

He moved his hand slightly, and she immediately felt her chakra quiver under an invisible force. A cold shiver ran down her spine, curling around her ribs and climbing up her neck. Her chakra network was compressed, put to the test. The Uchiha brushed against her energy with his own. She took a deep breath, clinging to her self-control.

"You’re holding up better than expected," Izuna remarked, his interest piqued.

He moved his hand slightly, and she immediately felt her chakra quiver under an invisible force. A

But he didn’t stop there. He intensified his chakra. Her vision wavered. A genjutsu struck her, brutal and relentless. The world around her twisted under the influence of the Uchiha. The walls melted away, revealing an unexpected setting.

A vast expanse of ochre and gold. Sand as far as the eye could see, stretching to the horizon. Immense dunes. Izuna frowned, suspicious. He hadn’t expected this when casting his genjutsu.

A dry wind swept through the empty environment, revealing several rock formations a few meters ahead. He approached, drawing his katana from its sheath, on alert. Technically, he controlled this illusion… yet, he remained cautious.

Fragments of sound reached him. They came from the rocks.

He slowly circled the largest one and spotted a little girl. Short black hair, worn clothes. She was crouching on the ground, her back to him, speaking to someone. Impossible to understand their exchange.

But to whom was she speaking?

Izuna squinted, moving cautiously to identify her conversation partner. That’s when he saw the blood. The sand was stained with red, dark stains soiling the rocks. The child’s hands and clothes were also covered in it. What had happened?

Then, he finally saw the conversation partner. 

A scorpion.

Small, barely the size of a fist, waving its pincers in the air, as if in response to the girl. She stopped speaking. The silence grew heavy. Slowly, she turned her head toward Izuna. Her face was covered in blood, hastily wiped around her eyes. And her eyes... a burning gray, with a strange intensity. A flicker of anger danced in them. Before he could take another step, a searing pain exploded in his left ankle. A sharp, intense pain that shot up like liquid fire through his leg and into his chest. He gasped, trying to push back the burn that radiated through his body.

His Sharingan faltered.

The scorpion had just removed its venomous stinger. Izuna raised his katana, ready to strike. But the effect was immediate.

The genjutsu shattered violently.

The Uchiha warrior fell back, breathless, his forehead covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Still in the cell. His heart was pounding. Too fast. And the pain in his chest... very real. He furrowed his brow, displeased, and turned his gaze to the warrior.

She had turned his own genjutsu against him.

But Kiyo wasn’t in better shape. Trembling, her breath ragged, her body shaking with exhaustion. Izuna immediately locked onto her gray eyes, dilated from the strain. Her gaze burned. A little too much, in the warrior’s opinion. A heavy silence fell. Izuna slowly regained his breath, straightened up, and observed the young woman whose trembling wouldn’t subside. His tongue ran over his teeth, masking the bitterness rising in him. A mix of wounded pride and excitement.

He hadn’t expected this. Not at all.

A dangerous glint sparked in his eyes.

"Interesting. We’ll pick this up later."

And without another word, he left the cell.