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Chapter Text

Ages before the world became carved by human settlements or the ambitions of shinobi, dragons dominated the earth as gods, their scales reflecting the light of a younger sun on unmarred lands. Woven from the primordial chaos of fire and wind, they lived as forces of nature with little care for the constructs of time or rule. They existed long before man created the tailed beasts themselves, battling the strongest of warrior clans, threatening to enslave those who didn’t worship them. Man was no contender for the ancient beasts, with countless clans falling to their might; the ones that survived cowered, bending to their will.

Amid the chaos and destruction, the Tatsu clan performed an unfounded ritual that would spark the battle for peace. As one of the few remaining clans that used magick, they placed all their hope in a single girl to end the torment and slavery of the draconic era.

The ancient scrolls in your mother's chambers told of how Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time, was offered a young girl named Mahiro, who was gifted with exceptional magickal power. Akatosh accepted her as his High Priestess, bestowing upon her the title of Divine and blessing her with his blood to grant the ability to commune with dragons. With arcane magick and Akatosh’s blood, Mahiro used the Amulet of Kings to create a divergent mortal plane for the dragons to reside. The Divine became the liaison between man and beast— tasked with maintaining the dragon’s plane to keep them complacent.

Divine Mahiro became venerated across the lands, serving as a friend and advisor to Hagoromo and Hamura Otsutsuki as the world stabilized. Legends tell that Mahiro fought alongside Hagoromo as his mother took the form of the Ten Tails, manipulating Hamura to turn on his brother. Seeking to bring an end to the strife that had plagued the land since man’s creation, Hagoromo infused his chakra with Mahiro, blending chakra, magick, and dragon’s blood.

It is then that Mahiro awakened the Hakanaigan, the Dragonborn’s Dojutsu. The scrolls recount how the Hakanaigan strengthened her magick, equal to that of the gods, allowing her to manipulate time and space itself. This enabled her to seal the Ten Tails within Hagoromo. Hagoromo then split the Ten Tails, separating its godly power from its form. Together, they rebuilt the earth, hoping to usher in the first era of peace between humans.

Hagoromo and Divine Mahiro had three children together: Indra, Asura, and Yume. Mahiro loyally served as a mother, wife, and High Priestess as their children grew, attempting to integrate her devotion to Akatosh with a life outside of her duties. However, a deep rivalry had developed between her two sons after Hagoromo chose Asura as his successor before his death.

Divine Mahiro pleaded with the boys, but it seemed there was nothing in the world that could mend the ire in Indra’s heart. She could not pick either side, loving all of her children equally, even with their faults.

So, the two brothers honored their mother’s wish to remain neutral, establishing the Temple of Akatosh as neutral ground, where it still stands today. The first Divine left her sons to their own devices, knowing she could not stop them from perpetuating the ceaseless violence she once sought to end. Divine Mahiro, her daughter Yume, the remaining Tatsu clan, and a group of disciples retreated to the mountainside to live peacefully in Akatosh’s shadow.

There, the brothers would come visit during separate seasons, paying tribute to their mother and seeking her wisdom. It was during this time that all the rituals, spells, and shadow work you study were perfected and recorded. Locked away in ancient scrolls, forbidden to anyone’s eyes outside the temple.

This sacred lineage passed from mother to daughter for generations, a responsibility that would one day be yours.

You were born to it, this life of reverence and inherent obligation. Your mother, Divine Anora, trained you in the ancient ways. Acting as a sybil for pilgrims from across the still-warring lands, performing sacred rites and rituals for those who pay tribute, and upholding the solemn duty of maintaining neutrality as clans tear each other apart beyond your mountain sanctuary.

Though as time passed, people forgot their fear of dragons and the power of the Divine. Some clans became wary of the use of magick, condemning it and all who practice it. Others even go as far as accusing the temple of being nothing more than a coven of ancient witches, along with other morbid tales that twisted the truth.

However, those who lived in the lands surrounding the Valley of the Dragon remained in fierce reverence to the Divine. With the occasional glimpse of Akatosh as he roamed the skies to hunt, they were reminded of the mighty power of the dragons. His massive golden body would cast a shadow that covered entire villages, a sight so rare it was considered a blessing to witness.

At eleven years old, you understand more than most thrice your age. The sisters call you precocious; your mother calls you the future. You have already begun to hear Akatosh’s voice— faint whispers compared to the booming clarity with which he speaks to your mother, but present nonetheless. The first time it happened, you wept from the overwhelming wisdom pressing against your young mind. Your mother held you then, her maroon robes smelling of sandalwood and sweetgrass, adorned in heavy golden jewelry as you felt her heartbeat against your cheek.

"Akatosh has spoken to you, Alessia," she had whispered proudly. "The dragon's wisdom comes with pain, but also with purpose."

The morning air carried whispers through the sacred pines as you slipped away from your training. Your mother would be displeased, but you couldn't resist. Word had come that visitors approached the temple—important ones— and curiosity burned within you stronger than duty. Your feet barely disturbed the forest floor as you moved, a skill taught by your father. The silk of your ceremonial gown occasionally caught on low branches, but you paid it no mind, focusing on reaching the eastern path before the visitors arrived.

Your breath came in excited puffs as you navigated the familiar terrain. The Temple of Akatosh stood above the warring Senju and Uchiha clans, and visitors from all nations were treated with equal reverence. Yet these particular visitors stirred something within you— a familiar lull that beckoned you closer.

Through the canopy of ancient trees, you caught glimpses of the temple rising above—its curved roofs and ornate spires reaching toward the heavens, red banners blowing gently in the morning breeze. The sight never failed to fill you with pride and wonder. This was your home, your heritage, your future.

A twig snapped beneath your foot, and you froze, pausing to listen. Voices carried from the path ahead—male voices, one short and cold, another light with laughter, the other measured and precise.

The surviving Senju brothers had arrived.

Last autumn, the Senju clan leader came to the temple with his remaining sons, seeking funeral rites for the souls of his two youngest, lost only months apart. You remember the silent tears that spilled down your cheeks as you assisted in the rite, bidding their souls goodbye as they passed to the spiritual plane.

You had grown particularly close to the brothers during their visits to the temple, often staying days at a time. Their father, Butsuma, was one of the more prominent patrons of the temple, often seeking counsel with his ancestors and higher wisdom from the Divine. At other times, he sought your mother for her magickal abilities, offering unique assistance that could only be found in the temple.

While your mother was busy with Butsuma, you would take it upon yourself to entertain the four brothers. Being the youngest in the temple, you were delighted with any chance to mingle with other children and escape your sacred duties.

Due to the perpetual state of war, only the most powerful shinobi and samurai risked traveling to the temple with their families. The usual visitors consisted of clan elders, heavily guarded nobility, and warriors seeking the Rite of Passage.

Over the years, you spent many hours with the brothers in the courtyard, the garden, and by the waterfall in the forest just outside of the temple walls. Memories of splashing through the creek barefoot with Itama and Kawarama at your heels as Hashirama laughed loudly from the bank, attempting to provoke a frowning Tobirama to join in.

Tobirama was different from his brothers. He was more like his father, far too analytical and calculating for a child his age. In the beginning, he was impassive to you, merely following his brothers around as you amused them. However, over the years of visits, he began warming up to you. You learned his interests, his quirks, his triggers. The five of you would engage in debates that were much too mature for your minds, sometimes ending with Tobirama getting frustrated, though you tended to take his side to gain his favor.

Unless, of course, your goal was to annoy him further. Which you sometimes did for fun, because he looks so adorable when he pouts.

You weren’t entirely sure what it was about Tobirama that fascinated you. His other brothers adored you easily, offering you immediate kindness and friendship.

Tobirama didn’t.

He made you work for it, and perhaps that’s why you latched on to it so much more— because you had to earn it.

Now, Kawarama and Itama are dead. Their voices a solemn echo lost to the temple walls, their footprints forgotten by the changing seasons, and their faces only exist in your minds.

You crouched behind a flowering bush, peering through its branches as they came into view. Their father led the way, his typical stoic expression set in place. Behind him was Hashirama, his now taller figure commanding yet somehow gentle, brown hair bobbing with each confident stride. Next to him walked Tobirama, his white hair and red-marked face a stark contrast to his older brother's warmer appearance. His crimson eyes scanned the forest with methodical precision, and you found yourself holding your breath as his gaze fell to your hiding place.

"I know you’re there," Tobirama called suddenly, his voice neutral, hiding his amusement at your presence. "I could sense your chakra from halfway up the mountain."

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you stood, smoothing your dress with delicate hands as you came around the bush with a bashful smile. You stood tall with your chin up, your garnet circlet sitting perfectly straight across your forehead.

“I sensed you first,” you responded, your smile turning cheekier.

“Liar,” he huffed, his face scowling lightly.

“What’s a young maiden doing so far out here in the woods?” Butsuma interjected, his eyes focusing on you intently.

“Father, it’s just Alessia. We come out here all the time when you’re busy in the temple.” Hashirama smiled, understanding the implication of Butsuma’s tone, and attempted to disarm his father. Butsuma's face hardened, his dark eyes narrowing as they bore into you. "That's precisely the problem. A priestess should remain within the sacred grounds, not gallivanting through the forest unescorted." His voice carried the weight of command, making you shrink despite your best efforts to maintain your dignified posture.

"I was merely—" you began, but Butsuma cut you off.

"The temple's neutrality is sacred, girl. Do you understand what could happen if you were captured by enemy shinobi? What secrets they might extract?" His towering presence made the forest around you seem smaller, the shadows deeper.

Tobirama stepped forward, his expression carefully neutral. "Father, she knows these woods better than most. The clergy are permitted certain freedoms within their territory."

"And she's been showing us the medicinal herbs that grow here," Hashirama added quickly, flashing you a conspiratorial smile. "It’s been very educational. The temple teaches its children well."

You shot him a grateful glance, silently thanking him for the improvised excuse.

Butsuma's stern gaze shifted between his sons and you, clearly unconvinced. "The temple is neutral ground, but that doesn't mean it's safe. The Uchiha respect nothing."

"I'll escort her back personally," Tobirama offered, his tone matching his intent.

For a moment, Butsuma seemed ready to object further, but something in his son's steady gaze made him reconsider. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he turned away.

"See that you do. And ensure she understands the importance of discipline." He cast one final disapproving glance your way. "I'll speak with the Divine about the supervision of her young charges."

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of him running to your mother, as aggravated as he was, though you knew she would reveal nothing of your true identity to the Senju patriarch.

Butsuma strode away toward the temple, his back rigid with displeasure, leaving the three of you in a moment of tense silence.

As their father's figure disappeared among the trees, Hashirama let out a dramatic sigh of relief. "Well, that could have been worse."

"Your father is..." you began, then faltered, searching for words that wouldn't offend his sons. “Terrifying.”

It was true, he terrified you. The man was always unpleasant to be around. He had a cold, dark stare that seemed to find fault in everything. His words were cut in the same way towards everyone, demanding attention and obedience. Though his tone shifted when it was directed toward your mother.

He respected her.

You wonder how he would react if he were to learn you were to be the next Divine. Would he change the way he spoke to you? Would you be respected like your mother, simply because of your title?

Hashirama laughed loudly, pulling you from your thoughts, the sound bright against the somber mood Butsuma had left behind. "Don't worry about him. He's been like that with everyone." He reached out to pat your back in a comforting manner, just as an older brother would. "Even us, right, Tobi?"

Tobirama's face darkened as he shot his brother an irritated glance. "Don't call me that," he grumbled, crossing his arms. "And father is particularly harsh because he worries. The Uchiha wouldn't hesitate to use a priestess for leverage."

"Oh, come on, Tobi," Hashirama teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You were eager to run off into these woods with Alessia any other time we visited. Remember when you two disappeared for hours studying those old scrolls by the waterfall?"

Heat rose to your cheeks as you remembered that day—Tobirama had been in awe of your ability to summon a flame atronach from paper, a rare moment where he looked at you with unguarded admiration.

"That was different," Tobirama muttered, the faintest hint of color touching his pale cheeks.

"Different how?" Hashirama pressed, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Because you were alone with our lovely little priestess?"

You couldn't help but laugh at Tobirama's mortified expression; a sound like that seemed to soften the tension in his shoulders despite his brother’s accusation.

"Don't encourage him," Tobirama said to you, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward ever so slightly—the closest thing to a smile you'd seen from him since their brothers' deaths.

"I wouldn't dream of it," you replied with exaggerated innocence, batting your eyelashes. "Though I do recall someone being very impressed with my conjuration skills."

"You're both impossible," Tobirama sighed, but the usual hard edge was missing from his voice.

The three of you made your way toward the temple, the familiar stone path winding through a canopy of lush trees. You walked between the brothers, occasionally stealing glances at Tobirama's profile, wondering what thoughts swirled behind those crimson eyes.

Chapter Text

The temple entrance came into view, its massive red gate and stone wall standing against the sky. The sight that just previously filled you with peace now caused your heart to sink. Your mother stood knowingly at the top of the steps beside Butsuma, her elegant figure draped in emerald ceremonial robes that caught the sunlight. Her expression, however, was dark as pitch.

Your steps faltered. Even from this distance, you could feel the weight of her disappointment pressing down from her glare. Worse still was the knowledge that Butsuma had reported your transgression as though you were some common troublemaker, rather than the future Divine.

"Someone's in trouble," Hashirama whispered jokingly, though his eyes held sympathy.

"Alessia," she addressed you, her voice carrying the weight of a dignified monarch. "I see you've welcomed our honored guests."

You bowed your head slightly, partly in respect, partly to hide your annoyance at Butsuma's interference. "Yes, High Priestess. I was ensuring they found their way."

"How thoughtful," she replied, her tone neutral, but her golden eyes conveyed volumes. "Though I believe we discussed the importance of studying, and not abruptly disappearing throughout the day."

You lowered your gaze further, heat rising to your cheeks. "Yes, High Priestess. Forgive me."

Your mother's expression softened marginally before she turned her attention back to the Senju patriarch. "Lord Butsuma, please do not concern yourself with the girl’s... enthusiasm. The sacred boundaries extend through these woods, and her safety is assured."

Butsuma's jaw tightened, but he offered a curt nod. "As you say, Divine Anora." His dark eyes swept over his sons before returning to your mother. "I've come seeking ancestral communion."

Your mother nodded with a subtle tilt. "Of course. The preparations are complete." She gestured toward the inner sanctum’s massive closed door. "If you would follow me, we can begin at once."

As the small procession moved further inside the temple, Butsuma cleared his throat. "I have decided that Hashirama will join me for this ritual."

The announcement hung in the air as you glanced between Hashirama and Tobirama. The elder brother looked surprised, his usual easygoing expression replaced with genuine shock.

"Father?" Hashirama questioned, his voice carefully controlled. "I wasn't aware—"

"It is time you learned the deeper responsibilities of leadership," he stated firmly. "The communion with our ancestors will strengthen your resolve, if you choose to listen."

Your mother's gaze remained fixed, though you detected the slight narrowing of her eyes—a tell only you would recognize. "This is... unexpected, Lord Butsuma. The ritual requires specific preparations for each participant."

"Can it be done?" Butsuma demanded shortly, his expression unchanging.

After a moment's consideration, your mother nodded. "It can. Though it will require additional time." She turned to you. "Alessia, ensure Tobirama has what he needs. This ritual may take several hours."

You recognized the dismissal for what it was—a reprieve from punishment and an opportunity to keep Tobirama occupied. You bit your lip to conceal your smile. "As you wish, High Priestess."

As the others disappeared into the temple, you found yourself standing next to Tobirama. Alone with the younger Senju, you brightened instantly, your earlier admonishment already forgotten. The white-haired boy stood awkwardly, his posture rigid as a temple pillar, crimson eyes scanning the courtyard aimlessly.

"Well," you said finally, "I suppose I'm to be your keeper for the afternoon."

Tobirama's eyes flicked to you, his expression unreadable. "You don't need to entertain me. I can find somewhere to train."

You laughed lightly, the sound echoing off the stone walls carelessly. "You’re always so serious, Tobirama. Come on." You grabbed his wrist, ignoring his startled expression. "The gardens are beautiful this time of year."

He allowed you to lead him along the winding path behind the temple, his reluctance gradually fading as you entered the meticulously maintained gardens.

"I don't need a tour guide," Tobirama protested, though he made no move to pull his wrist from your grasp.

"Of course you do," you replied with a mischievous smile. "Otherwise, you'd spend all day brooding in some corner, practicing hand signs until your fingers cramped."

His eyebrows furrowed slightly. "I don't brood."

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow, mimicking his serious expression with an exaggeration. "Then what do you call that face you're making right now?"

A hint of color touched his pale cheeks. "This is my normal face."

"Exactly," you laughed, tugging him along the stone path that wound between flowering cherry trees. "Your normal brooding face."

Tobirama huffed, but you caught the slight upward pull of his lips. "I'm contemplative. Something you might try sometime instead of running wild through the forest like a stupid baby deer."

Your mouth fell open in mock outrage as you turned to face him. "Did you just make a joke at my expense, Tobirama Senju?"

"Perhaps," he replied, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of the boy he might have been without war shadowing his childhood—clever, with a dry humor that could match your own.

You guided him around a final bend in the path, revealing the large koi pond that lay at the garden's heart. The water's surface rippled gently as brightly colored fish darted beneath lily pads, their scales catching the sun.

"Here," you said, gesturing to a stone bench overlooking the water. "My favorite spot in the whole temple."

Tobirama sat beside you, his posture slackening as you both watched the koi swim in lazy circles. The temple bells chimed in the distance, marking the hour with their deep, resonant tones.

"Thank you," you said after a moment of silence had settled between you. "For earlier, with your father. He would have marched me straight to the Divine for a proper scolding if you hadn't intervened."

Tobirama's expression darkened, the moment of peace evaporating like mist. "My father was right to be concerned. You shouldn't wander alone, Alessia. Especially not with the Uchiha growing bolder by the day."

"The Uchiha wouldn't dare interfere on temple grounds," you replied with a dismissive roll of your eyes. You were in no danger from the Uchiha, but Tobirama didn’t know that. "These lands are sacred, protected by ancient pacts and Akatosh himself. Even they respect the neutrality of the Temple."

Tobirama's jaw clenched, his scarlet eyes flashing with rising anger. "Is that what you believe? That sacred ground will protect you?" His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "Kawarama and Itama believed in honor too. They were younger than you when they died— children fighting a war that’s been waging for ages."

You maintained your composure, though his words struck a painful chord. The mention of his brothers brought back memories of their laughter echoing through these same gardens. You studied Tobirama's face—the hardened lines around his mouth, the furrow between his brows. In that moment, he looked so much like his father that it made your heart ache.

So young, yet already shaped by hatred and vengeance.

"The Uchiha," he continued, his voice unwavering, "they're monsters— all of them. Their red eyes see nothing but what they can destroy. They don't fight with honor, killing children and women alike; it makes no difference to them." He stood suddenly, pacing along the edge of the pond. "I hate them. Every last one."

The vehemence in his voice startled you, sending a chill through your body that struck your heart cold. You'd known of his lifelong hatred for the Uchiha clan, but this new, raw form of it seemed to consume him from within. A new fire had lit behind his eyes, fueling his animosity. From the look engraved on his young face, you knew he meant every word he said.

Abruptly, he faced you with a steady gaze. "I've been developing a new technique." His expression shifted, a cold determination replacing his bitterness. "Watch."

He moved to the edge of the koi pond, his hands forming a series of complex signs with practiced precision. You recognized some of the patterns—water style fundamentals—but he added variations you'd never seen before. The air around his fingers grew misty, then crystalline, as water gathered and transformed.

Between his palms, a jagged shard of ice formed, glinting in the sunlight with deadly beauty. It elongated into a perfect blade, transparent yet clearly lethal, hovering above his outstretched hand.

"I call it Crystal Blade," he said, his voice steady once more. "It combines water and wind chakra natures, and the Uchiha's fire won't melt it easily."

"That's incredible, Tobirama," you breathed as you stood to study it, genuinely impressed. The craftsmanship of the technique was undeniable—the perfect balance of elemental chakra, the precision of its form. "I've never seen anything like it. You created this yourself?"

A flicker of pleasure crossed his face at your praise, softening his hard expression momentarily. "Yes. I've been working on it for months."

"It's brilliant," you said, moving closer to examine the crystalline weapon without touching it.

"With this, I'll avenge my brothers," Tobirama said, his voice set as he stared at the ice blade with grim satisfaction. "The Uchiha won't expect it. Their Sharingan might see through most techniques, but this—" he rotated the crystalline weapon, sending prismatic light dancing across your face, "—this will cut through their defenses before they even realize what's happening. I can make hundreds at a time."

You felt a small knot form in your stomach at his words, the venom in his voice unmistakable. As the future Divine, you were meant to remain neutral, to see beyond clan rivalries. Yet here was this boy you'd grown so fond of, plotting revenge with such cold calculation.

"It really is remarkable," you said, deliberately shifting the conversation. "Your chakra control is extraordinary. I bet you're already better than most of the adults in your clan." You stepped closer, your silk gown rustling against your legs. "The way you combine the elements is… beautiful."

Tobirama glanced at you, surprise flickering across his features at your words. The blade dissolved into mist between his fingers as he released the jutsu.

"Beautiful?" He repeated, eyebrow raised. "It's meant to be lethal, not beautiful."

"Can't it be both?" You countered with a playful smile, relieved to see the darkness receding from his expression. "Just because something is deadly doesn't mean it can't also be impressive to look at. Like a tiger— dangerous but magnificent."

A reluctant smirk tugged at his lips. "You have strange views for a priestess."

"And you have strange hair for a shinobi," you retorted, reaching up to flick a strand of his white hair. "Yet here you are."

He captured your wrist gently, his touch surprisingly warm against your skin. "Here we are," he corrected, his voice softer than before.

You looked up at him, suddenly aware of how much taller he'd grown since your last meeting. The afternoon light caught in his red eyes, making them glow like embers rather than blood.

"You have to be careful out there," you said abruptly, your voice dropping slightly. "When you're on the battlefield." Your fingers curled slightly against his palm. "I don't want to perform funeral rites for another Senju brother."

Something shifted in his gaze—a vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see, but in an instant it was gone again. "I'm always careful."

"Promise me," you insisted, holding his gaze steadily. "The temple wouldn't be the same without your brooding presence."

His lips quirked upward as he rolled his eyes. "I don't brood," he repeated with a groan.

"You absolutely do— you’re even doing it right now!" You said with a soft laugh as he dropped your hand so he could cross his arms and sulk. "But I've grown rather fond of it," you added with a twinkle in your eye.

Both of you lingered in the gardens, bantering back and forth, falling into a comfortable rhythm as the day waned on. Tobirama relaxed in your presence and followed you around the temple like a lost puppy while Hashirama and his father were busy with the Divine. Moving between the gardens, the tea room, and the catacombs underneath the temple, he trailed beside you with measured steps.

Once Butsuma was around, the brothers snapped into shape once again, dropping any sense of naivety they shared with you. They wore the mask well, one that you had seen many times before— the mask of a boy vying for his father’s approval.

It was only alone that any of you could be your true selves.

The Senju remained at the temple for three more days before saying their goodbyes. You wouldn’t see them again until next spring.

Chapter Text

Months passed as autumn painted the mountains in fiery hues of amber and crimson. The temple gardens transformed, dragon lilies giving way to frost-kissed mums that lulled heavily in the chill mountain breeze. You had traded your light summer silks for a heavier gown of deep red and gold, embroidered with intricate patterns. Sturdy leather boots replaced your delicate sandals, allowing you to traverse the increasingly frosty grounds without your mother's constant admonishment.

The late morning air carried the scent of cedar and woodsmoke as you completed your daily communions, your breath forming small clouds that dissipated into the sacred hall. Something prickled at the edge of your awareness as you finished— a familiar signature of chakra approaching the temple gates, distinctive and powerful. Not the cool, controlled presence of the Senju, but something equally familiar— hotter, more volatile.

Uchiha.

You slipped away from Sister Mei's watchful gaze, your heart quickening with anticipation. Your mother had been especially strict with your lessons lately, insisting you spend hours practicing sacred magick and studying alchemy. Any diversion was welcome, especially one that promised the company of your favorite Uchiha.

The heavy gown hampered your usual nimble movements as you made your way to the temple entrance, positioning yourself casually behind one of the great stone dragon statues that flanked the stairs leading to the temple. From here, you could observe without being immediately noticed, a slight advantage you'd learned to cultivate during your years of temple life.

They appeared through the morning mist that clung to the mountain path—a small procession of powerful Uchiha men. Your father, Kaito, led the group, his form sending a flutter of excitement through your chest. Beside him walked Tajima, the clan leader's posture regal and commanding, his stern face framed by the high collar of the traditional Uchiha garment. Behind them followed the young heirs— Madara, tall and imposing even at sixteen, his wild dark hair catching the mountain breeze, and Izuna, whose eager eyes were already scanning the temple grounds, no doubt searching for you.

You stepped out from behind the statue and bowed deeply, your gown pooling around your feet as you performed the proper greeting befitting visitors of their stature. "Welcome to the Temple of Akatosh," you intoned formally, though your eyes betrayed your excitement.

Before you could rise fully, Izuna broke from the procession with a delighted smile, ignoring his father's sharp look as he bounded up the stone steps toward you.

"Izuna, I’m glad you’ve finally returned," you called out, your voice carrying across the courtyard. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten where the temple was."

"As if," Izuna huffed, his eyes lighting up as he ruffled your hair. "Man— you've gotten bigger since the summer!"

You laughed as you tried to scoff, shaking your head as you reached up to fix your golden headband. "That’s so rude, Izuna! I'm exactly the same size as when you last visited."

Izuna's smile widened as he circled around you, pretending to assess your stature with exaggerated scrutiny. "No, definitely bigger. At least the width of a piece of rice."

"You have no manners," you teased as you swatted him playfully. "Perhaps you should learn how to talk to a lady."

“You’re acting like I called you fat!”

Your father appeared beside Izuna, clasping him around the shoulder as he smiled down at you with a warm gleam in his dark eyes.  

"Manners? With this one?" Your father laughed, squeezing Izuna's shoulder as he turned his gaze on the boy. "And commenting on a girl's size? You're lucky she didn't throw you down the temple steps."

You couldn't help but beam at your father's presence, drinking in the sight of him after months apart. Although you could never acknowledge him publicly as your father, you savored every moment of his presence that you could.

"It's wonderful to see you again, Alessia," he said formally, though his eyes sparkled with deeper meaning. "You've grown even more graceful since our last visit."

Tajima stepped forward, coming to stand beside Kaito with a subtle smile playing at his lips. Unlike his usual grim demeanor on the battlefield, his expression softened within the temple grounds. "Indeed. The girl grows more poised each season. The Divine must be proud of your progress."

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment from the Uchiha leader. You knew that Tajima was among the few who knew your true parentage, a secret he kept faithfully out of loyalty to your father, his oldest friend.

You bowed your head in deference to the clan leader, aware of the special consideration he showed you. "Lord Tajima, it's an honor. I trust you found your way up the mountain easily?"

“Of course we did,” Madara butted in with a smirk as he came between Tajima and Kaito. “You don’t think we know our way up here? We’ve been here like a hundred times!” 

You sigh and frown playfully as you cross your arms. “Madara, I hope you get lost next time. I was just being courteous.” 

“Well, give it up, you sound dumb.” Madara’s smug expression deepens when you roll your eyes with an exaggerated huff.

Tajima makes a face at Madara as your father laughs boisterously. “Your sons truly have a way with words, Tajima. They really do take after you!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Madara frowned with a narrowed glance towards your father.

Before anyone could respond, the temple doors opened behind you, and you sensed your mother's presence before you turned. Divine Anora emerged in her full formal regalia, her face composed in its usual dignified mask—until her eyes fell upon Kaito. Something transformed in her expression then, a warmth and softness appearing that you rarely witnessed outside of your private chambers.

"Lord Tajima, Lord Kaito," she greeted formally, though her eyes lingered on your father. "The Temple of Akatosh welcomes the Uchiha clan."

"Divine Anora," your father replied, bowing respectfully, yet a flirtatious gleam in his eyes rose unmasked. "You're as radiant as ever."

"Such flattery, Lord Kaito," your mother responded, a faint blush coloring her normally composed features. "I trust your journey was uneventful?"

"With you at the end of it, any hardship would be worthwhile," he replied smoothly.

Tajima sighed, accustomed to the display. Madara's face contorted into a grimace, while beside you, Izuna clutched his stomach, making a face as if he were going to retch. You couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips, watching your parents' happiness, however disguised it had to remain.

"If you are quite finished, perhaps we could discuss the matters that brought us here?" Tajima murmured to Kaito.

"Of course," your mother composed herself, though her eyes still shone more than usual. "If you gentlemen would follow me to my study, we can discuss your concerns in private." She gestured toward the eastern corridor of the temple. "Alessia, perhaps you could entertain the young lords while we attend to these matters? I don't anticipate we'll be long."

“Yes, High Priestess," you replied with a formal bow, though excitement bubbled within you at the thought of time alone with the Uchiha brothers.

Your mother's eyes softened momentarily as she regarded you. "Remain within the temple grounds," she added, her tone making it clear this was not a suggestion.

“Try to stay out of trouble, you three!” Kaito chimed before falling in step beside your mother, leaving the three of you to your own devices. 

Chapter Text

As the adults disappeared into the eastern corridor, Madara crossed his arms and sighed dramatically. "So, what boring activities do you have planned for us today? Sewing? Meditation? Flower picking?"

“Nope,” you replied with a mischievous grin. “I have a better idea. Have you seen the persimmon trees behind the temple? They're perfectly ripe right now."

Izuna's face brightened immediately. "Race you there?"

"You're on," you challenged, already gathering your heavy skirts in your hands. "Unless Madara's afraid he can't keep up with a girl."

Madara's eyes narrowed at the bait, pride flaring in his expression. "As if you could outrun a Uchiha."

"Last one there has to eat a worm!" You declared, and before either could accept, you darted forward, scarlet skirts flying behind you as you raced across the courtyard.

You heard Izuna's surprised laugh and Madara's indignant shout as they sprang after you. The cold autumn air burned in your lungs as you ran, dodging around temple sisters and weaving through the garden paths with concentrated ease. Behind you, Madara and Izuna's footsteps pounded against the stone, gaining ground with each stride.

Just as you reached the edge of the gardens, Madara's tall form blurred past you, his superior speed evident despite your head start. Izuna kept pace at your side, his playful smile never wavering even as his competitive spirit drove him forward.

The persimmon grove came into view, the trees heavy with bright orange fruit. Madara reached the largest tree first, spinning around to face you and Izuna with a triumphant smirk as he slapped his palm against the rough bark.

"Too slow," he taunted as you and Izuna arrived seconds later, both of you breathing hard. "Did you really think you could outrun me? I was going easy on you."

"You cheated," you panted, hands on your knees as you caught your breath. "You used your shinobi training."

"It's not cheating to be better," Madara replied, his cocky grin widening as you and Izuna glower at him.

"Not better," you huffed, crossing your arms as you glared up at his smug face. "Just taller. Your legs are practically twice the length of mine!"

Izuna snickered beside you. "She's got you there, brother. Not much skill in winning when nature gave you the advantage."

Madara's triumphant expression faltered slightly. "Excuses. Both of you are just sore losers."

"Oh? I seem to recall beating you at shogi two times last visit," you reminded him with a sweet smile. "What was your excuse then? Too much sun in your eyes? Distracted by a butterfly?"

“You’ve never beaten me at anything,” Madara scoffed incredulously.

Izuna laughed at his brother’s souring face. "Yeah, right. Don’t you remember when Alessia threw her kunai further than yours?"

Madara's cheeks flushed red as he scowled at you both. "No, actually, I don’t remember that."

"Okay, then what about that time she held her breath longer?" Izuna pressed, clearly enjoying his brother's discomfort.

"You know, Madara, it’s okay to lose sometimes." You added, your confidence growing as Madara's scowl deepened.

The older boy was silent for a moment before his eyes sparked deviously. "I see what you’re doing,” Madara’s gaze narrowed as a smirk played on the corners of his lips. “You’re just trying to distract me from your bet. Go ahead and start digging your dinner, worm girl.”

You gasped in disgust as Izuna stifled a laugh beside you. A similar sly glint reflected in your eyes as an idea crossed your mind. "We’ll see about that."

With a quick movement, you reached up and plucked a ripe persimmon from a nearby branch, weighing it in your palm as you contemplated your next move.

Madara's eyes widened as he realized your intent. "Don't you dare—"

Before he could finish, the fruit sailed through the air, striking him squarely in the chest with a satisfying splat, leaving an orange stain on his dark clothing.

Silence fell for one breathless moment before Izuna doubled over with laughter.

"You'll pay for that," Madara growled, a dangerous gleam entering his eyes as he reached for a fallen persimmon at his feet.

You squealed and ducked behind Izuna just as Madara's thrown fruit flew past, narrowly missing your head.

"Hey! Don't use me as a shield!" Izuna protested, but he was already grabbing ammunition of his own, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

Within seconds, the air was filled with flying fruit. You darted between trees, laughing as you dodged Madara's surprisingly accurate throws while launching your own counterattacks. Izuna, caught between loyalty to his brother and the irresistible urge to join the chaos, began pelting both of you indiscriminately.

"Traitor!" Madara shouted as one of Izuna's persimmons caught him on the shoulder.

"It’s every man for himself!" Izuna declared, pelting another persimmon that caught you square in the back.

The juice seeped through your beautiful gown as you whirled around, eyes narrowing at Izuna's triumphant expression. The brothers were relentless, their shinobi training evident in their precise throws and swift movements. For every fruit you managed to land, they struck you with three. Your dress was already hopelessly stained, and juice trickled down your chin from a near-miss that had splattered against your cheek.

"This is hardly fair!" You protested as you peeked around a tree trunk. "Two against one!"

Madara's smirk was infuriating as he juggled two persimmons with ease. "Sounds like more excuses to me."

Surveying the battlefield, you spotted your advantage—the lowest branch of the tallest persimmon tree hung just within your reach. Without hesitation, you gathered your sticky skirts and leapt, fingers grasping the rough bark as you hauled yourself up with surprising agility.

"Now who's cheating?" Madara called up with an annoyed tone.

"Strategic positioning," you corrected, settling yourself on a sturdy branch. From this height, you had a perfect view of both brothers. You plucked another persimmon from a nearby cluster, squinting your eye as you aimed. "Let's see how well you dodge now!"

The fruit sailed down with deadly accuracy, catching the top of Izuna's head before he could react. The boy made a sound of disgust as it ruptured all over him, dousing him with its messy innards as you laughed like an evil villain. Your new position gave you the advantage of gravity, and soon you were raining down a barrage of ammunition on the brothers, who dove and darted between the trees.

"That's it!" Madara shouted, his competitive nature fully ignited after you hit him in the ear. "Izuna, formation three!"

Your triumph was short-lived as the brothers coordinated their attacks, Izuna distracting you with rapid-fire fruits from the left while Madara circled to flank you from the right. You squealed with laughter, attempting to fend off the assault from both directions.

"You'll never catch—" your taunt was cut short as a seething voice called out from the edge of the grove.

"Alessia!"

Your mother's voice cut through the laughter like a blade, freezing all three of you mid-action. You nearly dropped the persimmon in your hand as you looked down to see High Priestess Anora standing at the edge of the grove, her expression thunderous. Beside her, Tajima's eyebrows had risen nearly to his hairline, while your father seemed to be fighting a losing battle against the smile threatening to break across his face.

"What in Akatosh’s name are you doing in that tree?" Your mother demanded, her eyes widening as she took in your appearance—hair disheveled, face smudged, and once-beautiful gown now a canvas of orange and red stains.

"I asked you a question, young lady," your mother continued, her voice dangerously calm. "Why are you in that tree, and why are all three of you covered in... fruit?"

Before you could formulate a defense, Madara stepped forward, hiding his smirk.

"I believe Alessia started it, Divine Anora," Madara announced with feigned innocence, brushing persimmon pulp from his sleeve. "She threw the first one. We were merely defending ourselves."

"Shut up, Madara!" You hissed down at him, narrowing your eyes as Izuna unsuccessfully tried to stifle his laughter behind his hand.

Your father approached the tree, amusement dancing in his eyes despite his attempt to appear stern. "Come down from there before you fall and break something important," he called up to you, his arms extended.

With a resigned sigh, you dropped the fruit and carefully made your way down, accepting your father's assistance for the final leap. As your feet touched the ground, Kaito's lips quirked upward.

"Smart strategy though," he murmured, aimed specifically for your ears. "High ground is always the tactical advantage. I've taught you well."

"Kaito!" Your mother admonished, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Do not praise this behavior. Look at her gown! That satin was imported from the Land of Tea! And the young lords are no better." She gestured toward Madara and Izuna, both drenched with orange pulp and looking far less lordly than when they'd arrived.

Tajima let out a deep, rumbling laugh, earning him a withering glare from your mother. "Forgive me, Divine Anora," he said, not sounding remotely apologetic. "But I haven't seen my sons look this... colorful since they were toddlers."

Your mother's expression remained stern, though you detected the slightest softening of her posture. "All three of you will go wash up immediately and make yourselves presentable before lunch. The sisters have prepared a special meal in honor of our guests, and I will not have you at the table looking like you've been rolling in the compost heap."

"Yes, High Priestess," you mumbled, keeping your eyes downcast though you couldn't quite suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

"And Alessia," your mother added as you began to lead the brothers away, her voice lightening slightly, "next time, perhaps consider activities that don't involve destroying your ceremonial attire."

"Yes, High Priestess," you repeated, ducking your head to hide your smile.

As you trudged back toward the temple with the brothers, Izuna leaned closer. "Worth it," he whispered, grinning despite the sticky persimmon juice drying on his face.

"Yeah," you agreed, catching Madara's eye with a mock frown. “But your brother’s dead to me.”

“Is that so?” Madara quirked before throwing you over his shoulder and spinning around as you squealed and punched his back.

The Uchiha didn’t spend much time at the temple, but they did come more often than most clans. Kaito would make monthly visits if the war permitted, training you in the basics of fighting as he believed to be part of his fatherly duty. You and your mother both appreciate the effort he made to be in your lives, even though he had no obligation to. His presence helped shape you, and your mother knew it was for the better.

Your life in the temple wasn’t perfect, but sometimes it felt like it.

Chapter Text

The following year, late spring arrived at the temple with a flourish of color and fragrance. Cherry blossoms had given way to lush greenery, and the pond behind the temple glistened like polished silver beneath the clear sky.

The Uchiha had arrived the day prior; their presence a comforting constant in your life. Your father and Tajima had sequestered themselves in the tea room shortly after breakfast, their low voices occasionally disrupted by subtle laughter as they discussed clan matters. Madara and Izuna had risen with the sun, eager to train with their newly awakened Sharingan.

Your mother, resplendent in her gown and diadem, had been occupied since dawn with the Mizuno family—powerful shinobi from the Land of Water who had journeyed to the temple seeking blessings for their matriarch, heavy with child and anxious for a safe delivery.

Now, as afternoon sunlight dappled the garden pond, you found solace in the solitude of your favorite spot. Your blue silk dress pooled around you as you sat at the water's edge, bare feet dangling in the cool water while koi fish circled curiously around your ankles. The ancient magick tome balanced on your lap was heavy with knowledge, its browned pages covered in intricate diagrams and formulas that you studied with intense concentration.

You were so absorbed in deciphering a particularly complex transmutation circle that you didn't notice the approach of footsteps until three shadows fell across your book.

"Well, what do we have here?" A voice drawled, breaking your concentration.

You looked up, squinting against the sun to see three boys standing over you—the Mizuno brothers—sons of the couple your mother was currently blessing in the ritual hall. The eldest, perhaps seventeen, stood with his arms crossed and a smirk that immediately set your teeth on edge. His younger brothers flanked him, mirror images of his arrogant stance. The boys shared the same ashen straw hair, skin pale as if it rarely sees the sun.

"Can I help you?" You asked coolly, keeping your place in the book with one finger while adopting the formal tone your mother used with unwelcome interruptions.

"What's a girl like you doing all alone out here? Reading?" He pronounced the word as though it were some bizarre activity as the middle brother circled around, getting as close as he could.

"Yes, reading," you replied, turning your attention back to your book. "I’m shocked you’ve heard of it."

The youngest brother snickered. "What are you? An orphan or something? You probably can't even understand half those words."

Your grip tightened on the book's leather binding. You'd dealt with entitled visitors before—sons of nobles and shinobi who viewed the temple as little more than a tourist attraction and its inhabitants as servants. Usually, you maintained your composure, remembering your mother's constant reminder that you represented the temple's dignity.

Today, however, your patience was wearing thin.

"I understand enough to know when I'm being bothered by idiots," you snapped, finally looking up to fix them with a glare. "Now shove off. I'm sure your parents would be horrified to learn you're harassing a priestess while they're receiving blessings."

The eldest brother's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You've got quite a mouth on you for a witch," he said, his tone dropping to something more menacing as he stepped closer. "Someone should teach you some manners."

"Get lost," you hissed, clutching your book closer to your chest as you stood, water dripping from your feet onto the grass. "This is sacred ground, and you're being disrespectful."

The middle brother's hand shot out before you could react, snatching the leather tome from your grasp. Your heart lurched as his fingers dug carelessly into the delicate binding.

"Give that back!" You demanded, lunging forward, only to be blocked by the eldest.

"What's so important about this dusty old thing anyway?" The middle brother flipped through the pages with deliberate roughness, tearing the corner of one. "Looks boring to me."

"That's ancient text, you idiot!" Panic rose in your chest as you watched him manhandle your mother’s book. "It's older than your entire bloodline!"

The eldest brother laughed, a cruel sound that echoed across the pond. "If it's so sacred, I wonder..." He nodded to his brother, who understood immediately.

"No!" Your scream came too late as the precious book arched through the air, landing with a sickening splash in the middle of the pond. The pages immediately began to darken as water seeped through them, centuries of knowledge dissolving before your eyes.

Something snapped inside you. Fury, unlike anything you'd ever felt before, coursed through your veins, hot and electric. Without thinking, you lunged at the middle brother, your fist connecting with his jaw with a satisfying crack that sent him stumbling backward.

The youngest brother grabbed at your hair, yanking painfully as the eldest moved to restrain you. You twisted violently in their grip, channeling your rage into strength as you broke free. With a well-placed kick to the eldest's stomach—a move your father had taught you in secret— you sent him staggering backward toward the pond's edge.

His eyes widened in surprise just before you shoved him with all your might, sending him toppling into the water with a massive splash. Satisfaction flared briefly before the remaining brothers descended upon you, their faces twisted with anger.

“Get the witch!” The younger brother shouted as he lunged.

You fought like a cornered animal, scratching and kicking as they tried to subdue you. The middle brother's nose was bleeding from your punch, fueling his rage as he grabbed at your arms. You managed to land another solid hit before a sharp pain exploded across your face—the youngest had struck you hard enough to split your lip.

The taste of copper filled your mouth as you staggered, momentarily dazed. It was all the opportunity they needed. A hand clamped around your ankle like an iron vise. You crashed down hard as the eldest brother, soaking wet and livid, pulled you into the water. The shock of the cold stole your breath as you plunged beneath the surface. You tried to fight back up, but a weight pressed down on your shoulders, holding you under. Through the murky water, you could see the eldest brother's face, twisted in cruel satisfaction as he held you down.

You thrashed wildly, your lungs burning as you fought against his grip. Your long gown wrapped around your legs like chains, hampering your movements as you struggled. The boy’s laughter reached you as muffled, distorted sounds through the water as you suffocated.

Panic seized you as your chest tightened painfully. Dark spots began to dance at the edges of your vision. The realization hit you—they weren't going to let up. They wanted you to die here, drowned in your own home by boys whose names you didn't even know.

You were out of breath, and despite your best efforts, water began to seep in through your mouth and nose. The weight on your shoulders seemed insurmountable, your struggles growing weaker with each passing second. In that moment, all you could feel was the burning pain in your lungs as the boy drowned you.

Until suddenly, the pressure vanished.

The hands holding you down disappeared in a violent rush, water churning around you as your assailants were wrenched away. Through the murky water, you glimpsed flashes of movement, dark shapes colliding all around the surface.

With your last remnants of strength, you pushed upward, breaking through the water's surface with a desperate gasp. Air rushed into your searing lungs, sweet and painful all at once, as you coughed violently, water spilling from your mouth.

The sounds of combat filled your ears—grunts of pain, the dull thud of fists against flesh, and familiar voices roaring with unbridled fury. You blinked water from your eyes to see Madara and Izuna, their faces twisted in rage as they dragged the Mizuno brothers away from the pond.

Madara had the eldest by the throat, slamming him repeatedly against the ground with such force that it would soon become unsurvivable. His Sharingan glowered wildly as he snarled something you couldn't quite make out through your disoriented state.

Izuna was no less merciful, his usual demeanor replaced by cold, calculated brutality as he systematically dismantled the other two brothers. His movements were precise and savage, each strike targeting vulnerable points with ruthless efficiency.

You attempted to pull yourself from the pond, but your water-logged gown clung to your form like a lead weight. Your arms trembled with exhaustion as you struggled to clear the steep edge.

"Alessia!" Your father's voice cut through the chaos, and suddenly, large hands were gripping under your arms, pulling you from the water with urgent strength.

Kaito lifted you as though you weighed nothing, cradling you against his chest as he carried you away from the pond and fighting. His face was ashen with distress as he set you down gently on the grass, his hands moving frantically over your face and arms, searching for injuries.

"Are you hurt? Can you breathe?" His voice shook with concern as he brushed wet hair from your kohl-stained face, gaze darkening when he saw your split lip.

You coughed again, more water expelling from your lungs as you struggled to form words. Your entire body trembled violently, whether from cold or shock, you couldn't tell. Kaito sat you up against him, gently patting your back as he tried to calm both you and himself.

A shout drew your attention back to the fight. Madara had the eldest Mizuno pinned, his fist drawn back for what would surely be a final, devastating blow. At the same time, Izuna had managed to subdue both younger brothers, one beneath each knee as he alternated punches between them.

"Enough!" Tajima's commanding voice cut through the chaos as he appeared at his son’s side. He seized Madara by the collar, physically hauling his son off the bloodied Mizuno heir, effectively saving his life. "That's enough, Madara! You cannot kill on temple grounds!"

Madara struggled against his father's grip, his rage apparent. "They tried to drown her!" He snarled, lunging forward again, only to be restrained by Tajima's iron grip.

"I said enough!" Tajima barked, his Sharingan flaring to life as he stared his son down. "Stand down. Now."

Izuna obeyed alongside Madara and ceased his onslaught, but kept his fists clenched, ready to continue at a moment’s notice. The Mizuno boys lay sprawled on the grass, faces bloody and swollen, bodies limp as if they were lifeless.

You almost hoped they were.

Chapter Text

"What in the gods’ name is going on here?" Your mother's voice pierced the air as she came rushing toward the pond, her robes billowing behind her. Sister Hana followed close behind, along with two adults you recognized as the Mizuno parents, their faces shifting from confusion to horror as they took in the scene.

Your mother's eyes found you immediately, widening at the sight of your drenched form cradled in Kaito's arms. Her usually calm expression transformed into something terrible—pure, unfiltered fury that made even Tajima lower his gaze.

"Alessia," she breathed, dropping to her knees beside you, her hands cool against your cheek as she examined your split lip and the reddening mark where you'd been struck. "What happened to you?"

"The boys," you managed, your voice still raw. "They took my Alteration tome and threw it in the pond. When I tried to stop them, they..." Your voice broke as the reality of what had happened crashed over you. "They held me under— they were trying to drown me."

"She’s lying!" The eldest Mizuno brother protested through a mouthful of blood, struggling to his feet. "She attacked us first! She punched me in the—"

The crack of flesh striking flesh silenced him as his father's hand connected with his already swollen face. The Mizuno patriarch trembled with barely contained rage, his complexion paled with shame.

"You dare speak?" Lord Mizuno hissed, yanking his eldest son up by his shirt. "You dare attempt to justify yourself after what you've done?" His voice rose to a thunderous roar that echoed across the pond. "You have shamed our family name! Attacking a child of the temple—have you lost your minds?"

The three brothers cowered under their father's wrath, blood dripping from their battered faces onto the ground. The eldest attempted to speak again, but his father's grip tightened, choking off his words.

Your mother's face had transformed into a mask of cold fury as she surveyed the scene—the ruined tome floating in fragments across the pond's surface, your sodden form trembling in Kaito's arms, the Uchiha boys covered in sweat and blood just feet away. When she finally spoke, her voice carried the weight of a god.

"This is not merely an attack on a priestess," she stated, each word precise and cutting. "This is desecration of sacred knowledge, violation of neutral ground, and attempted murder within Akatosh’s sanctuary." Her eyes narrowed as she regarded the Mizuno brothers. "Such transgressions cannot go unanswered."

Lord Mizuno fell to his knees before your mother, pressing his forehead to the ground in a formal gesture of absolute submission. "Divine Anora, I beg your forgiveness for the atrocities my sons have committed. Our family accepts whatever punishment you deem appropriate for this heinous act. We are at your eternal mercy."

Behind him, Lady Mizuno let out a soft sob but made no move to defend her sons, knowing what consequences lay ahead. Even she recognized the severity of their actions.

Your mother's gaze remained unflinching. "Take your sons to the inner temple. They will kneel before Akatosh’s altar and beg for lives." Her voice dropped to a whisper that somehow carried more threat than her previous words. "The Dragon God himself will judge their worthiness to continue drawing breath."

Lord Mizuno nodded solemnly before rising. He grabbed his sons roughly, forcing them to stand despite their injuries. "You will apologize," he commanded, shoving them forward. "Now."

The three boys cried broken apologies, their faces twisted with fear, pain, and humiliation. Their father's grip tightened, eliciting winces. "Properly," he growled.

The eldest brother, his face now swollen almost beyond recognition, bowed deeply. "We beg for your forgiveness, Divine Anora. Our actions were unforgivable." His brothers echoed his words, their voices trembling with fear of their fate.

Your mother's expression remained glacial, unmoving as they pleaded. "Go," she commanded. "Await judgment."

Lord Mizuno yanked his sons away, practically dragging them toward the inner sanctum as they stumbled and limped alongside him.

As the Mizuno family disappeared into the temple, your mother turned to Kaito, her voice softening with concern that was easily detected beneath her regal demeanor.

"Take her to her chambers," she instructed, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your cheek with unexpected tenderness. "See that she's bathed and changed. I will attend to her once this... matter... is resolved."

Kaito nodded, his arms tightening protectively around your shivering form. Your mother then turned to Madara and Izuna, who stood breathing heavily, their knuckles raw and bloodied from the fight. The fury in their eyes had not yet fully abated, their postures still coiled with tension.

"Young lords," she addressed them, bowing her head in a gesture rarely offered to ones their age. "The Temple of Akatosh is forever in your debt. You have protected that which is most precious to us." Her voice carried genuine gratitude that made both boys straighten with pride despite their disheveled state.

Before turning away, your mother cast one last troubled glance in your direction, her eyes lingering on your bruised face. Something unspoken passed between you—a mother's anguish, carefully concealed behind the mask of High Priestess. Then she was gone, following the path the Mizuno family had taken, her steps driven and measured.

Kaito lifted you effortlessly against his chest, your soaked dress dripping a trail across the stone pathway as he carried you to the temple toward your chambers. You clutched at his shirt, burying your face against his shoulder as the sisters and priestesses parted before you, their horrified whispers fading as Kaito strode past them.

Once inside your room, with the door firmly closed against prying eyes, something within you finally broke. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks, mingling with pond water, makeup, and blood. Your body shook with silent sobs as Kaito gently set you on the edge of your bed.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, though you weren't entirely sure what you were apologizing for—failing to protect the ancient tome, fighting with visitors, or simply for showing weakness.

"Hush now," Kaito murmured, his calloused hands surprisingly gentle as he wrapped a blanket around your shoulders. "You have nothing to apologize for. Those boys..." His voice hardened, jaw clenching briefly before he regained control. "They're fortunate Tajima’s sons found them before I did."

You wiped at your tears, wincing as your hand brushed against your swollen lip. "The book... Mother's going to be so angry. It was irreplaceable."

Kaito knelt before you, taking your small hands in his. "Alessia, look at me." When you raised your eyes to meet his, you found them filled with fierce protectiveness. "Your mother isn't concerned about a book, ancient as it may be. She nearly collapsed when she saw you. Your life is far more precious than anything in this temple. No one who dares lay a finger on you should be allowed to live. Do you understand that?”

You met his eyes but said nothing, lost in the perpetual hold your father had you locked in.

“This temple is the safest place in the world, and yet, even you, my daughter, were attacked.” He continued, the fear he had restrained now bubbling to the surface. “If I cannot keep you safe here, then where—”

A curt knock at the door cut off your father. He looked away to compose himself, his tensing jaw the only part of his face visible. At his response, sister Hana came in with a sympathetic look and a towel draped over her arm.

“I have readied a bath for Alessia. I also wish to check if she needs any healing, Lord Kaito.” She said softly as your father slowly pulled away from you.

Kaito regained his calm features and patted your cheek, giving you a small smile. “Go wash up, little dragon. I’ll have tea and cookies here for you when you get done.” You nodded numbly in response as he pulled you up to your feet and into his embrace again. “No one here will ever let that happen again, okay? You have my word.”

Chapter Text

Steam rose from the bathhouse as Madara emerged, his hair still damp against his shoulders. The evening air carried the scent of cut grass and incense, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of blood that had filled his nostrils the day before. He paused at the wooden steps, his dark eyes scanning the temple grounds until they found what he sought.

You and Izuna lay sprawled on the grass not far from the main hall, pointing at constellations appearing in the darkening sky. Your laughter drifted toward him, light and carefree despite the purpling bruise on your cheek and the small cut that still marred your lip. You had recovered your spirits with remarkable resilience, Madara proudly noted inwardly.

Madara remained motionless, watching. Something had shifted in him since he'd pulled those Mizuno boys off you, something he couldn't quite name. The image of you struggling beneath the water's surface had burned itself into his memory, igniting a wrath he hadn't felt in many years. Even now, a day later, the rage simmered just beneath his skin.

What troubled him most wasn't the violence he'd unleashed; it was how naturally it had come to him. To both him and Izuna— even though you were just a young priestess. Yet the Divine had treated your injury as though the temple itself had been wounded. And Kaito—his father's oldest friend—had carried you with such tender care, his face etched with a fury Madara had never seen in the battle-hardened warrior.

None of it made sense.

His gaze drifted to where his father and Kaito sat at a table nearby, sipping sake beneath the glow of wooden lanterns. They spoke in hushed tones, occasionally glancing in your direction with expressions that seemed to hold secrets.

"Madara." His father's voice cut through his thoughts. "Join us."

Tajima gestured to the empty cushion beside him, his expression unreadable in the lantern light. Madara hesitated, then approached, settling himself at the table with careful formality.

"What troubles you, son?" Tajima asked, pouring himself another cup of sake before looking Madara in his eyes. "You've been unusually quiet since yesterday's incident."

Madara paused, unsure if he should be so forward with his questioning. "Priestess Alessia," he began, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn't carry to where you and Izuna still lay stargazing. "She's not just any girl, is she?"

Kaito's hand paused midway to his mouth, sake cup hovering as his eyes met Tajima's in silent communication.

"What makes you ask that?" Tajima replied, his tone carefully neutral.

Madara's eyes narrowed slightly. "The Divine executed those boys for what they did. Not just punish them—executed them by feeding them to a dragon. And..." He turned his gaze to Kaito with an accusatory look. “I’m not stupid.”

Kaito's lips curved into a smile as he brought his cup the rest of the way to his mouth, a soft chuckle escaping him. His eyes met Tajima's over the rim, an unspoken question passing between them. The Uchiha clan leader gave an almost imperceptible nod, his expression softening.

"You're right, Madara," Kaito said, setting his cup down with a gentle click against the wooden table. "You're not stupid. In fact, you've proven yourself quite perceptive." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Alessia is my daughter. Divine Anora's and mine."

The words hung in the night air as Madara's eyes widened slightly, his suspicions confirmed, but still shocking to hear.

"The Divine and I..." Kaito continued, his gaze drifting to where you lay on the grass, pointing out the Dragon constellation to Izuna. "We've loved each other for many years. Alessia is the result of that love, though few know the truth of her parentage."

"Most of the clan doesn't know," Tajima added, his voice equally hushed. "It's one of our most closely guarded secrets."

Madara's brow furrowed as he processed this revelation. "But why the secrecy? The Uchiha would protect her if they knew."

"The Uchiha would do more than protect her," Kaito said grimly. "They would seek to use her. A child with both Uchiha and dragon’s blood? Some would see her as a weapon, not a daughter."

Tajima nodded solemnly. "Understand that Alessia is considered family, Madara. The Uchiha will always consider her as one of our own, but for her safety, this truth must remain hidden."

"Many would not take too kindly to the thought of a Divine Uchiha," Kaito continued, his eyes darkening. "The Senju especially would view her as a threat to be eliminated— or worse, a prize to be captured and exploited."

From your place on the grass, you remained blissfully unaware of the conversation taking place, your laughter ringing clear as Izuna tried to convince you he can backflip off his horse.

"So she's..." Madara's voice trailed off as he looked at you with new understanding.

"The future Divine with Uchiha blood flowing through her veins," Tajima confirmed. "A formidable combination that could tip the scales of power if exploited."

Kaito's face grew serious as he leaned closer to Madara. "This is why I'm trusting you with this knowledge. As a future clan leader, you must understand what's at stake. Your instinct to protect yesterday was right—more right than you knew."

Madara was silent for a second, trying to take everything in under the stares of the clan patriarchs. "Does Izuna know?"

Kaito shook his head slowly. "No. And it should remain that way for now." He cast a fond glance toward the younger brother, who was now describing battle formations using sticks and pebbles while you listened attentively. "The less who know, the better. For her safety."

"It’s detrimental for the temple to show no favoritism to maintain balance," Tajima added, his voice taking on a rare gentleness. "And the Uchiha must remain at some distance to protect this balance. It's why we visit but never stay too long. It's why Kaito can only see his daughter a few times each year."

Madara absorbed this information silently, watching you with new eyes. The weight of this secret settled on his heart, adding another piece of life to hold and protect with all his being.

The three men fell into a contemplative silence, the implications of their shared knowledge hanging in the night air between them. You were scoffing at something Izuna had said, rolling your eyes as you flopped on your back.

Suddenly, a sharp yelp shattered the peaceful moment.

"AAAH! Something bit me!" Izuna jumped to his feet, hopping awkwardly while clutching his backside. "A spider! A spider bit my ass!"

You sat up instantly, concern and amusement battling on your face as you watched Izuna's dramatic dance.

"Let me see it so I can help you," you called, rising to your feet. "I can heal a spider bite."

Izuna's eyes widened in horror. "See it? No way! I'm not taking my pants off!"

"Don't be ridiculous," you said, advancing toward him with determination. "I need to see how bad it is. Spider venom can be dangerous!"

"No! Absolutely not!" Izuna backed away, clutching his rear protectively while hopping on one foot. "I'd rather just die."

At the table, Kaito nearly choked on his sake, while Tajima pressed his fingers to his temple in exasperation. Madara's earlier solemnity cracked as he watched his brother's mortified retreat.

"You're being childish," you insisted, a mischievous grin spreading across your face as you began to chase him. "It'll only take a second! Don't you trust me?"

"I trust you just fine," Izuna wailed, limping dramatically toward the table where the adults sat. "It's my dignity I'm worried about!"

You pursued him relentlessly, taking joy in tormenting your friend. "I've treated worse injuries! Come back here!"

"Father! Madara! Save me!" Izuna pleaded, circling the table with you in hot pursuit. "She's trying to undress me!"

Tajima watched the spectacle with a raised eyebrow, making no move to intervene. Madara and Kaito smiled, offering no help to the struggling Uchiha.

"Kaito!" Izuna pleaded, dodging behind the older Uchiha's back as you circled the table. "You're reasonable— tell her to leave me alone!"

Your father tilted his head back, sake cup dangling loosely between his fingers as he regarded Izuna with mock seriousness. "I'm afraid you're on your own with this one, Izuna. Medical matters are beyond my authority in the temple."

"Traitors, all of you!" Izuna huffed as Madara laughed.

You planted your hands on your hips, your face a picture of determined mischief. "It's either me or the Divine, Izuna. Who do you want to see your butt? Choose wisely."

Izuna's face drained of color at the mention of Divine Anora. "That's not a fair choice!"

"Life isn't fair," you countered, advancing slowly. "And spider venom waits for no one."

Madara rose from his seat, his earlier contemplation forgotten as he joined the fray. "Hold him down, Alessia. I'll help you."

"Madara!" Izuna gasped, betrayal written across his features. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, I absolutely would," Madara replied with a predatory grin, stalking toward his brother. "Consider it payback for putting a dead fish in my bag."

Izuna backed away, eyes darting between you and Madara as you closed in from both sides. "This is mutiny! Father, surely you won't allow this!"

Tajima merely sipped his sake, a rare smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I’m sure this qualifies as some sort of training exercise."

"Some father you are!" Izuna lamented before bolting across the courtyard with surprising speed for someone supposedly suffering from a spider bite.

You and Madara exchanged glances before taking off in pursuit, your laughter echoing through the temple grounds. The adults' chuckles faded behind you as you chased Izuna through the garden paths, around stone lanterns, and past startled sisters carrying evening offerings.

“She gets this part from her mother,” Kaito winks to his friend, earning a hearty chuckle from Tajima as all three children dogpile on each other when Izuna trips.

Chapter Text

The hot summer sun beat down on the valley, turning the world into a haze of golden light. You hadn't seen the Senju brothers since last year, and their arrival at the temple had filled you with an excitement that you were forced to hide. And your mother had permitted you a day of leisure to boot, a rare gift that you seized with both hands.

The sunlight reflected off the creek, casting beams of light across the water as you muddled through the shallows. Your dress, hiked above your knees, clung to your skin where water had lapped against it. You laughed as a shirtless Hashirama quickly moved to grab a bullfrog, only to miss and get splashed in the face.

"Fine, I guess I deserve that.” He huffed in defeat at the animal.

You skimmed the surrounding water for any lingering creatures, finding only minnows and tadpoles. Behind you, Tobirama sat on the bank, methodically sharpening a stick into a spear with a kunai, his fingers working with practiced precision. The afternoon with the Senju brothers brought you a comfortable sense of peace, a feeling that was all too fleeting in the temple. You smiled more, walked with a little more pep in your step, and laughed just a little more loudly, despite their surly father.

"Is it true," Tobirama's voice cut through the peaceful quiet, cool and sudden as the creek water, "that the Divine fed the Mizuno brothers to Akatosh?"

Your smile vanished as though it had never existed. The joy drained from your body, leaving behind a hollow sensation that expanded in your chest. You stared at the water lapping around your calves, suddenly aware of its depth, its darkness.

"Tobirama!" Hashirama's voice carried a warning, but his brother's eyes remained fixed on you, reading your reaction with clinical precision.

"So it is true," Tobirama said, not a question but a statement. "What happened?"

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry despite the summer humidity. "They broke the temple rules," you said as you lowered your gaze back to the water, the words sounding small and inadequate even to your own ears.

Tobirama's eyes narrowed, tilting his head slightly as he studied you. "For their heirs to be executed, it must have been a terrible crime. The Mizuno clan was not insignificant."

The water around your legs seemed to grow colder. Memories you'd tried to bury resurfaced—hands pushing you down, water filling your lungs, the terror of darkness closing in.

Hashirama, ever sensitive to shifts in mood, shot his brother another warning glance. "You don't have to talk about it, Alessia," he said gently, noticing how you'd begun to tremble despite the summer heat.

But Tobirama's gaze held you captive, and something in his expression shifted—a darkening, like clouds gathering before a storm. "What did they do?" He repeated, his voice dropping lower, almost dangerous in its softness despite its firm tone.

You looked down at your reflection in the water, distorted and rippling, shrugging to appear casual. "They tried to drown me," you admitted, the words barely audible over the babbling of the creek.

Silence followed your confession, broken only by the distant call of birds and the gentle lapping of water against stone. Tobirama's hands stilled on the spear, his knuckles whitening.

"When?" He asked, his voice tense and his eyes cold.

"Last spring," you say as you meet his gaze. The memory of it still made your skin crawl, the phantom sensation of water filling your lungs, causing your breath to hitch.

"Then they deserved it," Tobirama said, his voice like steel. "I wish I could have seen their faces when they faced Akatosh. I bet they died like cowards."

Hashirama's usually gentle features hardened, his jaw tightening as he processed your words while throwing his brother an incredulous look. The playfulness that had flowed through him moments before had vanished completely, leaving every breath of surrounding air tense.

"How are you holding up?" He asked as he turned to you, moving to help you out of the water, concern etched into every line of his face. "That must have been terrifying."

You let Hashirama guide you to the shore, letting yourself drip dry on the stony bank. "I wouldn't be here if not for Madara and Izuna. They were training nearby and heard me struggling." The words tumbled out before you could consider their impact, having carelessly continued. "They fought them off me before I passed out."

The atmosphere shifted instantly, as if you brought up something taboo. Tobirama's body tensed, his shoulders squaring at the mention of the Uchiha brothers. Hashirama, however, broke into a small, relieved smile with a sense of something else beneath.

"I'm glad they were there," Hashirama said, his voice warm with genuine gratitude. "No matter our clans' differences, I'm thankful they saved you."

Tobirama scoffed, driving his newly-sharpened spear into the soft earth beside him. "You're lucky they didn't try to finish the job," he muttered, his scarlet eyes narrowing. "Uchiha aren't known for their mercy."

Heat rushed to your cheeks, indignation rising in your chest. "That's not fair," you protested as you dropped your skirts, turning to face the white haired boy with a stern frown. "They didn’t hesitate to save me."

Hashirama's expression also darkened at his brother's words. "Tobirama," he said, his tone carrying a rare sharpness. "That's enough. Whatever grievances we have with the Uchiha, we should be grateful they protected Alessia."

The tension between the brothers crackled like summer lightning, feeling tight and unnatural. You stood there, bare feet on the rocky shore, feeling caught between worlds once again—the neutral sanctuary of the temple and the blood-soaked territories beyond, where these boys fought battles you were sheltered from.

"The Mizuno brothers were punished accordingly," you said firmly, trying to redirect the conversation. "Divine Anora ensures that all who enter the temple grounds understand the consequences of violating its sanctity."

Tobirama's gaze lingered on you, searching for something in your expression. "And what of the Uchiha? Do they visit the temple often?"

The question seemed innocent enough, but you recognized the calculation behind it. You chose your words carefully, wanting to avoid the topic altogether. "All clans seek the Divine's wisdom," you said, keeping your tone and face neutral. "The Uchiha clan is no different."

Tobirama continued to study you with that piercing gaze, asking about specific times, who came with them, and what they discussed. Each question felt like another stone added to a wall being built between you.

Finally, you sighed and placed your hands on your hips. "Alright, are you done interrogating me now? I thought we were here to enjoy the creek, not conduct an investigation."

Tobirama held your gaze for a moment longer before his disapproving expression cracked. He rolled his eyes and reached up to remove his faceplate, setting it beside him on the ground.

You watched him as he ran a hand through his disheveled white hair, now slick with sweat. Though he was just fifteen, he already carried himself like a seasoned warrior. A small scar curved along his right cheek that hadn't been there during his last visit— a testament to the battles he'd fought in your time apart. His eyes remained stern, calculating, but something was compelling about the firmness of his jaw, the sharp angles of his face that were losing their boyish softness.

Despite his prickly nature, you had to admit he'd grown into someone undeniably handsome.

"What are you staring at?" He asked, his tone clipped and defensive.

"Nothing," you replied with a smirk and mischievous eyes. "But you know, Tobirama, you're lucky you're pretty, because you’re really annoying."

Before he could respond, you reached out and ruffled his white hair, messing it up completely. His eyes narrowed as he swatted you away.

"You’re annoying— leave me alone," he grumbled.

"Or what?" You challenged, doing it again.

In one swift motion, Tobirama grabbed your wrist. "You're asking for trouble," he warned, but the playful glint in his eyes contradicted his serious tone.

You twisted your arm free and poked him in the ribs as he stood. "Maybe I am."

He lunged forward, attempting to grab you, but you danced away with a laugh. Hashirama watched from the creek, floating on his back with an amused smile as you and Tobirama circled each other on the bank.

"You've gotten faster," Tobirama begrudgingly noted approvingly as he missed another attempt to catch you.

"And you've gotten slower," you teased, darting behind him to tap his shoulder before spinning away again.

This time, when he moved, it was with the full speed of a shinobi. One moment, he was in front of you; the next, he had appeared behind you, his arm wrapping around your waist as he lifted you off your feet.

"Who's slow now?" He asked, his breath warm against your ear.

You squirmed in his grasp, but his hold was firm, his training evident in the controlled strength of his arms.

"Let me go!" You protested, though your laughter undermined any real indignation.

"Not until you admit I'm faster," he said, his voice carrying the rare hint of playfulness that you missed so much throughout the year.

Instead of answering, you jabbed your elbow backward, aiming for his ribs. He grunted but maintained his grip on your fidgeting body. You twisted in his arms to face him, poking him in both his cheeks with a confident smile.

"You're more annoying than a little sister," he muttered, swatting your hand away as you moved to poke him again.

"And you're more grumpy than your father," you countered, slapping his hands as he tried to stop you.

The deep, resonant sound of temple bells suddenly echoed through the valley, cutting through your banter. Three distinct rings—the call to return.

"Already?" Hashirama sighed, standing up in the creek and shaking water from his hair.

Tobirama flicked your nose while you were distracted, earning a dramatic OW! as you scowled at the white-haired boy. Reluctantly, you made your way to the edge of the creek where you had left your sandals. You bent down to retrieve them, but frowned when you only found one.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of something yellow drifting downstream. During your scuffle with Tobirama, one of your sandals must have been kicked into the creek and was now being carried away by the current.

"Great," you muttered, watching it disappear around a bend.

Hashirama, already dressed and ready to go, sauntered over to you with an amused expression. "Looks like you have a problem."

You looked down at your one remaining sandal, then at the rocky path back to the temple. "I can manage."

"Nonsense," Hashirama said, crouching down with his back to you. "Hop on."

You hesitated, glancing at Tobirama, who was already securing his weapons and faceplate.

"Father and Divine Anora will be waiting," Tobirama reminded you both, his voice regaining its formal edge.

With a shrug, you climbed onto Hashirama's back, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he stood, lifting you effortlessly.

"Hold tight," he warned, his eyes finding Tobirama's after a brief pause. A silent challenge passed between them, and you could practically feel Hashirama rearing up beneath you.

Tobirama's expression shifted instantly from annoyance to determination. "You're at a disadvantage carrying her."

"Am I?" Hashirama grinned, his chakra already surging. "We'll see about that."

You look questioningly at the white-haired brother before you feel Hashirama shift your weight.

"Don't even think about it," Tobirama started, but Hashirama had already taken off, sprinting up the path with you clinging to his back for dear life, shrieking from his speed.

"You’ve already lost!" Hashirama called over his shoulder, laughing as Tobirama cursed and broke into a run behind him.

The forest blurred around you as Hashirama leapt from stone to stone, his movements fluid despite carrying you. You couldn't help but laugh as the wind whipped your hair around, the exhilaration of his inhuman speed making your heart race. Experiencing the young shinobi’s skill firsthand sent a thrill through you, your arms and legs tightening around Hashirama as you bounced wildly on his back. Behind you, his younger brother gained ground with each stride, his expression fiercely determined.

"He's catching up," you warned, peering over your shoulder.

"Not for long," Hashirama replied, suddenly veering off the main path and cutting through a dense section of underbrush. Branches whipped past, forcing you to duck your head against his back.

The temple came into view through the trees, its stone pagoda rising above the forest canopy. Hashirama burst from the treeline onto the manicured path leading to the temple gates with ease. Tobirama appeared from the opposite side, his speed allowing him to close the distance despite Hashirama's shortcut. Both brothers sprinted toward the gates, neither willing to concede defeat.

"Almost there!" Hashirama panted, adjusting his grip on your thighs.

Tobirama pulled alongside you, shooting you a competitive glance before putting on a final burst of speed. The brothers crossed the threshold of the temple gates simultaneously, dramatically skidding to a halt in a cloud of dust.

"I won," they declared in unison, both breathing heavily.

Sister Mei stood at the entrance, her wispy blonde hair blowing in the hot breeze with painted lips pressed into a tight line of disapproval. Her gaze traveled from the brothers' flushed faces to you as you slid down from Hashirama's back, your bare feet landing softly on the stone path.

"Young maiden," she said, her voice as sharp as a blade, "explain yourself."

"I lost my sandal in the creek, Sister." You explained as you straightened your skirts.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your answer. "And I suppose the creek also mussed your hair and dirtied your dress? What would the Divine say if she saw you returning in such a state, and with our guests no less?"

Heat crept up your neck as you bowed your head. "I apologize, Sister Mei."

Your apology lacked sincerity, and Sister Mei knew it. She sighed, shaking her head hopelessly at you. "See that it doesn't. Now come, it's time for the midday meal. Your... adventures... have already delayed us."

She turned on her heel, gesturing for you to follow. You glanced back at the brothers, offering a small shrug before trailing after Sister Mei, the cool stone of the temple floor soothing against your bare feet.

The tea room was prepared for lunch, the scent of ginger and fresh food mingling in the air. You settled on the cushion next to Hashirama, across from his brother, resuming your unbothered grace.

"I hope our little race didn't get you into too much trouble," Hashirama said, his voice lowered as Sister Mei busied herself with the tea.

You shook your head, a small smile playing at your lips. "Sister Mei's bark is worse than her bite."

Tobirama watched the exchange with those calculating eyes of his, saying nothing as the sisters brought in trays of food—steamed rice, grilled fish, and summer vegetables. You didn't waste time with pleasantries, helping yourself to generous portions of every dish within reach. The brothers exchanged amused glances as you attacked your plate unceremoniously without shame.

"When was the last time you ate?" Tobirama asked, one eyebrow raised as you stuffed your cheeks like a chipmunk.

You paused mid-bite to stick your tongue out at him. "Running from you works up an appetite."

“Says the girl who got a free ride,” Tobirama said as he rolled his eyes.

By the time Sister Mei brought in sweet bean cakes for dessert, your stomach protested, but your appetite wouldn't be denied. You savored each bite of the treat, ignoring Tobirama's continued stare as you reached for a second, then a third.

When the final one disappeared, you groaned and dramatically flopped onto your back, arms splayed above your head.

"I can't move," you declared, staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling. "I think I'm going to die here."

Hashirama peered down at you, his brown hair creating a curtain as he leaned over. "That would be truly unfortunate. Who would annoy my brother if you died?"

"I've never seen someone so small eat so much,” Tobirama added with a raised brow.

You sat up enough to give him a playful glare. "You better not be calling me fat."

"Hmm," Tobirama smirked. "At this rate, I don’t know how you’ll fit out the door."

"You’re going to eat those words," you chided back as a lazy threat, furrowing your brow as you plopped down again with a pinched face.

“Not if you eat them first,” Tobirama chuckled.

You opened your mouth to retort when the sliding door opened with a soft hiss. You tilted your head back, viewing the newcomer upside down from your sprawled position. The stern, weathered face of Butsuma Senju appeared in the doorway, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the floor.

You scrambled to sit upright, smoothing your rumpled clothes as the Senju patriarch's eyes swept over the scene with cool assessment.

"Father," Hashirama acknowledged, his posture straightening immediately.

Butsuma nodded curtly. "The inner sanctum has been prepared,” he announced, his deep voice resonating in the small space. "It is time to begin." Hashirama rose smoothly to his feet, but you noticed how Tobirama hesitated, his eyes searching his father’s.

“Well? Are you coming?” Butsuma asked plainly.

"Both of us?" Tobirama asked, his voice carefully neutral despite the subtle excitement you detected beneath.

“Yes, come now, before we make Divine Anora wait any longer.”

Without saying a word to you, Butsuma turns to leave, expecting his children to follow.

“See ya later!” Hashirama waves with a smile before he’s out the door.

“Don’t die while we’re gone,” Tobirama added before following right behind his older brother.

Now alone, you drop down again on the floor, listening to the muted sound of birds and crickets chirp as you groan, feeling the strong desire to take a nap.

Chapter Text

The seasons turned continuously, with recurrent visits from your father and the Uchiha head family, who arrived two days before your fourteenth birthday. Your father had gifted you two ornate hand fans with golden dragons engraved along the handle and side, proving to be a subtle weapon that was easy to hide. With the promise of returning to train with them, your father departed with the rest of the Uchiha soon after.

At the turning of autumn, Kaito returned to the temple without his usual entourage in tow. This time, you spotted three figures on horseback approaching the temple gates. Your heart leaped when you recognized your father's broad shoulders and the Uchiha crest proudly displayed on his chest. Without waiting for permission, you raced down the stone steps, your navy silk gown fluttering behind you as you ran to greet them.

“You’re back!” You called out as you nearly flew to your father’s side.

Kaito dismounted with ease, his weathered face breaking into a warm smile as you approached. He opened his arms just in time to catch you in a tight embrace, lifting you slightly off the ground despite your growing frame.

“Good gods, girl!” He grunted as he lifted your weight. “You’re almost as tall as your mother,” he huffed in your ear before settling you back down on your feet. You rolled your eyes at his comment, focusing on the two others who tagged along.

Behind him, a woman with familiar dark Uchiha eyes carefully slid from her horse, assisted by a tall man with a gentle demeanor. It was your father’s younger sister, Kaori, and her shinobi husband, Taro. Both wore fleece capes to ward off the creeping cold, smiling warmly once they met your eyes.

"Alessia!" Kaori exclaimed, her face lighting up as she stepped forward to embrace you. Her slender figure was wrapped in a deep burgundy kimono beneath her cape, the Uchiha crest embroidered subtly on her sleeve. Despite the cool weather, her cheeks were flushed with a healthy glow, and her long, silky black hair was arranged in an elegant twist at the nape of her neck, with a few stray pieces framing her face. "It’s been ages since I’ve seen you, you’re practically a woman!"

You returned her embrace with a slight blush, breathing in the faint scent of jasmine that always seemed to cling to her. "Aunt Kaori, I'm so happy to see you."

Taro approached behind his wife, his tall frame casting a shadow in the autumn light. Unlike many Uchiha, whose features appear stern or severe, Taro's face held a perpetual gentleness, though the thin scar that ran across his left cheek spoke of his capacity as a warrior. His dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled down at you.

"Our little priestess," he said warmly, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Not so little anymore, I see."

You bowed your head respectfully before looking up at them both. "I'm surprised to see you here. Is everything alright?"

Kaori exchanged a meaningful glance with her husband before her hand drifted to rest on her abdomen, a gesture so subtle you might have missed it if you hadn't been watching her closely.

"I would say better than alright," she smiled, her voice light with excitement. "I'm with child, Alessia. Three months along now."

Your eyes widened as joy bloomed in your chest, a matching smile blooming across your face. The thought of having a cousin, another piece of family outside of the temple, sparked something in your heart. "That's wonderful news!"

"We've come for a blessing," Taro explained, his hand finding Kaori's. "And to learn if we're to expect a son or daughter."

Before you could question them further, the sound of approaching footsteps drew your attention. Your mother descended the temple steps with grace, her white robes flowing delicately around her. The sight of Kaito seemed to quicken her pace, and you watched as formality melted away when they reached each other.

Your father opened his arms, and your mother stepped into them without hesitation. They embraced openly, Kaito pressing a kiss to her cheek as she held him close.

"I've missed you," you heard her murmur before she smoothly pulled away, turning to greet the others.

"Kaori, Taro," she acknowledged them with the full warmth of her divine presence. "Welcome back to the Temple of Akatosh." Her eyes swept over Kaori with knowing perception. "And I sense the stirring of a fourth visitor in our midst."

Kaori's eyes widened with surprise and delight. "Yes, Divine Anora, we have come seeking your blessing and some insight on our child.”

Your mother smiled, reaching out to take Kaori's hand in hers. "Come with me, dear. Let us see what secrets this little one holds." Her eyes shifted to your father, softening in that way they only did for him. "Kaito, stay with Alessia. We won't be long."

"Of course," he nodded, his hand briefly touching the small of your mother's back as she passed. You didn't miss the lingering glance they shared before she led the young couple away toward the inner sanctum.

Your father watched them disappear through the temple doors, then turned to you with a sigh that seemed to release some invisible burden.

"Let's get these beasts settled," Kaito suggested, taking the reins of his mount and his sister's. You nodded, reaching for Taro's horse, a sturdy chestnut that nudged your shoulder affectionately. As you led the animals toward the small stable just outside the temple gates, excitement bubbled up inside you.

"I can't believe I'm going to have a cousin," you said, unable to contain your joy. "Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?"

Your father chuckled, his calloused hand patting the neck of his buckskin stallion. "Hard to say. Uchiha tend to favor sons, but your aunt has always had a mind of her own. I wouldn't be surprised if she managed to will a daughter into existence just to challenge tradition."

You laughed at that, picturing your aunt stubbornly instructing her unborn child on proper gender selection. You helped your father remove one of the saddles and bridles, working in comfortable silence for a few moments before speaking again. "Father, do you think they'll bring the baby to visit often?" The question held more weight than you intended, and your father's movements slowed as he hung a bridle on its hook.

"I hope so," he said carefully, watching your face. "Though traveling with an infant is difficult."

You nodded, trying to hide your disappointment as you filled the water troughs. "I just wish I could see all of you more often," you said softly, your eyes fixed on the rippling water. "Not just when you can visit."

Kaito's hands stilled on the final saddle. He set it aside carefully before turning to face you, his brow furrowed with an emotion you couldn't quite name—something between sympathy and guilt.

"Come," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Let's walk back to the temple."

Chapter Text

You followed him out of the stables, falling into step beside his tall figure. Instead of heading for the main hall, he guided you toward the eastern gardens. He led you to a large stone lounge chair nestled beneath an awning beside a willow tree, its branches creating a natural canopy of golden leaves that swayed gently in the mabon breeze. The chair was cushioned with plush pillows in the temple's colors—deep reds and black embroidered with gold thread. Your father gestured for you to sit, then settled beside you with a deep sigh.

"Alessia," he began, his voice carrying a weight you rarely heard. "I see the longing in your eyes when you speak of life beyond these walls."

You pulled your knees to your chest, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his perceptive gaze. "Is it that obvious?"

Kaito's weathered face softened with understanding. "To a father? Yes." He placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch warm through the silk of your gown. "But you have so much here, my daughter. More than most could dream of."

"I know," you murmured, tracing the pattern on a nearby pillow with your fingertip.

"You'll be Divine one day," he continued, his voice taking on an encouraging tone. "You'll lead this temple, guide the lost, commune with Akatosh himself. Few in this world are chosen for such honor."

You nodded, guilt beginning to pool in your stomach. Your father was right— you had been chosen, blessed with purpose and protection while war ravaged the lands beyond.

"You get to meet diplomats, clan leaders, people of tremendous importance who travel days just for a moment in your mother's presence— and someday, yours." He added, gesturing to the temple grounds.

"Yes, I know but I—"

"And you have your mother," he pressed on, his voice growing more earnest. "You have the sisters, priestesses, and monks who care for you, teach you, protect you."

The guilt deepened, twisting uncomfortably in your chest. You knew you should be grateful, knew that your life was privileged in ways others could never imagine. And yet...

"I don't want to sound ungrateful," you said finally, meeting your father's eyes. "But sometimes I wonder if I'm missing out on life for myself." The words came out in a rush, as though you'd been holding them back for too long. "On experiences I'll never have, confined to these walls. Sure, I am saved from war, but what of everything else? To be around other people, to…."

Your father's expression shifted, understanding dawning in his dark eyes. He knew what you weren't saying—the longing for connection, for love, for the freedom to choose your own path.

"Well," he started carefully. "It’s not as if you are deprived of others your age. You have Izuna and Madara, and they care for you deeply."

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up despite your efforts to remain composed. "It's not the same as experiencing it outside the temple. The temple doesn't allow love or happiness, father. A priestess will never have anything outside of this temple, no hope of sharing your life with another.”

To your surprise, your father chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "Has your mother never told you how we met? How we fell in love?"

You blinked, startled by the question. "No. She speaks of you fondly, but never about how you came together."

Kaito leaned back against the lounge chair, stretching his long legs out before him as his gaze drifted toward the distant mountains. The afternoon sun caught in his dark hair, revealing strands of silver you hadn't noticed before.

"When I was younger," he began, "my parents and I would travel to the temple twice a year, alongside Tajima and his family. It was tradition among the Uchiha elders to seek the Divine's blessing before the equinox." A fond smile played across his lips as memories surfaced. "That's where I first saw your mother."

You shifted to face him fully, drawn in by this rare glimpse into their past.

"Anora was still in training then— a distinguished High Priestess-to-be with eyes that could pierce your very soul." His voice softened with reverence. "I fell in love immediately— the way only a foolish young boy can. She was beautiful, yes, but it was more than that. She had this... presence. This certainty about her place in the world that I envied."

You shifted on the cushion, fascinated by this glimpse into your parents’ past. "And mother? Did she feel the same?"

Your father laughed, the sound rich and warm. "Gods, no. Your mother wouldn't give me the time of day. For years, I'd make excuses to visit the temple, bringing offerings, volunteering for diplomatic missions— anything to catch a glimpse of her and vie for her attention." He shook his head with a nostalgic gaze. "Tajima thought I'd lost my damn mind. 'Give it up,' he'd tell me. That she is promised to the gods, not man.” His expression turned wistful as he smiled. "But I couldn't. Something about her drew me in, even as she grew into her role and I into mine.

The breeze stirred the willow branches above you, sending a shower of golden leaves spiraling down around you both.

"What changed?" You prompted when he fell silent.

"Persistence," he said with a wry smile. "And perhaps fate. After many years, when your mother was nearly ready to ascend as Divine, I cornered her in the eastern garden—right over there." He pointed to a secluded alcove beneath a stone archway. "She finally confronted me, with the temper of a caged lion, she demanded to know why I would waste my time on a woman like her— one whose destiny lay confined within these very temple walls."

You could almost see it— your mother, proud and fierce, challenging the warrior who dared to love her. Her resolute face never fell, no matter what storm brewed inside her.

"What did you say?" You whispered as your eyes searched your father’s.

"I told her the truth," your father said simply. "That I loved her beautiful amber eyes, her annoyingly strong-willed ways, and how her heart beat with the same fire that burned in mine." The smirk on his face made him look younger, and for a moment, you imagined your father at your age, the love-struck, boisterous boy that he was. "Then I kissed her, and to my amazement, she kissed me back. I thought my life was finally falling into place—I had the woman I loved, and nothing else mattered."

Something in his tone made you tense, sensing the story was about to turn. "But it wasn't that simple, was it?"

"No." Your father's expression darkened. "In the beginning, I was beyond happy, believing that things would finally go my way now that I had won her heart. But I was naive. Shortly after your mother's ascension as Divine, word spread throughout the lands of her beauty and power.”

Your father's eyes grew distant, remembering a time before you existed.

"Warriors and noblemen from every corner of the world suddenly appeared at the temple gates—some traveling for months just to reach this valley. At first, I thought nothing of it. The ascension of a new Divine always draws pilgrims seeking blessings." He shook his head. "Then Tajima and I discovered the truth. They came seeking the Rite."

Your breath caught as you realized what he was about to reveal. The Rite of Passage— an ancient tradition you'd heard whispered about since childhood. A trial that few survived, and fewer still completed.

"These men weren't merely seeking blessings," your father continued, his voice hardening. "They came for the Rite of Passage… to compete for the claim to bed the new Divine."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling a chill move down your spine. Though you'd grown up in the temple, this aspect of your mother's position had always remained shrouded in vague explanations. You knew of the Rite— a brutal trial where warriors faced deadly challenges set by Akatosh himself, where they battled not only the elements, traps, puzzles, and beasts, but also each other. The few victors earned the privilege of continuing the Divine's bloodline, ensuring the next generation would possess the strength to commune with dragons.

"I watched as they lined up, competing for the right to lie with my woman— the woman I had loved for years." Your father said, disgust evident in his tone. "Preening peacocks, all of them, boasting of their prowess, their bloodlines, their victories in battle— as if any of that made them worthy."

His fist clenched at the memory. "I couldn't bear it. The thought of another man touching her, claiming what I believed was mine alone... it drove me mad. And that madness caused my Sharingan to awaken."

You gasped as he showed you his triple tamoe Sharingan, enrapturing you in the spinning patterns. "What did you do?"

"What any fool in love would do," he answered with a dangerous smile. "I entered the Rite myself."

Your eyes widened. "B-but the Rite is—"

"Deadly? Yes." He nodded solemnly. "Men have been devoured by Akatosh, torn apart by rival competitors, lost in the ancient catacombs beneath the temple, or even lost their minds by what they witnessed there. Your mother said it's how Akatosh ensures only the strongest bloodlines mix with that of the Divine."

A chill ran down your spine as you imagined your father facing such horrors and having done it willingly for love.

“I challenged every warrior who dared to compete— bested them in combat or forced them to withdraw before they could even face the temple's trials." He continued, his voice taking on the cadence of a battle-hardened warrior. “Some refused to yield. Those men didn't leave the valley alive."

You stared at him, seeing your father in a new light—not just as your father, or the Uchiha warrior who visited when duties allowed, but as a man who had fought and killed for love.

"Even Butsuma Senju came," he added, surprising you. "Young and arrogant, believing himself deserving of the Divine's bed. But when he saw what happened to those who stood against me, he withdrew his claim. It's perhaps the only wise decision that man has ever made."

You couldn't help but laugh, picturing a young, stern, Butsuma Senju backing away with his tail between his legs. The image of your father standing victorious while the Senju patriarch retreated was both satisfying and amusing.

"So you frightened Butsuma Senju into submission?" You asked between giggles, your eyes bright with admiration.

Your father grinned, looking pleased with your reaction. "Let's just say he recognized when he was outmatched. Though he's never forgiven me for it."

As your laughter subsided, a warmth spread through your chest. Your father had fought impossible odds, defied ancient tradition, and risked death—all for love. It was the most romantic thing you'd ever heard, just like something from the storybooks Sister Hana read to you as a child.

"So that's how you and Mother came to be together," you said softly. "You braved the Rite for her."

"Yes," he affirmed, his voice steady and hard with restrained emotion. "And I would do it again in a heartbeat."

Chapter Text

Kaito's hand found yours, his callused palm rough against your skin. "Which brings me to my point, Alessia. Love will find you, whether you're ready for it or not. Be it permitted or forbidden, it will come to you as surely as the seasons change."

You tilted your head, considering his words as the autumn breeze rustled the willow branches above. Your father set a remarkable bar. How were you going to find a lover like that behind these stone walls?

"You will live in the temple as a Tatsu Priestess, but you are also a Uchiha," he continued, his voice pulling you from your hopeless worries. "And as a Uchiha, you will experience emotions more powerfully than others. Love, especially, will burn brighter and deeper within you. It consumes us, becomes the center of our world."

His eyes met yours, suddenly serious. "But that same capacity for love is matched by our capacity for hate. When a Uchiha loses someone they love, that pain can transform into something terrible, turning love's bright flame into a darkness that devours everything in its path."

You shivered despite the warm afternoon sun; the tone of his voice chilling you to the core. "Is that why people fear the Uchiha?"

"They fear what someone can become once their love is lost," he answered, squeezing your hand. "That's the Uchiha curse—to love so deeply that we risk losing ourselves to sorrow if that love is taken. Amid that, the desire for power, control, and lust will breed. That is when a Uchiha can commit true horrors."

You thought of the stories you'd heard whispered about your father's clan— tales of warriors driven to brutal madness in their hunger for power, of vengeful ghosts consumed by retribution.

The breeze picked up, sending more leaves cascading around you both as you absorbed his words.

"Your mother and I," he said as he held your gaze intently, "would do anything to protect you. The world is not always a kind place, as you have seen for yourself. And as your father, I must shield you from the darkness that taints the rest of this world. It's why we've worked so hard to keep you safe here, even when it means being apart."

You nodded slowly, understanding dawning in your heart. Your father's frequent absences, your mother's strict training– all of it stemmed from their desire to protect you, not just physically, but emotionally as well.

"Will I..." you hesitated, then pressed on. "Will I ever awaken my Sharingan like you?"

Your father's expression softened as he gazed at you, his dark eyes reflecting the golden afternoon light. "No, my sweet girl. I'm afraid not."

The disappointment must have shown on your face because he quickly placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Your Tatsu blood is dominant— it's what allows you to commune with Akatosh, to channel magick in ways no Uchiha could dream of." His voice grew gentle. "It's better this way, Alessia. Without the Sharingan, you can hide your Uchiha descent much more easily from those who would use it against you."

You nodded, though the disappointment lingered. "I suppose that makes sense."

"Besides," he added with a wink, "you've inherited far more useful traits from me than my eyes."

"Like what?" you asked, curiosity piqued.

"My charm. My stubbornness." He grinned. "And my tendency to question everything."

"Is that a bad thing?" You asked with a cheeky smile.

"Not at all. But it did get your mother into trouble a few times." A mischievous grin spread across your father’s face as he leaned closer to you. "Would you believe your proper, dignified mother let me sneak her out of the temple under the full moon?"

Your jaw dropped. "She did not!"

"Oh, but she did," he confirmed with obvious delight. "More than once, in fact. I convinced her to slip away for a few nights before she was named Divine."

"But that's forbidden!" You gasped, scandalized and thrilled all at once.

"Precisely why it was so exciting," Kaito grinned. "Your grandmother— now she was a formidable woman— eventually caught us returning at dawn. I've never seen anyone turn that red with rage, I thought her head was going to explode! She threatened to feed me to Akatosh piece by piece in front of my entire clan."

You burst into delighted laughter, trying to imagine your stern, dignified mother sneaking around like a wayward teenager. "She never told me any of this!"

"Of course not," your father chuckled. "Your mother has an image to maintain. The Divine Anora most people see— regal, composed, unyielding— is only half the woman I know." His eyes softened as he recalled memories. "Behind those temple doors, when it's just us, she's passionate, stubborn, and fiercely argumentative. The responsibilities of being Divine changed her over time, forced her to become more reserved, more calculated in her actions."

You blinked, surprised by this revelation. "Mother was argumentative?"

"Oh, terribly so," Kaito chuckled. "I’m afraid I was quite the bad influence on her, encouraging her to speak her mind. In turn, she vocally questioned everything—the temple traditions, the ancient texts, even Akatosh himself at times. Your grandmother despaired that she would never settle into her role."

"What happened?" You asked, leaning forward eagerly.

Your father's smile faded slightly. "Life happened. Responsibility. The weight of a world looking to her for guidance. The knowledge that her actions affected not just herself, but everyone who sought the Divine's wisdom." He paused, studying your face. "She had to learn to temper her impulses, to consider the consequences of her choices."

As you absorbed his words, you began to think about your mother— not just as the serene, untouchable Divine, but as a woman who had questioned the life destiny had in store for her, just as you did.

"She became what the world needed her to be," your father continued quietly. "But that fire still burns within her, Alessia. I see it when she looks at you."

You looked down at your hands, turning this new understanding over in your mind. Knowing she used to feel like you did offered no solace. Your mother had eventually surrendered to her role, becoming the calculated Divine that the world expected.

Did you want that for yourself?

Before you could ask your father more about your mother, the sound of approaching footsteps drew your attention. Your mother appeared from around the willow tree, with Kaori and Taro following closely behind. The afternoon sun reflected in your mother's hair, illuminating the silken strands that matched your own, and for the first time, you truly saw the woman beneath the Divine's mantle— the woman your father had risked everything to love.

"There you are," she said, her voice carrying that familiar note of authority, but now you detected something else— a warmth previously hidden beneath layers of formality. "I wondered where you'd disappeared to."

Your father stood, extending his hand to help you up from the stone bench. "Just sharing some family history with our daughter," he said with a meaningful glance that made your mother raise an eyebrow.

"Is that so?" She asked, her amber eyes narrowing slightly at your father. Your mother's gaze flickered between you both, clearly suspicious of what tales Kaito might have been sharing. The corner of your father's mouth quirked up in that familiar, mischievous way that always suggested he was up to something.

"Nothing but the truth, I assure you," he replied with an innocent shrug that fooled no one. Your mother's eyes narrowed further, but a reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

"I'm sure," she said dryly before turning her attention to you.

You brushed a few golden willow leaves from your silk gown as you looked eagerly at your aunt and uncle. "How did everything go?" You asked, noticing the radiant smile that seemed to grow on Kaori's face.

"It went wonderfully," Kaori replied, her face lighting up even more with pride. "Divine Anora has blessed us with incredible news. We're having a son!" She exchanged a loving glance with Taro, squeezing his hand before continuing.

"And we've decided to name him Kagami."

Chapter Text

The late spring sun beat down relentlessly on the valley, turning the air thick with humidity as you knelt beside the rushing waterfall. Your basket was already half-filled with herbs—wild mint, yarrow, and the rare dragon's breath that only bloomed for a few precious weeks each year. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you carefully snipped another stem of feverfew, adding it to your collection.

Not far from where you worked, the Senju brothers had been training for hours. Their visit to the temple had become something you looked forward to with increasing anticipation as you grew older. Rearing near fifteen, you found yourself stealing glances at them more often than you cared to admit.

Hashirama moved with fluid grace despite his size, his long hair whipping around as he dodged his brother's attacks. Tobirama was all precision and calculated strikes, his striking white strands gleaming in the sunlight as he pressed his advantage. Their bodies had changed in the months since you'd last seen them—broader shoulders, leaner waists, the unmistakable transition from boys to young men.

You pretended to focus on the delicate purple flowers before you, but your eyes kept drifting toward their sparring match. The way Tobirama's muscles tensed before each strike, the confidence in Hashirama's stance— it was mesmerizing.

The sounds of their sparring filled the valley: the crack of splintering wood, the splash of water jutsu, and the metallic ring of kunai striking kunai. You paused in your gathering to watch more openly, mesmerized by the display of skill that surpassed anything you'd seen from the temple warriors.

"Parlay!" Hashirama shouted, chest heaving with exertion. "I yield before my brother's superior skill and brutality!"

Tobirama lowered his stance, shaking his head in obvious exasperation. "You can't just quit every time you start losing," he scolded, walking toward the pool where you sat.

His skin glistened with sweat, face flushed from exertion as he approached. You quickly looked down at your herbs, pretending you hadn't been watching them for the past hour.

"He always does this," Tobirama said to you, his voice carrying that familiar edge of annoyance reserved for his brother. "We haven't even been training for—"

A tremendous splash interrupted him as Hashirama launched himself into the pool right in front of his brother. Water erupted in all directions, drenching both you and Tobirama.

You gasped as cold water soaked through your pink satin dress, plastering it against your skin. Your carefully harvested herbs were now damp, the basket teetering precariously at the pool's edge before you managed to grab it. Beside you, Tobirama stood rigid with indignation, water dripping from his already sweat-damp hair.

"Hashirama!" Tobirama barked, glaring at his brother who now floated contentedly on his back.

"What?" Hashirama asked innocently, though his grin betrayed him. "It's hot, and you both looked like you needed cooling off."

Tobirama's glare intensified, and Hashirama's smile faltered immediately. "I'm sorry," he said, his face falling dramatically as he sank deeper into the water. "I've ruined everything. I'm a terrible guest. You must hate me now."

"Oh, stop being so dramatic," you laughed, wringing out the hem of your dress. "It's just water."

Hashirama's face brightened immediately, his mood shifting with a flash. "See, Tobi? Alessia understands."

Tobirama scoffed, rolling his eyes skyward as if seeking divine patience. With quick, efficient movements, he began removing his faceplate and setting it carefully on a dry rock. The armor plates followed, each piece methodically placed beside the last. Layer by layer, he stripped away the protective gear until he stood in only his fitted black undershirt. With a frustrated sigh, he peeled that off too, revealing a torso sculpted by years of rigorous training.

You tried to look away—truly, you did—but your eyes betrayed you, drawn to the lean muscles of his back as he knelt by the water's edge. He cupped water in his hands and splashed it over his face, the action causing the muscles in his arms to flex and shift. Your eyes traced the lines of his form, memorizing the way his muscles tensed with each movement. There was something mesmerizing about the controlled power in each gesture, so different from his brother's exuberant energy.

Heat rose to your cheeks, despite your best attempt to ignore it. You busied yourself with rearranging your damp herbs, stealing glances whenever you thought he wouldn't notice. Sixteen years old and already his body spoke of battles fought and won, of discipline and dedication that few his age possessed.

Tobirama shook water from his hair like a dog, sending droplets flying through the air. Without acknowledging either you or his brother, he moved to a large boulder partially shaded by an overhanging tree. He settled himself cross-legged atop it, pulling a scroll from his pack and unrolling it with a practiced gesture. His focus shifted entirely to the text before him, brow furrowing slightly as he read.

The sight of the discarded purple flowers near your basket gave you an idea. Silently, you gathered a handful of the intricate blooms, their sweet scent filling your nostrils as you rose. Hashirama caught your eye from the pool and raised a questioning eyebrow. You pressed a finger to your lips, and his eyes sparkled with matched mischief as he nodded in understanding.

Moving with all the stealth your father’s training had taught you, you approached Tobirama from behind. His white hair, still damp from Hashirama's splash, gleamed in the sunlight like freshly fallen snow. With delicate precision, you placed the first flower just above his ear, nestling it into the soft strands.

He didn't move.

Emboldened, you added a second, then a third, each one carefully positioned to create a crown of purple blossoms against the stark white of his hair. By the sixth flower, you could hear Hashirama's poorly suppressed snickering from the pool. Still, Tobirama remained focused on his scroll, either oblivious or—more likely— choosing to ignore your mischief.

The seventh flower completed a circle around the crown of his head. You reached for the eighth, preparing to place it directly at the center of his hair, when his voice broke the silence.

“What could you possibly be doing?”

You froze, caught red-handed, but couldn't suppress the smile that spread across your face. Instead of retreating, you boldly placed the eighth flower right at the crown of his head as planned, completing your masterpiece.

"Just improving your appearance," you teased, stepping back to admire your handiwork. "Purple suits you; it really brings out your eyes."

Tobirama's hand reached up, fingers brushing against the dark petals adorning his hair. His eyes widened as understanding dawned, quickly followed by a flush that crept up his neck to his cheeks.

"Very mature," he muttered, attempting to pluck the flowers from his hair but only managing to dislodge a few of them. The remaining flowers clung stubbornly to his damp white strands.

Hashirama's laughter echoed across the water. "Leave them, brother! You look positively enchanting!"

Tobirama shot his brother a withering glare before turning his attention back to you. "Are you quite finished?

"Not really," you admitted, leaning over his shoulder to peer at the scroll in his hands. Your chest hovering over his bare back as you positioned yourself close enough to read the intricate diagrams and symbols. The scent of him— cedar, sweat, and clean linen— filled your senses, making your heart beat just a little faster.

The scroll contained intricate diagrams and symbols you didn't recognize, with detailed notes written in Tobirama's precise handwriting.

"What are you reading?" You asked, your breath stirring the damp strands of hair at his nape.

Tobirama stiffened, as if suddenly aware of your proximity. "Nothing that would interest you," he said, his voice oddly strained as he shifted away slightly.

"Is that a new jutsu?" You persisted, leaning even closer. Your chest pressed against his back as you pointed to a complex sequence of hand signs illustrated on the parchment. "I've never seen these symbols before."

"It's advanced water manipulation," he admitted reluctantly, his shoulders tensing further as you remained looming over him. "Something I've been studying."

"Do you know how to perform it already?" You asked, genuinely intrigued.

He nodded, still not meeting your eyes. "Of course I do."

"Will you teach me?"

Chapter Text

Tobirama turned his head, finding your face unexpectedly close to his. For a moment, he simply stared at you, his expression unreadable except for the lingering flush on his cheeks.

"Do you even have the affinity for water?" He asked finally, sounding skeptical.

“I don’t know,” you casually shrugged against him.

Tobirama scoffed, a sound you'd become all too familiar with during his visits. "You don't even have shinobi training. This jutsu took me months to master."

"Well," you drawled as you stepped back to give him space. "I guess we'll just have to find out, won't we?"

Something flickered across his face— annoyance transforming into something like curiosity as he considered your determination. The remaining flowers began to slip from his hair, making it difficult to take him entirely seriously despite his stern expression.

"Fine," he said after a moment, setting the scroll aside. "But don't complain when you can't do it."

Hashirama had paddled closer to the edge of the pool, watching with undisguised interest as his younger brother positioned himself in front of you.

"The key is controlling the flow of chakra through precise points in your hands," Tobirama explained, his voice taking on the measured tone of an instructor. "Like this."

He demonstrated a series of hand signs, his fingers moving with practiced grace. "Now you try," he instructed, watching as you attempted to mimic his movements.

Your first attempt was clumsy, your fingers tangling as you tried to recall the sequence, your arms held up too weakly. Tobirama sighed, but instead of the dismissal you expected, he moved behind you.

"Like this," he said, his voice closer to your ear now. He repositioned your arms, tucking them in and lowering them closer to your core. His hands covered yours, guiding your fingers into the proper positions. The warmth of his chest against your back made it difficult to concentrate, but you forced yourself to focus on the lesson rather than the sensation of his skin against yours.

"Feel the chakra here," he murmured, pressing your index finger to your thumb in a specific configuration. "Then direct it outward into a pool, not inward. You should feel a circulating current build, and then you infuse it with chakra."

You closed your eyes, concentrating on the sensation. Something stirred within you— the buzzing feeling mingled with your chakra before you could stop it. Your magicka interlaced with your chakra, creating a fast buildup of both in your gut. You let it flow outward through your veins, directing it as Tobirama had instructed.

"Now release it," he commanded, his hands still guiding yours through the final sign.

You exhaled sharply, pushing the energy outward through your palms. A sudden rush of water exploded from your hands, far stronger than either of you had anticipated. It shot across the clearing, dousing the leaves and dirt, flowing right over Hashirama as he screamed and failed to dodge it.

Tobirama's hands fell away from yours as he stepped back in shock. His eyes were wide, mixed with something that looked remarkably like admiration and disbelief— and perhaps a touch of wariness.

"That's..." he breathed, staring at you as if seeing you for the first time. "How did you do that?"

"I... I don't know," you stammered, trying to mask your own surprise with nonchalance. The water was still pooling around you, slowly soaking into the moss-covered earth below. You flexed your fingers, feeling the residual tingle of power that remained.

"It just... happened."

Hashirama paddled to the edge of the pool, water streaming from his long hair as he hauled himself out. "That was incredible!" He exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement. "Do it again!"

Tobirama circled you slowly, his analytical gaze taking in every detail of your posture. The remaining flowers finally fell from his hair as he moved.

"Your chakra signature changed," he observed, stopping in front of you. "It felt... different. Heavier, somehow. More potent."

You shrugged, feigning casualness, though internally you understood exactly what had happened. Your magicka had instinctively merged with your chakra, amplifying the jutsu beyond what should have been possible for a first attempt. It was something your father had warned you about— the dangerous synergy that could reveal your true power to outsiders.

Tobirama's eyes narrowed slightly. "Try another," he said, not asking but commanding. "A different water form."

He demonstrated a new sequence of hand signs, more complex than the first. His movements were fluid and precise, ending with a small orb of water hovering above his palm.

"This requires finer control," he explained, his tone shifting back to that of an instructor. "You must maintain constant pressure from all sides while keeping the core stable."

You mimicked his movements, feeling the strange dual energy build within you again. This time, you were more aware of it— how your chakra and magicka seemed to dance around each other, enhancing rather than competing. When you completed the final sign, water materialized above your palm, not just a small orb but a perfect sphere twice the size of Tobirama's, its surface rippling with subtle iridescence.

Hashirama whistled, impressed. "You’re clearly a natural, Alessia!"

"No, that's impossible," Tobirama muttered, stepping closer to examine your water sphere. "You're not even using the correct chakra pathways, yet somehow..." He trailed off, reaching out to test the density of your creation with his finger.

The moment he touched it, the sphere expanded, responding to the introduction of his chakra by growing larger and more complex, forming intricate crystals over the surface.

You both jerked back in surprise, and the water splashed to the ground between you.

His scarlet eyes locked with yours, searching for answers to questions he hadn't yet formed. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out— only a sharp intake of breath.

"What are you?" He whispered, so softly that only you could hear.

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. You couldn't answer, couldn't find words to explain what had just happened when you barely understood it yourself. Instead, you simply stared back at him, caught in the intensity of his eyes.

Something electric passed between you— a current that wasn’t related to your chakra or magick, but something more primal, more human. His fingers twitched at his sides as if he wanted to reach for you but was restraining himself.

You became acutely aware of everything about him—the red scar over his left pectoral, the droplets of water still clinging to his skin, the way his pulse visibly quickened at the base of his throat. The air between you seemed to compress, making it difficult to breathe.

As the two of you stood—unmoving— suspended between one another’s fluctuating energies, you felt something shift between you and the younger Senju. The space between you felt both vast and nonexistent, almost as if you were connected.

Time would only tell if he felt it too.

Chapter Text

The long days of summer dragged on at the temple, each one bleeding into the next with little to distinguish them. The Senju brothers had departed months ago, leaving you with memories and questions that lingered like the persistent heat.

The early evening sun slanted through the stained-glass windows of the alchemy tower as you worked methodically, binding herbs into neat bundles for the temple's purification rituals. Your fingers moved with memorized ease, weaving lavender stems with sage and bergamot, tying each bundle with hemp twine before setting it aside to dry.

The mind-numbing task had lulled you into a meditative state when you felt it— a ripple in the air, a familiar energy approaching the temple grounds. Hot, burning, unmistakable.

The signature of Uchiha chakra.

Your heart leaped in your chest, excitement bubbling up like spring water. It had been nearly a year since you'd last seen any members of the Uchiha clan— an absence that had grown increasingly concerning with each passing month. Your father's visits, once regular if infrequent, had stopped entirely.

The last time you saw your father was at the announcement of your now soon-to-be-born cousin, Kagami… And when he told you the story of how he fell in love with your mother.

You set down the herbs with trembling fingers, trying to calm yourself as you rose from your workbench. Perhaps your father had finally returned. Perhaps he would explain his long absence, bring news from beyond the temple walls, maybe even gifts from distant lands as he sometimes did.

You made your way through the winding corridors of the temple, forcing yourself to walk with measured steps despite the urge to run. Propriety demanded composure, even as your pulse raced with anticipation.

But as you approached the main entrance, something felt different— wrong. The energy you sensed was familiar, yes—but incomplete somehow. Something was missing, a vital presence absent from the signature you'd come to recognize over the years.

Your pace slowed, excitement fading to apprehension as you rounded the final corner into the temple's entrance hall.

There stood your mother, her divine robes shimmering in the fading light, her face a mask of solemnity that made your blood run cold. Beside her were Madara and Izuna Uchiha, both dressed in formal battle attire bearing the clan's crest, their expressions grim and hollow.

Your father was not with them.

And neither was Tajima.

A sudden pain lanced through your skull, white-hot and blinding. The world tilted violently around you, the stone floor rushing up to meet you as your legs gave way beneath your body. You heard shouting, felt hands reaching for you, but they seemed distant, as though you were sinking underwater.

Familiar hands caught you before you hit the ground, strong arms cradling your suddenly limp form. A strange pressure built behind your eyes, burning and expanding until you felt they might burst from your skull.

And then you were elsewhere.

Rain poured from an iron-gray sky, turning the earth to mud beneath the feet of clashing warriors. The distinctive navy garb of the Uchiha flashed against the red of the Senju as the two clans tore into each other with savage precision.

Through the chaos, you spotted your father– his blade surging as he cut through three Senju warriors in rapid succession. His Sharingan blazed in his eyes, tracking every movement with inhuman accuracy. Despite the carnage surrounding him, there was a terrible beauty to his dance of death.

Then Butsuma Senju emerged from the rain like a specter, his face contorted with hatred as he locked eyes with your father. They circled each other, two predators assessing their prey.

"Kaito," Butsuma spat the name like a curse. "Today I will finish what should have ended years ago."

Your father's laugh rang out across the battlefield, fearless and mocking. "You couldn't best me then, Butsuma. What makes you think today will be different?"

Your father matched him blow for blow, his movements fluid and brutal. They clashed in a blur of steel and chakra, too fast for ordinary eyes to follow.

Tajima fought nearby, his attention divided between his own opponents and his friend’s duel.

Across the battlefield, Hashirama and Madara fought hard, destroying the landscape around them. Tobirama and Izuna, locked in their own deadly trance, neither gaining the advantage.

However, your father came suddenly under pressure as five other Senju joined the fray, relentlessly blasting Kaito with attacks. He managed to take down three of the Senju shinobi before Butsuma had landed a blow, his blade slicing across Kaito's thigh. Blood poured from the wound, but your father fought on, his movements slowing as the injury took its toll.

"Kaito!" Tajima’s voice carried over the battlefield as he caught sight of Butsuma readying for a final blow.

Your father staggered, his movements slowing as blood soaked his uniform. Butsuma seized the opening, driving forward with merciless precision. His blade flashed in the rain, finding its mark deep within your father's chest.

"No," Tajima gasped, abandoning his own fight as he charged toward his fallen friend.

Your father's eyes widened in shock, blood spilling from his lips as he dropped to his knees. His gaze lifted to the sky, rain washing over his face as his Sharingan faded to black. Then he collapsed forward into the mud, his body still.

Butsuma stood over him, a grim satisfaction twisting his features as he raised his bloodied sword again. But his victory was short-lived. Tajima descended upon him like demonic wrath, his Sharingan blazing with fury as he drove Butsuma and his men back with a barrage of strikes.

Across the battlefield, the fighting faltered as sons sensed their fathers' peril. Madara disengaged from Hashirama, his attention snapping toward his father. Izuna and Tobirama broke apart, both panting heavily as they turned toward the center of the battlefield.

Butsuma and Tajima clashed violently; years of resentment and consuming vengeance fueled each strike. Hashirama reached them first, his face desperate.

"Stop this!" Hashirama pleaded, positioning himself between the clan leaders. "Enough blood has been shed today!"

But their hatred ran too deep. Butsuma shoved his son aside, lunging at Tajima with reckless abandon. The Uchiha leader met him with cold precision, his blade piercing Butsuma's sternum in one perfect strike.

Matching the killing blow of your father.

The Senju patriarch's eyes widened in disbelief as he looked down at the sword impaling his chest. He coughed once, blood spraying from his lips, before collapsing beside your father's body.

"No- father!" Tobirama's anguished cry cut through the sudden silence of the battlefield.

What happened next blurred into chaos. Tobirama, grief transforming instantly to rage, charged at Tajima. Another Senju warrior flanked him, both attacking with such ferocity that the fatigued Uchiha leader couldn't defend himself well enough against their vicious onslaught, while his sons were fired upon once again by nameless Senju. Tajima soon fell under their combined assault, his blood joining that of Butsuma and your father on the rain-soaked ground.

Madara's roar of grief shook the very air. The battlefield erupted with fierce battlecries, Uchiha and Senju converging like waves crashing against each other.

Hashirama forced his way between them, his wooden barriers sprouting from the ground to separate the warring clans. His voice, amplified by chakra, thundered across the field.

"Enough! Two clan leaders lie dead! Will we have to add brothers to that count?"

His words penetrated the battle-haze, bringing a momentary stillness. Madara stood over his father's body, his Sharingan evolved into something new and terrible, while Tobirama stood beside Butsuma’s, rage and grief contorting his features as both of their chakra flared.

"Brothers!" Hashirama pleaded again, standing between them with outstretched hands. "Our fathers are gone. Let us not add to this tragedy."

Madara's voice came low and dangerous. "Your brother killed my father."

"And yours killed mine," Tobirama snarled back, raising the kunai in his hand.

The rain continued to pour as the two clans faced each other across the muddied battlefield. Bodies lay scattered between them—fathers, brothers, sons—their blood washing away in streams of crimson.

"If we continue," Hashirama said, his voice carrying despite the downpour, "we will destroy both our clans today. Is that what either of you wants?"

A tense silence stretched between them, broken only by the pattering of rain and the labored breathing of wounded warriors. Madara's eyes never left Tobirama, but something shifted in his expression— calculation replacing blind fury.

"Take your dead and wounded," Madara finally commanded, his voice hollow. "We will do the same. This battle is over."

"This isn't finished," Tobirama warned, but Hashirama's hand on his shoulder held him back.

"It is for today, brother," Hashirama said quietly. "For today, it must be."

The clans separated like oil and water, each collecting their dead with reverent hands, casting hateful glances at their enemies. Madara himself lifted your father's body, and Izuna carried theirs, silent tears streaming down both their faces, mingling with the rain.

The vision faded, reality rushing back like a tide. Your eyes fluttered open, vision blurry with tears. Your mother's face swam into focus above you, her amber eyes wide with concern. Izuna's arms cradled you against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. Madara stood nearby, his dark eyes watching you intently.

"They're dead," you murmured, your voice raw as though you'd been screaming.

The three exchanged alarmed glances as your mother's fingers trembled against your skin.

"Alessia," she said softly, "what happened? What did you see?"

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you stared up at the vaulted ceiling, the battle replaying in your mind with terrible clarity. "I saw everything," you told her, your voice hollow and distant. "The battlefield. The rain. Father fighting Butsuma. I saw how he… died..."

Your mother's face crumpled, her composure fracturing for the first time in your memory. Behind her, Madara and Izuna's expressions hardened, their eyes darkening with the knowledge of what you had witnessed.

"Butsuma killed him," you continued, the words spilling out like blood from a wound. "So then Tajima killed Butsuma. And then..." You couldn't finish, your voice breaking on a sob as the horrible images flooded your mind.

"Tobirama and another Senju killed our father," Madara finished for you, his voice tight with controlled rage as you met his eyes.

Your mother's face drained of color, her lips parting in silent horror as she stared at you. The revelation that you had witnessed your father's death through a vision sent visible tremors through her body.

"Akatosh," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Why would he show you this? Why now, of all times?" Her hands shook as she cupped your face. "And why that moment?"

You had never seen such naked dread in your mother's eyes before. The Divine's composure had shattered completely, leaving only a grieving woman terrified for her child. Her breathing quickened as she glanced frantically between you and the Uchiha brothers.

"Madara, Izuna," she commanded, her voice regaining some of its usual authority despite the quaver that remained. "Stay with her, do not leave her side."

Madara nodded gravely. "Of course, Divine Anora."

"I must summon the priestesses to the inner sanctum immediately," your mother continued, already backing toward the corridor.

Fear and worry etched deep lines around her eyes as she looked at you once more. "Alessia, I will return soon."

With that, she was gone, her white robes disappearing down the shadowed hallway, leaving you alone with the Uchiha brothers. The silence that followed felt suffocating, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing.

You tried to push yourself upright, your limbs still weak and trembling from the vision. Izuna's arm tightened around you, supporting your weight as you struggled to sit up.

"Easy," he murmured, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. "Take your time."

The reality of what you had witnessed crashed over you anew— your father, fallen in mud and rain, the life draining from his eyes. A sob caught in your throat, threatening to break free, but you forced it down, trying to maintain what little composure you had left.

"I'm sorry," you whispered after a dragging moment of somber silence, your voice cracking as you forced yourself to look at them. "I'm so sorry about your father."

The words felt hollow and inadequate against the magnitude of what you had all lost, but they were all you had to offer. Tears welled in your eyes again, spilling over as you thought of Tajima— stern but kind, always treating you with respect whenever he visited the temple. Your fingers clutched at Izuna's sleeve, seeking an anchor in a world that suddenly seemed to be dissolving beneath you.

Madara knelt beside you, his face a mask of controlled grief. "And we for yours," he said quietly. "Kaito was... he was like an uncle to us." He paused, his dark eyes searching yours. "We know what he was to you."

Your breath caught as his eyes bore into yours, conveying the truth that lay revealed in them.

They knew of your true lineage.

Chapter Text

Of course they knew.

Outside of Kaito’s family, only a select few of the elders and Tajima knew. Your father trusted Tajima like a brother, and his sons were an extension of him, so this didn’t truly surprise you.

If anything, it was comforting.

"I knew," Madara said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Both of them told me the night after the Mizuno incident. I… told Izuna during the funeral." His voice got uncharacteristically gentle, nearly inaudible as he finished.

The weight of his confession settled over you like a dark veil. You had lived your entire life with this secret, this dual identity— priestess of Akatosh and daughter of a Uchiha. Now, with your father gone, half of that identity felt nearly severed, leaving you unbalanced and adrift.

You tried to speak, but your throat constricted painfully. The vision replayed in your mind with cruel clarity— your father's blood soaking into mud, Tajima falling soon after, Butsuma's shocked expression as life left his body. Three fathers, gone in moments of senseless violence.

Your body began to tremble uncontrollably. You pressed your palms against your eyes, trying to block out the images, but they persisted, burned into your memory with dreadful precision. Your father's final breath, the rain washing over his still face, his limp body being carried away by Madara.

"I can’t get it out of my mind," you choked out, your composure finally shattering. "I keep seeing them. All of them."

Izuna's arm tightened around your shoulders as you folded in on yourself, your body wracked with silent sobs. You fought desperately to maintain control, to be the dignified priestess you were raised to be, but grief overwhelmed your defenses.

"It's alright," Izuna murmured, his voice breaking slightly as he held you.

Madara remained silent, but his hand found yours, gripping it with surprising tenderness. After losing three brothers and his father, he has seen the face of grief many times. "I brought something," Madara said after a moment, helping you to your feet as he stood up. "Something that belonged to your father."

He retrieved a long object lying on top of a wooden crate nearby, wrapped in indigo cloth embroidered with the Uchiha crest. With reverent hands, he placed it in yours, then carefully folded back the fabric to reveal a katana in a polished gold scabbard. The handle was wrapped in dark blue silk, the guard emblazoned with a golden dragon curling around the pommel— matching the battle fans he gave you not long ago.

"This was his ceremonial blade," Madara explained, his voice low and solemn. "He would have wanted you to have it."

You stared at the weapon, feeling the residual energy of your father and his ancestors— your ancestors— through the hardened steel. In that moment, accepting it felt like accepting that he was truly gone. The energy was overwhelming, causing your hands to shake slightly under its firm weight.

"I don't—" you began, but couldn't continue. The words died in your throat, replaced by a hollow ache that seemed to consume you from within.

Izuna's grip tightened again from behind you, his expression faltering at your grief while steadying your trembling hands as you stared at your father's katana. The weight of it—both physical and symbolic—threatened to crush you beneath a flood of anguish that seemed endless.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke through your sorrow. Sister Hana appeared in the entrance hall, her usually serene face flushed and her eyes wide with urgency. Her gaze found you immediately, and something in her expression sent a fresh chill down your spine.

"Young priestess," she gasped, still catching her breath. "The Divine has summoned you to the inner sanctum. Immediately."

A new kind of dread bloomed in your chest, eclipsing even your grief. Sister Hana's face held something beyond concern— there was fear there, raw and unmistakable.

"What's happened?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Please," Sister Hana urged, her eyes darting nervously to the Uchiha brothers. "They're waiting."

Madara gently took the katana from your hands, his fingers brushing yours. "We'll be here when you return," he said, his voice low and reassuring.

Izuna's arm slipped reluctantly from around your shoulders as you pulled away with unsteady legs. "We aren't going anywhere," he promised, his dark eyes meeting yours with quiet intensity.

You nodded, drawing a deep breath as you smoothed your tear-stained robes. Sister Hana was already moving, her steps quick and anxious as she led you deeper into the temple.

The journey to the inner sanctum seemed eternal, each step carrying you further from the comfort of the Uchiha brothers and closer to whatever had caused such alarm among the priestesses. The familiar corridors of the temple felt suddenly alien, the shadows deeper, the air heavier with each breath.

The journey to the inner sanctum felt like descending into another world. As you passed through the final set of ornate double doors, the air grew dense with incense and ancient power. The chamber before you was vast and circular, its high ceiling lost in darkness despite the dozens of black candles that burned with unnatural crimson flames.

Dragon skulls of varying sizes adorned the walls, their empty eye sockets seeming to follow your movement. Beneath them, ancient runes were carved into the stone, pulsing with a faint amber glow that matched the color of your mother's eyes—of your eyes. The floor was inlaid with a massive mosaic depicting Akatosh in his full glory, surrounded by the phases of the moon and arcane symbols that shifted and changed when viewed from different angles.

In the center of the room, a circle of twelve priestesses in deep crimson ceremonial robes stood around a raised dais. Upon it sat your mother, no longer in her white robes but dressed in ritual black, her hair unbound and flowing around her like water. Before her, a silver bowl smoked with some concoction, its vapors forming shapes that dissipated before you could identify them.

The remnants of a ritual surrounded her—bones arranged in patterns, vials of various liquids, herbs burned to ash, and scrolls covered in ancient script. Blood stained the rim of the silver bowl, and you knew without asking that it was your mother's own.

Divine Anora’s eyes snapped to yours the moment you entered, their burning depths reflecting the bright flames of the candles. The circle of priestesses parted silently, creating a path for you to approach. With each step, the pit of uneasiness in your stomach grew heavier.

"Alessia," your mother said, her voice laced with fatigue. She rose from her position, the black robes flowing around her like a shadow. Despite her obvious affliction, she maintained the regal bearing that had been instilled in you since birth. "Come closer, child."

You moved forward on trembling legs, the weight of the day's revelations making each step an effort. The smell of burned herbs and copper filled your nostrils as you reached the edge of the dais.

"I have communed with Akatosh," she said, her amber eyes locked with yours. "Something is coming, Alessia. Something even I cannot see clearly."

A chill ran down your spine at her words. Your mother, the Divine, had always been certain in her intuition, her connection to Akatosh providing clarity where others saw only chaos.

"What do you mean?" You asked, your voice small in the vastness of the chamber.

"Something has shifted," she replied, frustration evident in the tight line of her mouth. "The natural order has been disturbed, and Akatosh..." She paused, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. "Akatosh will not reveal his purpose with you. He guards it vigilantly, even from me."

The priestesses exchanged uneasy glances, their discomfort palpable in the charged air of the sanctum. Your mother stepped down from the dais, taking your hands in hers. Her blood and ash-stained fingers felt unnaturally cold.

"Be wary, my daughter," she warned, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you. "Be wary of everyone. The protection you once had has now diminished. I sense forces gathering, circling you like vultures, though I cannot see their faces."

"But why?" You asked, struggling to comprehend. "What's changed?"

Your mother shook her head, a rare display of uncertainty that frightened you more than her words. "I don't know. For the first time in my life, I cannot pierce the veil Akatosh has drawn across the future." Her grip tightened on your hands. "But I feel it—a disturbance in the natural order, a shifting of powers that should remain balanced."

The crimson flames of the candles flickered violently, casting twisted shadows across the ancient stone walls. The dragon skulls seemed to watch with renewed interest, their hollow sockets reflecting pinpricks of bloody light.

"W-what should I do?" You stuttered, fighting to keep your voice steady.

Your mother's expression softened slightly, though the worry never left her eyes. "Perhaps it is time for you to speak with him directly."

Your heart nearly stops at her words, understanding the weight of Akatosh’s wisdom. The Dragon God of Time has only ever spoken to you in hollowed whispers, and just now, in unprecedented visions. His words were never easy to bear, offering glimpses into the dark and beyond, sharing ancient knowledge and power that remains hidden from the world.

What would the Dragon God say of your future?

Chapter Text

The priestesses moved with practiced precision, surrounding you in a perfect circle. Each carried a different item— Kynareth bore a bowl of dragon's blood ink, Dibella clutched a bundle of smoldering herbs, while Mara and the others held talismans of bone and crystal. The air grew thick with magic as they began to chant in an ancient language, their voices weaving together in haunting harmony.

Your mother approached you, her face grave in the crimson light. "Remove your outer robes," she instructed, her voice barely audible above the chanting.

With trembling fingers, you unfastened your formal attire, letting the heavy silk pool at your feet until you stood in only your thin white undergown. The chill of the sanctum raised goosebumps across your skin, but it was more than the cold that made you shiver.

"Kneel," your mother commanded, gesturing to the center of Akatosh's mosaic eye.

You obeyed, sinking to your knees on the cold stone. The priestesses tightened their circle around you, their chanting growing more intense. Kynareth approached first, dipping her fingers in the dragon's blood ink. With deft movements, she began painting ancient runes across your exposed skin—your forehead, your cheeks, your collarbone, your arms. The ink burned where it touched you, not painfully but with a strange, tingling heat that seemed to sink beneath your skin.

"This will anchor your spirit," your mother explained as she observed the process. "Communion with Akatosh is not like speaking with mortals. His consciousness spans all of time simultaneously. Without these bindings, you could become lost in the stream of eternity."

Dibella came next, wafting the smoking herbs around your body. The pungent aroma of dragonwort and midnight fern filled your lungs, making your head swim. Your vision began to blur at the edges, the room seeming to expand and contract with each breath.

"Focus," your mother instructed sharply, noticing your disorientation. "Clear your mind of all distractions. Think only of Akatosh."

You closed your eyes, trying to center yourself as the ritual continued. You felt hands in your hair, removing pins and ornaments until it fell loose around your shoulders. Someone else placed a heavy necklace around your throat—an ancient talisman made from a dragon's tooth, its weight settling against your chest like an anchor.

When you opened your eyes again, your mother stood before you holding a sphere of obsidian so black it seemed to absorb the light around it. The surface was perfectly smooth, reflecting nothing, as if it were a hole torn in reality itself.

"This is the Eye of Akatosh," she said, her voice reverential. "Through it, you will see beyond the veil of mortal perception."

She placed the scrying ball on a small stand before you, then took her position directly behind you. Her hands came to rest on your shoulders, her touch both comforting and commanding.

"Focus on the void within," she instructed. "Let your consciousness sink into it. Do not resist what you find there."

You stared into the black sphere, allowing your vision to blur as the chanting of the priestesses faded to a distant hum. The obsidian seemed to expand before your eyes, growing until it filled your entire field of vision. The darkness consumed you, drawing your consciousness inward, deeper, beyond the physical realm.

A sudden sensation of falling seized you— your stomach lurched as you plummeted through an endless void. Your body remained in the temple, but your spirit tumbled through dimensions beyond mortal comprehension. You wanted to scream, but had no voice; you tried to flail, but had no limbs in this place between worlds.

Then, abruptly, you stopped falling.

Golden light erupted around you, blinding in its intensity. Heat washed over your spiritual form, not burning but overwhelming— ancient, primordial power that made your very essence tremble. As your perception adjusted, the light coalesced into gleaming scales, massive as mountainsides and brilliant as the sun.

Before you floated the immense form of Akatosh’s consciousness.

When his eyes opened— amber orbs that mirrored your own but burned with the wisdom of eons— your heart nearly stopped.

"Child of my blood," his voice thundered through your mind, each word a physical force that threatened to tear you apart. "At last, you stand before me."

You collapsed to your knees, overwhelmed by his presence. The sheer magnitude of his consciousness pressed against yours like an ocean, threatening to drown you in its vastness.

"You... you knew I would come?" You managed to ask, your thoughts feeling small and insignificant before his ancient mind.

The dragon's massive head lowered, bringing one enormous eye level with your trembling form. His pupil alone was larger than your entire body, a vertical slit of darkness that seemed to contain universes.

"I exist in all times at once," he replied, his massive head tilting slightly. "Your coming was both imminent and complete already."

You shook before him, awed by his magnificence and terrified by his power. This was no mere vision or dream— this was communion with a being whose existence predated humanity itself.

"My father," you whispered, grief finding you even in this ethereal space. "My mother says something has changed, that the future is unclear even to her. What's happening? What will become of me now that he's gone?"

Akatosh's great wings unfurled, spanning across the stretch of oblivion. "Your father’s death was but one thread in a vast tapestry. The pattern shifts, the weaving continues."

"That doesn't answer my question," you said plainly, not in the mood for his riddles.

A rumble that sounded like the collapsing of mountains spread through the limitless space. "Young little mortal, you are approaching the crossroads of destiny. You will guard the threshold between what is and what might be," the great dragon rumbled. His ancient eyes bored into yours, swirling with knowledge beyond mortal comprehension.

"Then what has my mother so worried?" You asked, gathering courage from some deep reservoir within yourself as you got back to your feet. "Why can she no longer see what's to come?"

Akatosh's head lifted, scales shifting as he regarded you. "The Divine's sight falters because the future itself wavers, uncertain and malleable in ways not seen for millennia, even for I."

"I don't understand," you pressed, frustration building within you. "Please, what is happening?"

The dragon's sigh sent ripples through the void surrounding you. "The world you know will be shaped by your resolution, child of my blood. A resolution which, as of yet, stands unfounded."

Your heart sank, disappointment washing over you in bitter waves. "That's not an answer! That's just more riddles!"

"It is the only truth I can offer," Akatosh replied, unmoved by your outburst. "The currents of time flow differently now, branching where once they ran straight."

You clenched your fists, tears of frustration threatening to spill. Even here, in direct communion with the Dragon God himself, answers remained elusive, wrapped in enigmatic words that offered no comfort.

"You are marked by fate, young priestess," he continued, his voice softening to something almost resembling compassion. "In the time to come, you will face a choice between personal pain and preserving the natural balance, as is your duty."

"What kind of choice? What balance?" You demanded, your voice breaking. "Please, I must know what to prepare for!"

The great dragon's eyes narrowed, embers of ancient fire flickering within their amber depths. "Even I cannot see which path you will choose. It remains... uncertain for now."

You wanted to scream, to rage against his cryptic warnings that left you more afraid than before. "Then what good is any of this? Why show me my father's death if you won't help me understand what comes next?"

"I did not show you his death," Akatosh replied, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "That vision came from within you, child. A power awakening that even your mother does not possess."

Your breath caught in your throat. "What do you mean?"

"The blood of dragons and Uchiha mingles uniquely in your veins," he said, his massive form beginning to fade at the edges. "You stand at the convergence of two ancient lineages, each with its own gifts and curses."

The golden void around you began to dim, Akatosh's form becoming translucent as your communion neared its end.

"Wait!" You called desperately. "Tell me more! What am I becoming?"

His voice grew distant, echoing as if from across a vast chasm. "When the time comes, you will know. Trust in your blood, little mortal.”

You open your mouth to question the Dragon God further, but he quickly fades back into nothing, sending you spiraling back to reality with a sharp gasp.

Your lungs seized, desperate for air that suddenly felt too thin, while behind your eyes, pressure released like a floodgate. As your sight reconnected with your body, your mind spun wildly, heavy with the burden of Akatosh’s cryptic prophecy.

And now, left with more questions than answers.

Chapter Text

Soon after Tajima’s death, Madara was chosen to be the next Uchiha clan leader, despite being a young man of only nineteen years of age. The elders had unanimously elected Madara to the mantle only a month later, bringing in a shift of authority to Madara’s demeanor. Izuna, only two years younger than Madara, stood at the seat of his council, serving as his brother’s advisor. Days spent ignorant of the horrors of war are over, and left in their wake is the ceaseless dread of mortality. Any visit with the Uchiha brothers could be your last, and so each time you saw them, your heart would beat faster, and your hugs would stretch even longer.

It was undeniable that the brothers had changed, too. Gone were the playful, carefree boys who would chase you around the temple as their father handled clan affairs. Now, it is Madara and Izuna gracing the inner sanctum on behalf of their clan, seeking the Divine’s wisdom. You saw Madara much less often than before, yet were still blessed to have Izuna’s company while the older brother worked with your mother.

The brothers informed you that Hashirama was now the leader of the Senju clan as well, which in turn surprised no one. Both older brothers seemed fit for the task, and Hashirama and Madara had a subtle fondness for each other that did not escape your notice. In moments by your lonesome, you wondered if they had ever been friends. If so, what happened?

You often think about how Hashirama and Tobirama have fared with the adjustments. With Butsuma’s death, you anticipated seeing them before the year’s end, but they have yet to visit the temple. Even in your own grief, you worried for the Senju brothers equivocally as the Uchiha, your empathetic heart ceasing for no one. Hashirama is an emotional young man, and Tobirama, as much as he disguises it, feels just as deeply as his brother.

Have their hearts grown colder— harder with their father’s death and new responsibility— just as the Uchiha did?

And when you think of Tobirama…

The once pleasant images of his smirking face had transformed into the scream of rage that burned into his features as he ran his blade into Tajima.

It made you shudder.

The Uchiha brothers had also taken it upon themselves to fill the role that Kaito left behind. Both boys would visit as often as they could, continuing your training just as your father would have done.

However, the brothers proved to be far more demanding when it came to their training. They did not hold back, training you with the same intensity as they would any other shinobi. They helped you hone your fire and wind jutsu, diverge your chakra and magicka, along with sword work, as you adopted your father’s katana into your arsenal.

Madara proved to be relentless— pushing you to your limits, forcing you to be strong in the case that he or Izuna were not there to protect you. Deep down, you knew his grueling exercises were for your betterment, but he ran you raw.

Izuna was far more pleasant to work with, favoring encouraging words and praise over disappointed glares. He didn’t let you off easy, but he didn’t train you as if you were heading to the battlefield. His style was much closer to your father’s, so you quickly grew even closer to Izuna as you both bonded deeply over the year.

They quickly molded you into a formidable weapon, a testament to their dedication and your skill. Despite the new bruises that tattered your skin, you felt a distinct pride in carrying on your father’s shinobi ways.

It made you feel more connected to him— that you were carrying on his will with the ones he was close to.

But the time did not pass without its turmoil.

Many nights, you had lain awake, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as vivid flashbacks of your father’s death plagued your mind. Haunting you— following you— even when your eyes were closed.

You could not escape them.

You cried for the god’s mercy as you damned them in the same breath, for cursing you with these forsaken visions. Your father’s last breath echoed in your ears, the smell of blood and rain filled your senses, and your body would go rigid, just as if a blade had pierced it.

Why me? You had screamed endlessly into the abyss of your mind. What purpose could these visions serve but to prolong your misery? Your father and Tajima are gone, their remains buried deep into the earth, leaving only their memories and a few tokens behind.

Along with their children.

As for your mother, she continued her duties without interruption. Ever the face of dignified grace, showing little signs of her grief. But behind closed doors, you heard her weep in her study late into the night. Hushed, broken sounds that weighed heavily on your broken heart.

You assisted your mother in the funeral rites for Kaito and Tajima, bearing witness to the remnants of their souls finally passing into the ether, feeling the final remains of their life’s energy pass through you like a breeze in the night.

That evening, the cold realization finally hit you in full force.

He is gone from this world.

Your remaining ties to the Uchiha lie in Madara, Izuna, Kaori, and your newborn cousin, Kagami. You swore on Akatosh that nothing but your own death would sever these bonds.

Months passed, as did your fifteenth birthday, with the looming words of Akaotsh in your mind. You had relayed his wisdom to your mother, earning her guarded worry over your future. She grew less trusting of outsiders, even with Madara, Izuna, and the Uchiha elders.

Akatosh's will had plagued your mother; it was no secret inside the temple. Having lost her access to the foundations of time, Divine Anora grew increasingly restless with each passing day. You noticed the subtle changes in her behavior—how her eyes constantly scanned the horizon during morning rituals, as if expecting an army to emerge from the mist. Her shoulders tensed at every unexpected sound, and she insisted on doubling the temple guards despite the sacred neutrality that had protected these grounds for centuries.

"Mother, you need to rest," you told her one evening, finding her poring over ancient texts in the library, dark circles shadowing her amber eyes.

She barely looked up from the yellowed parchment. "I cannot afford to rest, Alessia. Not when so much remains unclear."

You placed your hand over hers, stilling her trembling fingers. "Akatosh said the future is uncertain for everyone right now. Perhaps that's all there is to know."

Her eyes snapped to yours, suddenly sharp with intensity. "No. There is more. There must be." She pulled her hand away, returning to the scrolls. "The Dragon God has never been so deliberately obscure with me before. He is hiding something, and I must discover what it is."

Late at night, you heard her pacing in her chambers, murmuring incantations and prayers until dawn broke. Scrolls of ancient prophecies littered her study, some so old they crumbled at the edges when touched. She consulted with spirits and lesser dragons, seeking answers that Akatosh had withheld.

Despite her paranoia, your mother still performed her duties with outward perfection: receiving diplomats, conducting ceremonies, maintaining the temple's ancient traditions. But you saw the toll it took on her. Dark circles deepened beneath her amber eyes, and her hands sometimes trembled when she thought no one was watching.

During council meetings, you observed how she questioned every report, demanded extra patrols around the temple grounds, and insisted on personally inspecting the ancient defensive wards that had gone untouched for generations. The priestesses obeyed without question, but their concerned glances spoke volumes.

"The Divine grows... excessive in her caution," you overheard Priestess Dibella whispering to Priestess Kynareth one morning.

"Can you blame her?" Kynareth replied. "After what happened to Kaito, and now with Akatosh's cryptic warnings? I'd be checking the shadows for what unseen darkness lurks, too."

You wanted to defend your mother, to explain that her fears weren't unfounded— but how could you, when you didn't understand them yourself? Akatosh's words remained lodged in your mind like splinters, painful and impossible to extract.

You will face a choice between personal pain and preserving the natural balance.

What choice? What balance? And when?

The questions and lack of answers haunted both you and your mother.

Despite your mother's growing suspicions, the seasons continued their eternal dance. Summer faded into autumn, autumn surrendered to winter, and winter would eventually yield to spring once more.

Life continued on, inside and outside the temple.

Chapter Text

You stood atop the temple steps like a ghost, your charcoal robes billowing around you like ethereal smoke. The forest below appeared as a sea of yellow, orange, and red as autumn had fully settled, stretching endlessly to the edge of the horizon. An entourage was arriving, you knew from the hoard of hooves echoing up the valley. The sisters watched you with worried glances, their eyes following your rigid form as you stood like a sentinel at the temple entrance. Sister Mei whispered something to Sister Hana, both casting concerned looks your way, but you refused to acknowledge them. Your focus remained fixed on the approaching caravan, their banners unmistakable even from this distance.

Senju.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as conflicting emotions warred within you. The memory of your vision flashed unbidden— a mirage of blood, pain, and darkness. Rage and grief threatened to overwhelm you, but alongside them ran currents of something else: the lingering warmth of friendship, of summers spent by the creek, of shared laughter and innocent rivalry.

Yet they were also the sons of the man who killed your father, and Tobirama himself had helped slay Tajima.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. They could never know Kaito was your father— could never know you had witnessed his death through your blood’s gift. To them, you must remain Alessia, neutral priestess of Akatosh, untouched by clan politics and bloodshed.

The Senju party approached the final bend in the path, their horses' hooves clattering against the stone and fallen leaves. You recognized Hashirama's tall form immediately, his long hair flowing behind him as he led the procession in the same armor his father used to wear. Behind him rode Tobirama, his white hair stark against the fall colors, and his posture rigid and formal. Several clan elders followed, their faces solemn beneath the weight of recent losses.

As they reached the temple gates, Hashirama dismounted first, his movements fluid despite his obvious weariness. His eyes found yours, and a small smile softened his features.

"Priestess Alessia," he greeted you, bowing respectfully before handing his horse off to Sister Hana. "It's good to see you again."

"Lord Hashirama," you replied, your voice steadier than you expected. "Welcome back to the Temple of Akatosh."

Tobirama dismounted next, his movements precise and controlled. When his crimson eyes met yours, he stilled, his brow furrowing slightly. Tobirama approached more slowly, his eyes remaining on you with that calculating intensity that always made you feel as though he could see straight through to your soul. When he reached the top of the steps, he gave a formal bow, but something in his expression shifted when his gaze met yours.

"What's wrong?" He asked abruptly, forgoing any greeting.

The directness of his question caught you off guard, seeing through your weak facade easily. You swallowed, forcing your face into a mask of casual concern.

"I’ve been worried," you said, the half-truth coming easier than expected. "It's been months since I've seen you. After your father's death, I feared..."

You let the sentence hang, not needing to finish it. Tobirama's eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering across his features.

"How did you know about our father?" He asked, his voice sharpening.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you maintained your composure. "The Uchiha told us when they came for their own funeral rites," you answered smoothly. "They mentioned the battle and both clans' losses."

Tobirama stepped closer to you, his height forcing you to tilt your head back slightly to maintain eye contact. You found yourself shrinking away from him, a subtle movement that didn't escape his notice. His scarlet eyes dissected your reaction, studying the way you tensed, the slight change in your breathing. Something in his gaze turned clinical, as though he were examining a specimen rather than speaking to a friend.

"I see," Tobirama said, his voice cold as ice. His gaze never left yours, searching for something— a tell, a lie, any crack in your carefully constructed front.

"We've been... occupied," Hashirama interjected, placing a hand on your shoulder. His touch was warm, reassuring against his brother’s intense stare. "Thank you for your concern, Alessia. The transition hasn't been very easy, and there's been much to manage since our father passed. This is actually the first chance we've had to make the journey here."

His gentle smile was a stark contrast to his brother's cold demeanor, but you barely registered it as Tobirama scoffed.

"At least we're even with those damned Uchiha now," he spat, venom dripping from every word. "Tajima got what he deserved after what he did to our father. And Kaito—" a cruel smile twisted his lips, "—that arrogant bastard should have died years ago. I'm just glad I was there to see it happen."

The words struck you like physical blows. You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood, fighting to keep your expression neutral even as fury clawed at your insides. Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails digging crescents into your palms as you shifted away from the white-haired Senju.

"Tobirama!" Hashirama's voice cracked like thunder, his gentle demeanor vanishing in an instant. "Don’t say such things! Show some respect— we are guests here."

"Respect?" Tobirama scoffed again, rolling his eyes, unbothered by his brother's admonishment. "For what? For those who slaughtered our father?"

"Hashirama is right," you managed to say, your voice steadier than you felt. "You shouldn't speak ill of the dead, regardless of clan affiliation. Their spirits deserve peace, especially if they found none in life."

Tobirama's eyes narrowed at your words, his gaze sharpening with suspicion. “Why are you taking their side?”

Your expression faltered as you opened your mouth to defend yourself, but the approaching elders cut you off.

The Senju elders had finished tending to their horses and now made their way up the temple steps, their faces crypt and weathered beneath their traditional headpieces. Behind you emerged Priestess Mara, her copper-brown curls blending beautifully with her olive skin in the afternoon sun. Her warm amber eyes— so similar to your mother’s— surveyed the group with practiced serenity. You used her presence to move closer towards Hashirama, still feeling the younger brother’s eyes on you.

"Welcome, honored guests," she greeted them, her voice melodic and soothing. "Divine Anora awaits you in the inner sanctum."

The elders bowed respectfully, and Hashirama moved to join them after giving you a weary, understanding look. Tobirama, however, remained rooted in place, his eyes still focused on your face.

"You're not joining them?" You asked Tobirama as the others disappeared into the temple's inner halls, leaving you alone with him on the stone steps.

"No," he replied curtly, crossing his arms. "What they're discussing doesn't interest me."

The silence between you stretched uncomfortably as he continued to study you as if he were dissecting you. You bit your lower lip nervously, anxiety pressing against your chest like a stone. Each beat of your heart felt too loud, too telling— surely he could hear it, revealing your distress. The weight of his stare made your skin prickle, and you fought the urge to step further back. His eyes tracked every minute shift in your expression, every subtle tension in your posture. The silence stretched further, growing heavier with each passing moment.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Tobirama asked, his tone tight and unusual.

"Like what?" You responded with a shaky breath, despite your best effort to sound indifferent. You willed yourself to be strong— to call him out as he calls you out— but you shatter beneath his words like glass.

"Like you're scared of me," he said with a firm voice, his jaw tensing.

"I-I'm not scared of you, Tobirama, you're being—"

"Alessia," Tobirama said with a hard, firm tone that cut through your protest. "What did the Uchiha speak of me?"

You stared at him blankly, unsure how to respond. Your mind raced through potential answers, each one more dangerous than the last. The truth would reveal too much, and lies would only deepen his suspicion. The silence between you grew heavier with each passing heartbeat, your breath caught in your throat.

After a tense moment, Tobirama took an assertive step toward you. "Whatever ill they spoke," he continued, taking another step that quickly closed the distance between you. "Whatever atrocities they accuse me of," he was now standing before you, merely inches apart. "Know that I would never subject you to."

As you bore into his earnest eyes, you wanted to believe him. By Akatosh, you did. But lingering in your mind was the fear of him discovering your Uchiha heritage. It was a heavy secret to keep from the Senju brothers, and one you now understood with horrifying clarity, carries deadly weight.

"I know," you whispered, averting your gaze from his intense stare.

His hand came up unexpectedly, fingers gently but firmly grasping your chin to tilt your face back toward his. The contact sent a jolt through you—his touch was warm despite his cold demeanor.

"Then why do you pull away from me?" He asked, his voice softer now, almost hurt beneath the steel. "What has changed?"

The genuine confusion in his voice made your heart ache. How could you explain that everything had changed? That you'd seen him kill Tajima with your own eyes—not through someone else's account, but through a vision so real you could still smell the blood?

Your heart shattered at the vulnerability in his eyes— this warrior who had faced death countless times now looked wounded by your retreat. You couldn't bear the hurt in his eyes. Despite everything— despite the grief and pain that had burned inside you for months— you found yourself unable to maintain the wall you'd built between you. This was Tobirama, your friend, the boy who had taught you water jutsu by the creek, who you annoyed with your pranks, who had always treated you the same despite your different worlds.

"I am afraid," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Not of you, but of what war has made you. The way you speak of death now, with such... apathy." You swallowed hard, steadying your trembling lip.

His eyes widened slightly, hurt flashing across his features before he could mask it. His hand fell away from your chin, and you immediately regretted your words.

"War changes everyone," he said quietly. "But never how I am with you."

The raw honesty in his voice broke something inside you. Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them, spilling down your cheeks in silent streams. You hadn't realized how deeply you'd feared losing him— not to death, but to the hatred that consumed so many warriors.

Without warning, Tobirama pulled you against his chest, his arms encircling you unexpectedly. You gasped and stiffened at first, surprised by the sudden contact, before melting into his embrace. His heartbeat thundered against your ear, steady and strong.

"I'm sorry," you whispered against the fabric of his armor. "I shouldn't have questioned you."

"No," he murmured, his breath warm against your hair. "You were right to. This war... It's changing all of us. But I promise you, Alessia—" His arms tightened fractionally around you. "I would never let those horrors touch you. I would protect you from them at any cost."

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. What you found instead stole your breath away. His crimson eyes burned with fierce determination, a protective intensity that left no room for doubt.

In that moment, you understood with absolute clarity that he meant his words. They weren’t a casual promise or empty comfort— They were a vow, as binding to him as any blood oath.

"Tobirama..." you breathed, unable to form more words as a familiar electricity passed between you.

His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes, a subtle shift that sent heat rushing to your cheeks. The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken tension, drawing you imperceptibly closer.

Chapter Text

The moment hung suspended between you, a breath away from something neither of you could take back, when soft footsteps echoed down the corridor. Sister Hana appeared at the far end of the hallway, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of you wrapped in Tobirama's arms. A small, knowing smirk played at the corners of her lips as she approached.

You hastily pulled away from Tobirama, wiping the tears from your cheeks with trembling fingers. His arms fell reluctantly from around you, and he swallowed awkwardly, a faint flush creeping up his neck as he glanced at Sister Hana.

"Priestess Alessia," Sister Hana said, her voice carefully neutral despite the gleam in her eyes. "The Divine has requested that refreshments be prepared for our guests. Perhaps you'd like to show Lord Tobirama to the guest hall while the elders continue their discussion?"

"Yes, thank you, Sister," you managed to say, your voice steady as you regained your composure. "We'll be right there."

Sister Hana nodded, the smile still playing at the corners of her mouth as she retreated back inside. The spell between you and Tobirama had broken, leaving an awkward silence in its wake.

"Come," you said, reaching for his hand before you could reconsider. "It's warmer inside."

Tobirama's fingers curled around yours without hesitation, his palm warm against your skin as you led him through the temple corridors. The touch felt both dangerous and necessary, like holding fire without being burned.

The guest hall welcomed you with the soft crackling of a hearth fire, its golden light casting dancing shadows across the polished wooden floors. You guided Tobirama to a couch near the flames, settling beside him close enough that your shoulders nearly touched. The fire's warmth seeped into your bones, thawing something that had been frozen inside you since your father's death.

"Your Sister Hana has impeccable timing," he said dryly, though the tension had left his body.

You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped you. "She always has. I swear she has some secret jutsu that alerts her whenever something interesting is happening."

Tobirama's lips quirked upward, and the sight of that rare, subtle smile made your heart flutter. "Is that what was happening back there? Something interesting?"

The teasing note in his voice surprised you, so different from his earlier intensity. You nudged his shoulder with yours, grateful for the lightened mood.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you replied with feigned innocence, though your smile betrayed you.

The firelight played across his features, softening the sharp angles of his face and turning his white hair to silver. In this light, with his guard lowered, he looked younger— more like the boy you'd known before grief and responsibility had hardened him.

"It feels like ages since we've just... sat together," you said softly, your gaze shifting from his face to the fire.

"Too long," Tobirama agreed, his voice losing its earlier edge. "The clan has required constant attention since..." He trailed off, but you understood what remained unsaid.

"Hashirama seems to be handling the responsibility well," you offered.

Tobirama snorted, though not unkindly. "My brother has always been better with people than with strategy. He spends half his time dreaming of peace and the other half trying to convince the elders it's possible."

"And you don't think it is?" You asked, finally turning to face him again.

His profile was sharp against the firelight as he considered your question. "I think..." he began carefully, "that peace requires more than good intentions. It requires systems, structures, compromises that neither side is ready to make."

You watched the flames reflect in his scarlet eyes, making them seem almost molten. "Perhaps they just need the right motivation."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "You sound like my brother," he said. "Always trying to appeal to people's better nature. I prefer things that can be measured. Calculated." Even in his attempt at lightness, a severity underpinned every word.

You folded your arms, settling deeper into the couch. "And me? Do you measure me, Tobirama? Or do you trust my intentions?"

His answer was immediate, no hesitation. "You are the only person outside my clan that I trust." He looked away, a faint pink coloring the tips of his ears, as if embarrassed by the confession. "Though you do have an infuriating habit of not telling me things."

You gave him a sidelong glance, unsure of how true he knew that to be. "I tell you everything I can," you said, smiling as you watched the fire.

He seemed about to press you, but the tension softened, and the silence became companionable. You let yourself relax, the memory of his arms still warm on your skin. For a while, neither of you spoke, content to simply share the space and the heat of the hearth as you leaned against him.

After a time, he broke the quiet. "Do you see Madara and Izuna often?" He asked, his voice careful, almost too casual.

You hesitated, weighing your answer as you chewed the inside of your cheek, now sore from where you bit it earlier. "We see them when their duties call for it," you answered diplomatically. "I see Madara less often now that he's the clan head. Izuna visits more to bring news from their side. They are… familiar faces, from childhood. Tajima sought the Divine’s guidance nearly as often as your own father did."

Tobirama's jaw clenched visibly. He watched the fire, but his gaze was distant, turned inward. "Be careful around them," he said finally, and the old protective edge was back, harder than before. "The Uchiha are not what they seem. Not even to themselves. They are ruled by their passions— love, hate, loyalty, and vengeance. Everything with them is… amplified."

"I could say the same of you," you countered gently. "The Senju have their passions also. But I've never felt threatened by Madara or Izuna— certainly not within these walls. They are our guests as much as you are."

He flinched minutely, noticing the careful way you drew the line. "Still," he said, "I would never forgive myself if harm came to you because of them. I know you must remain neutral— I respect that. But if you find their visits growing more frequent, or more… intense, I want you to tell me."

You looked at him, at the earnestness sharpened by fear, and felt something in yourself yield just a little. "I promise," you said softly.

Satisfied, he nodded, then seemed to relax, tension draining from his frame. "Thank you," he said, and let the silence return.

You both sat, letting time trickle past like the embers dying in the hearth. The conversation moved to lighter things: the coming winter, drama from the temple, your own unremarkable struggles with the priestesses' training. To your surprise, Tobirama listened with natural interest. Gradually, your guard dropped, and you allowed yourself to simply exist beside him.

And things finally felt normal once again.

Chapter Text

In the time after your father’s death, you could feel the seasons turning like pages in an ancient text, each one bringing with it a different shade of longing that settled deeper into your bones. You’re now a young woman, sixteen years of age, and more observant of the world that lies outside the temple.

Though you hold your father’s words close to your heart, you knew there was no way for him to fully understand how you felt. Even still, you longed to venture outside the temple’s territory, to see life as it truly is— even the dark sides— despite what it has taken from you. As you have gotten older, the suffocating feeling of existing in the temple only seemed to deepen as you grew fonder of certain visitors.

The tales that both Uchiha and Senju would tell you of the battlefield made your heart feel heavy and conflicted, especially having witnessed it yourself through your vision. These horrors of war coincide with a life of free will. Even through the stories of war and pain, they praised their homes and clans, describing bustling little hamlets where people gathered to learn, trade, and work.

It was nothing like the temple. Your mother is the revered Divine, and the strict hierarchy ensured you were respected with the near equivalence of your mother herself. The clerics catered to your needs; your only significant concerns were training and your studies. Here, you are sheltered from the scourge of war, sheltered behind these ancient draconic walls from the good and the bad.

However, you’ve been spending more time outside of the temple in the surrounding forest, foraging for herbs, bones, and omens alike, despite your mother’s admonishment. You frequented the creek that ran as a border between the temple and the warring lands below. Overlooking the valley, you saw the signs of warfare— scorched and disturbed earth, scarred with death and hate.

Divine Anora chastised your interest in the war, especially after it claimed the life of your father. Your mother would curse that men have been warring with each other since their creation, and that you shouldn’t bother yourself with their carnage. Being Dragonborn, your duty lies with the dragons, not the brutality of man. Though with the increasing tension along the border, you felt the threat of war moving closer with each passing day.

Spring arrived with the Uchiha brothers, their presence filling the temple corridors with an intensity that made the very air shimmer. You found yourself drawn into Izuna's orbit most readily, as his brother had become more occupied with the clan’s dealings. Recently, Izuna has taken the reins of your training, giving you a break from Madara’s harder edge.

In the woodland that surrounded the temple grounds, Izuna would teach you the fluid movements of Uchiha sword work, his patient corrections delivered with a smile that made you strive to impress him. Madara watched these lessons from a distance, his obsidian eyes tracking every gesture with an attention that had come to feel more protective and possessive over the years.

Summer brought the Senju, and with them, a different kind of awakening. Tobirama's analytical mind fascinated you— the way he searched for deeper meaning and answers in any challenge, the way his red eyes studied you as though you were a puzzle he was determined to solve. Where Izuna was charismatic and tender, Tobirama acted as a headstrong challenge, leaving you feeling exhilarated after every interaction, not much different from Madara’s increasingly heated stare. Hashirama's gentle kindness provided a consistent counterpoint to his younger brother's intensity. Still, even you could see the careful way he navigated conversations, always steering away from topics that might invoke the Uchiha name.

The rhythm had become comfortable, predictable even— until deep winter shattered it entirely.

You were sitting in meditation beside Izuna in the shrine when a commotion erupted from the temple entrance. The heavy wooden doors groaned open against the howling wind, and through the gap came voices you recognized with a sinking heart. Tobirama's measured tones, sharp with cold and something else— surprise, perhaps annoyance. Hashirama's more animated protests about the weather and the urgency of their visit.

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet further as Izuna's spine went rigid beside you. His dark eyes, which had been soft moments before, now blazed with sudden indignation. "What are they doing here?" He breathed, his hand hovering over the sword at his hip. His fingers barely brushed the hilt before you placed your hand over his, the touch light but insistent.

"Izuna," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the winter winds still howling through the partially open doors. "Remember where you are. The temple is neutral ground."

His jaw clenched, tight muscles twitching beneath his pale skin. "The Senju shouldn’t be here."

You shifted to face him fully, your silk dress rustling against the polished floor. "The Divine will handle it. Please, stay here with me."

For a moment, his eyes eased as they met yours, and you thought he might relent. Then Madara's voice thundered from the entrance hall, sharp with cold fury.

"What business brings the Senju to sacred ground when you know full well the Uchiha are in residence?"

Divine Anora's voice followed immediately, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Lower your voice in my temple, Madara Uchiha!"

Izuna was on his feet before you could stop him, wrenching free of your grasp with gentleness despite his haste. "My brother needs me," he said, already moving toward the door.

You rose quickly, your violet dress tangling around your ankles as you hurried after him. The long corridor seemed endless, your heartbeat keeping time with your rapid footsteps. By the time you reached the entrance hall, the confrontation had already escalated into an array of shouting.

Hashirama stood with his hands raised in a placating gesture, his tall form positioned between his brother and the Uchiha. Your mother stood slightly to the side, her gilded triple moon staff planted firmly on the stone floor, expression thunderous.

"We didn't know you would be here," Hashirama was saying, his voice reasonable despite the tension etched across his features. "We came because of the reports of unusual chakra disturbances in this region. As allies of the temple—"

"Allies?" Madara spat the word. "You claim alliance when it suits you, Hashirama."

Tobirama stepped forward, his white hair stark against the dark furs he wore against the winter cold. "Unlike some, we don't use the temple as a retreat when battle turns against us."

The accusation hung in the air for only a moment before Izuna crossed the space between them, his movements rigid with barely contained rage. "Say that again, rat. I dare you."

"Gladly," Tobirama replied, his crimson eyes narrowing as he leaned closer to Izuna. "Your clan comes running to hide behind priestess robes whenever you get a taste of defeat."

"Enough!" Your mother's voice cracked like lightning, but neither of the young men seemed to hear her.

You watched in horror as chakra began to crackle around Tobirama's fists, a shimmering blue that painted his face in ghostly light. Izuna's eyes flashed dangerously, the first hints of the Sharingan swirling to life within them.

"The Uchiha have never fled from battle," Izuna hissed, his voice dropping to a deadly growl. "Unlike the Senju, who scatter like leaves in the wind when facing our power."

Tobirama's laugh was cold and sharp. "Is that what Madara tells you? Your brother's pride blinds you both."

Madara stepped forward, his presence seeming to darken the very air around him. "Watch your tongue when speaking of matters you know nothing about, boy."

"I am no boy," Tobirama snapped, his attention shifting to Madara. "And I know enough about the Uchiha to recognize your pattern of deception."

Hashirama moved between them, his hands still raised. "Brothers, please! This is sacred ground. We are all guests here, bound by—"

"Bound by what?" Tobirama interrupted, his voice rising. "The same oaths the Uchiha break whenever convenient? They're here plotting something, brother. Can't you see it?"

"The only plots here are yours," Madara growled, his own chakra flaring so intensely that you felt its heat from across the room. "Coming here under false pretenses when you know—"

"We knew nothing!" Hashirama insisted, but his words were drowned as Izuna and Tobirama lunged at each other simultaneously.

Izuna drew his sword, swinging at the white-haired boy with full strength. Tobirama countered, his own weapon meeting Izuna's with a metallic clang that echoed through the temple.

"Stop this at once!" Your mother's voice rose above the chaos, but neither young man heeded her command.

You stood frozen, watching as childhood companions transformed into the warriors they had been raised to be. Their movements were too fast for your eyes to follow— a blur of steel and fury, chakra pulsing around them in waves that made the temple's ancient stones hum with warning.

Hashirama moved first, wooden tendrils sprouting from his palms to wrap around his brother's torso, yanking him backward. At the same moment, Madara seized Izuna by his shirt, hauling him away with enough force that you heard fabric tear.

"Enough, brother," Madara commanded in a tone that left no room to contest.

Your mother stood between the separated pairs, her staff raised horizontally before her, a barrier that none dared cross. Her eyes blazed amber with a burning fury that made both Madara and Hashirama take a step back.

"I will not have blood spilled on consecrated ground!" Her voice carried through the temple, resonating with a power that demanded everyone’s attention. "Have you forgotten yourselves completely? Would you bring your petty wars into the domain of Akatosh himself?"

As if summoned by her words, a deafening bellow shook the temple foundations. The sound reverberated through the stone walls, causing the foundations to creak and the floor to tremble beneath your feet. It was no human sound— it carried the primal wrath of something ancient and foreboding, the dragon's rage echoing from deep within the mountain.

Even Madara paled slightly, his obsidian eyes widening as he glanced toward the inner sanctum. Tobirama's hands fell to his sides, the shimmering chakra dissipating into the air as Hashirama bowed his head in immediate deference.

The silence that followed was thick with tension, broken only by the heavy breathing of the young men and the continued howl of the winter wind. You found yourself pressing against a pillar, your heart thundering in your chest as you watched your mother stand unflinching before the might of the warriors.

Your mother's expression remained stern, her authority absolute in that moment. "Akatosh does not tolerate the spilling of blood in his domain. You have all forgotten your place." She turned to Madara, her gaze unflinching. "Take your brother and return to the inner sanctum. Meditate on the meaning of sanctuary until your hearts remember what your minds have forgotten."

For a moment, it seemed Madara might protest, but another low rumble—distant but unmistakable—made him reconsider. He nodded curtly, one hand still firmly gripping Izuna's shoulder.

"Come, Izuna," he said quietly. "We will honor the Divine's wisdom."

Izuna's eyes found yours over his shoulder as Madara guided him away, something unspoken passing between you—regret, perhaps, or a promise to explain later. You watched them disappear down the corridor toward the inner sanctum, the tension in your shoulders easing only slightly with their departure.

Your mother turned to the Senju brothers, her expression no less severe. "You will remain here until I return. Alessia will attend to you." She fixed her gaze on you then, a silent command to keep the peace in her absence. Before following the Uchiha brothers, she approached you and leaned close to whisper in your ear. "Be wary, child. The hate between these clans burns hotter than dragonfire, as you well know."

Then she was gone, leaving you alone with the Senju.

Chapter Text

An uncomfortable silence descended, broken only by Hashirama clearing his throat. "Alessia, please accept our deepest apologies. We truly did not know the Uchiha would be in residence."

You nodded, trying to summon the serene composure your mother had displayed. "All’s well, Hashirama. If you would come with me, I'll have the Sisters prepare you some tea."

Hashirama smiled gratefully and moved to follow you, but Tobirama remained rigid, his red eyes fixed on the corridor where the Uchiha had disappeared. The tension radiating from him was palpable, like heat from a forge.

"Tobirama," you said softly, approaching him with cautious steps. "Please come inside, you’ve been in the cold too long."

His crimson eyes bore in your yours, narrowing with an intensity that made you falter mid-step. You knew this look, and it caused your heart to freeze in your chest. The fury that had been directed at Izuna was now focused entirely on you, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle working beneath his skin.

"I saw you with him," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "The way he looked at you before he left."

You blinked, taken aback by the accusation in his tone. "Are you seriously—"

"Do you have any idea what they truly are?" Tobirama cut you off, stepping closer. His tall frame loomed over yours, winter clinging to his fur-lined armor. "The Uchiha speak of peace within these walls while plotting war beyond them. And you—" his voice dropped to a hiss, "—you welcome them with open arms, teach them your temple's secrets, give them your trust as if they deserve it."

"That's not fair," you say as your face contorts with anger and hurt, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. "The temple welcomes all who—"

"The temple is being used!" Tobirama's voice rose sharply. "And you're too naive to see it. I thought you were more intelligent than that, Alessia, but perhaps you're just another foolish girl enchanted by Uchiha charm while they sharpen the knife for your back."

The words struck you down like a blade. You stepped back, eyes widening as tears pricked hot and sudden behind them. The harshness of his accusation, the contempt in his voice—it wounded something deep within you.

The vision you had tried so hard to forget swarmed your mind once again, causing bile to rise in your throat as you stared at the familiar form of the enraged, white-haired shinobi.

Before you could respond, Hashirama moved with startling speed. His hand closed around Tobirama's collar, yanking him backward with enough force that the younger Senju nearly lost his footing.

"Tobirama, enough!" Hashirama's voice was severe, its striking assertion startling you both. "You dishonor our clan and yourself with your words!"

Tobirama's expression shifted, the anger giving way to something like shock as he registered the tears now sliding down your cheeks. His mouth opened, perhaps to offer some retraction, but you couldn't bear to hear more.

The humiliation burned too fiercely.

"Alessia, please—" Hashirama began, but you were already turning away, your heavy robes whispering against the stone floor as you fled.

Behind you, you heard Hashirama's voice rise in anger. "Have you lost your damn mind? After everything, and you treat her like this, Tobirama? The priestess who has shown our family nothing but kindness, and you repay her with these cruel accusations?"

The corridors blurred through your tears as you navigated by memory alone, seeking solitude from the storm of Tobirama’s wrath.

The library welcomed you with its familiar scent of parchment and frankincense. Ancient scrolls lined the walls from floor to ceiling, silent witnesses to your distress. You made your way to the deep window seat overlooking the snow-covered mountains, curling into its embrace as your tears fell openly.

Outside, winter held the world in its grasp, the landscape blanketed in pristine white that reflected the pale sunlight. Yet the beauty brought you no comfort as sobs wracked your body, each breath catching painfully in your chest.

The memory of Tobirama's cold eyes cut deeper than any blade could have. They matched the same ruthless gleam that haunted you. You had believed there was an understanding between you, perhaps even a special bond that protected you from that side of him. When you saw him last autumn, you wholeheartedly trusted that Tobirama would never hurt you— with his hands or with his words.

Now his contempt lay bare before you, his words echoing in your mind with cruel persistence.

Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks as you hugged your knees tighter to your chest. The unfairness of it all burned in your throat. You had never shown favoritism, had never betrayed any confidence. Even after the vision of Kaito and Tajima’s death, watching Butsuma kill your father with a smile on his face, you didn’t blame Tobirama for the pain in your heart. The temple's neutrality was sacred to you, as much a part of your very being as the blood that flowed through your veins.

Time passed unmarked as your tears gradually subsided, leaving your eyes swollen and your throat raw. The library remained silent save for the occasional crackle of the small fire burning in the hearth. You gazed out at the mountains without truly seeing them, lost in the hollow ache that had settled in your chest.

Chapter Text

You were pulled from your dreaded thoughts— a presence at the edge of your awareness. A familiar chakra signature approached the library, hesitant yet determined.

Tobirama.

You stiffened, keeping your gaze fixed out the window. The door creaked open behind you, followed by slow, soft footsteps that paused several paces away.

"Alessia." His voice was quiet, shaky almost, lacking its usual sharp confidence. When you didn't respond, he moved closer, stopping just beyond arm's reach. "I've… come to apologize."

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words. You could feel his discomfort growing, his chakra fluctuating with uncertainty— an unusual state for the typically composed Senju.

"What I said was inexcusable. I let my anger toward the Uchiha blind me, and I... I took it out on you. That was wrong of me."

Still, you offered no response. The tall mountains beyond the window blurred as fresh tears threatened, but you blinked them back fiercely.

You heard him take a step closer, then another. "Alessia, please. Say something. Anything." His voice had lost all of its remaining confidence, replaced by something that sounded almost like desperation. "Tell me you hate me if you must. I deserve it."

"Hashirama sent you, didn't he?" You finally asked, your voice slightly raspy from crying.

"No," a heavy sigh escaped Tobirama's lips. "I came of my own accord." His voice softened further as his gaze bore into the back of your head. "Everything I said was cruel and untrue. I never should have said any of it."

You turned slowly from the window, finally meeting his maroon eyes. His composure had crumbled, revealing something raw and vulnerable beneath.

The Tobirama you knew.

"I accept your apology," you said quietly, the words barely audible above the crackling fire. Despite the pain he caused you, once again, you could not will yourself to stay angry with him.

Relief visibly washed over him, his shoulders slumping as he carefully lowered himself beside you on the window seat. He kept a respectful distance, his larger frame awkward in the confined space. From the corner of his eye, he studied your tear-stained face, regret etched into every line of his stern expression.

"I never meant to make you cry," he murmured. "That was... unforgivable."

You nodded, still nursing the ache his words had left. The silence extended between you, punctuated only by the whisper of falling snow outside the window. Tobirama shifted uncomfortably, then, with a hesitant movement, reached for your hand. His fingers, calloused from years of weapon training, gently enveloped yours.

"It's not just the Uchiha," he admitted after a lengthy pause, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around yours. "It's... Izuna." His jaw worked silently for a moment, as though the following words required tremendous effort. "I don't like seeing you around him."

The confession hung in the air between you, its significance not lost despite your naivety. You understood how difficult such an admission must have been for Tobirama Senju—proud, logical, and ever-guarded with his emotions. Revealing the true source of his anger was akin to admitting weakness.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you shifted to face him more directly, understanding the man’s true conflict. "Are you jealous, Lord Tobirama?" You asked, your voice taking on a playful lilt that surprised him after your tears.

His eyes widened fractionally, a faint flush coloring his cheeks beneath the red markings. "I—I'm merely concerned for your—"

But you didn't let him retreat behind his half-truths. In a moment of impulse, you launched yourself forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist in a fierce embrace that nearly toppled him backward.

"A-Alessia!" He stammered, his hands instinctively moving to steady you, one at your waist and the other at your back.

You buried your face against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of cedar and smoke that clung to his clothing. His hold on you remained firm, unsure of what to do as you clung to him. You pulled back slightly, your eyes dancing with mischief as you took in Tobirama's flustered expression. His scarlet eyes widened, the deepening blush creeping across his face— a rare sight that delighted you immensely.

"Aww," you cooed, as you adjusted yourself on his lap. "The great Tobirama Senju, blushing like a common boy." Your voice carried a teasing tone, your fingers tracing the red markings on his face with feather-light touches.

His breath caught audibly, stilling beneath your soft touch. "Alessia, you shouldn’t do that—" he managed with a choked voice, though his hands remained at your waist, neither pulling you closer nor pushing you away.

"Why not?" You asked innocently, tilting your head. "Is something wrong? Would you rather I go talk to Izuna instead?"

The blush somehow deepened even further as you leaned your face closer to his, flushed pink spreading to his ears as he struggled to maintain his composure. His usual eloquence abandoned him completely, leaving only stammered fragments. "No, that's not—I didn't mean—"

You laughed softly, the sound like temple bells in the quiet library. You enjoyed flustering the younger Senju— to render the calculating, ever-composed Tobirama speechless with nothing more than your presence.

It made you even.

Taking pity on him, you slipped gracefully from his lap and settled beside him instead. Tobirama released the breath he had been holding, peering at you with a bemused expression from the corner of his eyes. You wrapped your arm through his, leaning your head against his shoulder as the playfulness faded from your demeanor. The boy next to you leaned against your frame as your eyes shifted downward, feeling a cold affliction settle in your chest.

"I hate it," you said softly after a moment of silence. "This war between your clans. Every time you leave, I have to wonder if you'll ever return." Your voice grew smaller, more vulnerable. "I'm afraid that any farewell could be our last. That one day, news will reach the temple of your death, or Izuna's, or..." You couldn't finish the thought, your throat tightening painfully at the thought of losing them both.

Tobirama sat very still beside you, his breathing measured. When he finally spoke, his voice carried none of its typical sharpness. "That’s a part of war, Alessia."

"And you accept that?" You asked, raising your head to look at him. "How long have your clans been at war— how many lives must be lost? War is all I've ever known to be outside these walls. You and Izuna were born into it, just as I was born into the temple. It feels endless… Sometimes I wonder if there is a better way to end this cycle of hatred."

His hand squeezed yours, noting the hints of pain behind your words. "My brother believes there can be peace. Sometimes... sometimes I almost believe him, too."

"You do?" You searched his face, finding an unusual meekness in those red eyes.

"Hashirama dreams of a village where the clans live together, where children train and learn instead of going to war. But with the way things are right now, I don’t know how there could ever be peace without one side feeling like they’re losing.” He looked away solemnly, looking off at nothing.

“Is that why neither side can agree to peace? Over pride?” Your words came out more bitter than intended, only realizing it when Tobirama faced you again with an anguished expression.

“It’s not pride, Alessia. The Uchiha slaughtered my family— it’s hard to find forgiveness for them. For some reason, Hashirama has a softness in his heart for the Uchiha. But I do not. Besides, Hashirama and Madara’s vision of peace is very different.”

His stare was intense, but you didn’t feel as if he was talking down to you. You had discussed the war and peace with him and his brothers before, but now that you’re older, you can see it from a different perspective. “What if everyone were to compromise equally?”

Tobirama scoffed with a smirk as his demeanor shifted under your hopeful eyes, abruptly ruffling your hair, causing you to scowl. “You know nothing of war, Alessia; You’re far too optimistic. A joining of clans means more people to please, and you can never please everyone.”

Fixing your golden headband with a huff, you throw yourself back on the cushion, staring up at the wood-paneled ceiling. “Maybe you’re far too pessimistic.” You mock in his voice with a dramatic pout.

He leans over you, obstructing your view with his pinched face and narrowed brows. “You’re a brat,” he said as he flicked your nose.

“Ow!” You grab his finger with speed he didn’t remember you having before he can pull away, causing his brows to knit tighter together.

"Let go, you little menace," Tobirama growled, though his eyes glinted with amusement.

You held tighter, a mischievous smile spreading across your tear-stained face. "Make me."

In one fluid motion, Tobirama yanked his hand upward, pulling you with it. Before you could register what was happening, he had hoisted you over his shoulder like a sack of rice, one arm wrapped securely around your thighs.

"Tobirama!" You squealed, your hair cascading down his back as blood rushed to your head. You pounded your small fists against his back, though your laughter betrayed your protest. "Put me down this instant!"

"I think you're fine where you are," he replied, his voice rumbling through his chest against your stomach. "Perhaps this will teach you some respect for your elders."

“You’re the one who needs to learn respect!”

The library door abruptly slid open, and Hashirama's tall figure filled the doorway. His initial expression of concern melted into a broad smile at the sight before him.

"Well," he chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, "I see you two have made amends. I was worried I'd find another battle on my hands."

Tobirama straightened, adjusting you slightly on his shoulder. "The priestess and I have come to an understanding."

"I understand he's insufferable," you quipped, still dangling upside down, your cheeks flushed pink as you craned your neck to meet the older Senju’s eyes.

Hashirama's laugh echoed through the library. "That he is, though I'm glad to see it hasn't damaged your friendship." His expression softened as he looked between you. "Divine Anora is looking for you, Alessia. She seemed... rather insistent."

Tobirama carefully lowered you to the ground, his hands lingering at your waist a moment longer than necessary to ensure you were steady. Your head still spun slightly from being upside down, and you clutched his arm for balance. However, your stomach dropped at his words. Your mother must have finished dealing with the Uchiha brothers, which meant she now had time to address your unexcusable disappearance during a crisis.

The thought made you wince.

"I suppose I must go, then," you said, reluctance evident in your voice. Something in Hashirama's tone suggested your mother was not in the most forgiving of moods.

Tobirama looked down at you, his scarlet eyes relaxing in a way that made your heart skip. "Perhaps it's best we Senju take our leave soon. We've caused enough disruption for one day."

The thought of his departure brought a pang of sadness. Without thinking, you threw your arms around his waist, pressing your face against his chest in a fierce embrace. "Promise you'll come back in summer," you whispered, your words muffled against the fabric of his tunic.

For a moment, Tobirama stood frozen, momentarily startled. Then his arms encircled you, his breath hot against your ear. "I promise," he said, his voice oddly gruff. "But only if you agree to spar again."

You pulled back with a devious smile. “Oh, I’ll kick your ass, Senju!”

“I’ll enjoy watching you try,” he scoffed as you finally pulled away. "You should go," he said, slightly softer. "Before the Divine sends the Sisters to hunt you down."

With a final, lingering glance at Tobirama, you nodded and stepped back, straightening your gown. "Safe journeys," you smiled, waving them both goodbye before you turned and hurried from the library, your heart strangely heavy in your chest.

Chapter Text

The stone corridors felt colder than before as you made your way toward the inner sanctum, your footsteps echoing against ancient walls. You rounded the final corner and froze— your mother stood waiting, her tall figure silhouetted against the ornate doorway, her face a mask of disapproval.

"Mother," you began, but she raised a hand, silencing you.

"I see the Senju boy has dried your tears," she said, her voice sharp as a blade. "How generous of him, considering he caused them in the first place."

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you lowered your gaze. "Tobirama apologized. He didn't mean—"

"Look at me when I speak to you, Alessia." Her command brooked no argument.

You raised your eyes to meet hers, fighting the urge to shrink beneath her scrutiny. The Divine's gaze was piercing, seeming to cut through all pretense and expose every hidden thought.

"Come," she said, turning without waiting for a response. "We have important matters to discuss."

You followed her into her private study, a circular room lined with ancient scrolls and draconic artifacts. The air smelled of sandalwood and ylang-ylang, the light from oil lamps casting dancing shadows across the walls. Your mother gestured for you to sit on the ottoman while she remained standing, her ceremonial robes grazing against the floor as she paced.

"Do you understand what happened today?" She asked after a moment of tense silence.

"The Senju and Uchiha nearly fought within the temple," you answered, your voice smaller than you intended.

"And you allowed one of them to make you cry. Bothering you so much so that you abandoned our guests just after they threatened to violate the temple’s sacred neutrality," she added, her tone making it clear which transgression she found more concerning. "You showed weakness, Alessia. A grave vulnerability that can be exploited. Have you learned nothing after your communion with Akatosh?"

You flinched at her words, struggling to meet her burning gaze. "H-he said cruel things, I wasn't prepared—"

"And you think your enemies will prepare you before they strike?" She stopped her pacing to fix you with a stern look. "The Divine cannot afford such indulgences, to cry because your mere feelings are hurt. You must be stone before those who would shake you, water before those who would break you."

"I'm sorry, mother," you whispered, shame burning in your face under her glare.

Anora moved to stand before the window, her silhouette outlined against the winter landscape beyond. The light caught the intricate embroidery of her robes, threads of gold and silver gleaming like dragon scales.

"You're becoming too attached to them, Alessia," she said, her voice softening slightly, though her posture remained rigid. "Both the Uchiha and the Senju boys. I watch how you look at them, how eagerly you await their visits." She turned to face you, her pressing eyes searching yours. "Such attachments are dangerous. They threaten everything we stand for."

You shifted uncomfortably on the ottoman, your fingers tracing the stitching along the edges. "They're my friends, mother. Are friendships forbidden to a priestess?"

"Friendship?" Her eyebrow arched skeptically. "Is that what you believe exists between you and these clan heirs? These boys who are raised from birth to view everything as a potential weapon or ally?" She shook her head slowly. "No, Alessia. What they seek from you is advantage— access to the temple's power, to its influence, to the dragons."

"That's not true," you protested, heat rising to your cheeks. "Izuna is kind, and Tobirama—"

"Tobirama Senju made you weep today with words meant to wound," she interrupted sharply. "And tomorrow, Izuna Uchiha might do the same if it serves his clan's interests." She approached you, kneeling gracefully so that her eyes were level with yours. "Child, do you truly not understand? The temple's neutrality is our only protection in this war. If we are seen to favor either side, we become a target for the other."

You looked away, unable to bear the intensity of her gaze. "I don't favor either clan."

"Don't you?" Her voice was gentle now, almost sad, as she moved to sit next to you. "I see how you have these boys wrapped around your finger, even if you don’t. These relationships cannot exist for those who remain neutral."

"But you loved a Uchiha— so why would it be a problem for me to love one? If I shouldn’t favor them, then why allow the Uchiha to train me at all?" You challenged with a trembling lip, meeting her eyes once more. "If neutrality is so important, why permit father or Madara and Izuna to teach me their techniques?"

Anora's expression hardened once more at your indignation. "Because I wanted you to have what I did not, Alessia. Our fathers serve no obligation to us or our mothers, and most Divine’s never even meet them. Yes, it is true, what Kaito and I had was highly unusual for the temple. And as much as I love him, I sometimes worry that my love for him has, in turn, weakened you.”

Her words burned like fire, consuming you from the inside out as they settled in your ears. Her voice was coated with pain, and you didn’t know what part of her words hurt you the most. “With the spectacle he caused during the Rite of Passage, our relationship was no secret. In the beginning… There was much political turmoil involving the temple and surrounding clans. This is the reason why your identity has been safeguarded since your birth. Many would assume the child to be Kaito’s, and they would have been correct.”

Your mother’s face was set as a stone, attempting to steel you against whatever feelings her words may inflict. “I loved Kaito, and he desired to be in your life, so I permitted it. I broke protocol, and in doing so, I believe I have somehow disrupted the balance of time. The lines of neutrality have blurred, I see it so with each passing day.” She crossed her legs and straightened her back as she studied your face, and you couldn’t ignore the ghost of regret in her features that she attempted to whisk away. "Now Kaito is dead, and the Uchiha train you only out of obligation to their bloodline, not out of kindness. Never forget that distinction."

The thought of being merely an obligation to the Uchiha clan pierced your heart like a blade. You'd cherished your time with the Uchiha boys, from a child up until now, believing them to be born of a genuine bond. Now, your mother's words cast them in a colder light— duty, not affection.

Obligation, not friendship.

"So that’s all I am," you croaked, your voice barely audible above the crackling fire. "An obligation to their bloodline?"

Your mother's expression softened slightly as she witnessed your distress, misinterpreting her words. "It is not so simple, child. The clan elders may view you as an obligation, but the boys..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "It is not mere kindness they are giving you. I have seen how they look at you, no matter how innocent you might think them to be."

You glanced up, something forbidden flickering in your chest. "What do you mean?"

"Izuna watches you when he thinks no one notices," she said, a hint of reluctance in her tone. "His eyes follow you with an allure that goes beyond duty, while the older one stalks you like prey from the shadows. And the Senju boy—Tobirama— his jealousy today speaks volumes."

"I can't help but like them," you admitted, the words rushing out before you could stop them. "Life in the temple isn’t the most thrilling thing, and they…" You trailed off, unable to articulate the warm flutter that visited your chest when you were around them.

Anora sighed deeply, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "It is the dragon's blood in you, Alessia. It calls to powerful warriors, draws them to your flame. Since ancient times, our bloodline has seduced those with great power and potential." Her eyes grew distant, as though seeing into the past. "I was much the same at your age."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Yes, as I’m sure you’ve heard from your father’s stories. In my younger years, I endured the infatuation of many suitors. The dragon's blood makes us magnetic to those with strength and ambition. But it is your Uchiha heritage that makes this dangerous." Her expression grew grave once more. "The Uchiha feel emotions more deeply than others— it is both their strength and their curse. When a Uchiha loves, they love with their entire being. When they hate, their hatred consumes them completely."

You remembered the intensity in Madara's eyes, the fierce protectiveness in Izuna's stance, the words of your father. "The curse of the Uchiha," you murmured.

"Yes," she nodded solemnly. "Though you do not possess the Sharingan, I see that your heart is very much like your father’s. He saw that long before I ever did."

A somber chill ran down your spine as your mother's words sank in. The weight of your lineage— as dragon priestess and Uchiha— suddenly felt heavier than before.

"You are bound to this temple, Alessia," your mother continued, her voice softening as she took your hands in hers. "Your destiny lies here, among the sacred fires and ancient scrolls. These boys, however dear they may become to you, are distractions from the path you must walk. And with your future being obscured, you must protect yourself from all distractions."

You looked down at your intertwined fingers, noting how similar your hands were becoming to hers— the same long, elegant fingers marked with ash and ink from ritual work. "I understand being cautious, but must I live life alone?"

"Not alone," she corrected gently. "With the dragons, with the priestesses, with me for as long as I am here." Her thumb traced small circles on the back of your hand, a rare gesture of affection. "But you must guard your heart more carefully. The Senju boy made you weep today. The Uchiha boy made your heart flutter yesterday. These feelings... they will only grow stronger as you do. And with these feelings come weakness."

Your cheeks burned at her perception. Had your fondness been so obvious?

"I know you, my daughter," Anora continued, a hint of warmth creeping into her voice. "Better than you think. I know you will continue to befriend these boys despite my warnings. Your heart is too open, too willing to see good where others see only clan markings and battle scars." She sighed, releasing your hands to cup your face instead. "I cannot change your nature, nor would I wish to. It is what will make you a compassionate Divine someday."

You leaned into her touch, surprised by this rare moment of unguarded tenderness after her intense ire. "Then what would you have me do?"

"Protect your heart," she repeated, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames of the hearth. "Give them your friendship if you must, but keep a part of yourself sacred and untouchable. Just… always remember that their loyalties will always lie elsewhere— with clans that have spent generations perfecting the art of killing one another."

The truth of her words continued to sting, but you couldn't deny them. No matter how gentle Izuna's smile or how bewitching Tobirama's presence, they were warriors first, trained from childhood to view the world through the lens of clan allegiance.

"I know," you murmured, though your heart rebelled against the idea of distancing yourself from the boys.

Your mother's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Do you?" She rose gracefully, her robes settling around her like rippling water. She moved to her desk, leaning against it as her gaze shifted back to the large window. "They are already carving spaces in your heart, and you are still so young."

"I'm sixteen," you protested weakly. "I'm not a child anymore."

A soft laugh escaped her lips, though it held more sadness than mirth. "In the eyes of their clans, you are nearly of marriageable age. That is precisely what concerns me."

Your cheeks flushed hot at the implication. "Marriageable? But I'm to be the Divine—"

"And a valuable Uchiha with dragon blood," she finished for you. "Never underestimate what clan elders might propose to secure such power for their bloodline." She turned back to face you, her expression grave. "The Uchiha already view you as partly theirs. How long before they seek to claim you entirely?"

The thought had never occurred to you before, and it sent another chill racing through your body. Would the Uchiha ever try to arrange a marriage for you? Could that be possible? Would your mother ever allow such a thing?

"They wouldn't," you said, but uncertainty made your voice waver. "The temple's neutrality—"

"Can be compromised by many things, including your heart. You heard Akatosh’s warning, my dear. Enemies have all sorts of faces, often being the very ones you know best." Your mother's voice took on an edge of steel that made you sit straighter, the implication hanging in the air. "The Uchiha already seek to claim you through Madara's training. He marks you as his student, his to mold, his to influence."

You swallowed hard, remembering the recent possessive gleam in Madara's eyes whenever he looked at you. "I didn't realize..."

"Of course you didn't," she said, not unkindly. "You see friendship where they see opportunity. The Senju brothers came today under the pretense of investigating chakra disturbances, but I am not so easily deceived. They came because they knew the Uchiha were here." Her lips pressed into a thin line. "They came to assess what advantage Madara might be gaining through the temple. I suspect they are suspicious."

The revelation struck you like a physical blow. Had Tobirama's apology been sincere, or merely a tactic to regain your trust for intel? Had his jealousy been genuine, or calculated to drive a wedge between you and Izuna?

Your mother saw the doubt flickering across your face and pressed her advantage. "Listen carefully, Alessia. The temple has remained standing for centuries because it serves a purpose greater than clan wars and human ambitions. We maintain the balance between dragons and mankind. Without us— without you, when your time comes— that balance will crumble."

She stood before you again, her hands gripping your shoulders with unexpected intensity. "There must always be a High Priestess of Akatosh. Always. The day this temple falls, the day the line of the Divine ends, is the day chaos will damn this world." Her eyes bore into yours, dark and fathomless as the night sky. "Your loyalty must be to the temple first. To the dragons. To the balance we maintain. Not to handsome boys with clever words and fierce eyes."

You nodded slowly, the weight of her words settling over you like a stone. "I understand, mother."

"Ensure that you do." Her grip tightened slightly. "I know what is budding inside you, and what soon follows will consume your heart. But they will never truly be yours, nor you theirs."

Tears pricked at your eyes again, but you blinked them back fiercely. You would not cry twice in one day, and not over feelings that you now question. "I know my duty," you said, your voice flat. "I was born to serve the temple, to maintain the balance."

Your mother's expression tightened as she released your shoulders to cup your face once more. "Yes, you were. And you will be a magnificent Divine someday, with or without clan boys vying for your attention." She pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, a rare gesture that slightly eased the overwhelming disappointment you felt.

"Now go and rest. Madara wanted you to train this evening, but I fear he might take out his frustration on you after today's... incident." Her voice softened as she smoothed your hair back from your forehead. "We will resume your lessons tomorrow, when tempers have cooled."

You recognized the gesture for what it was— not merely a dismissal, but a shield of protection. Even now, as she lectured you on duty and destiny, your mother sought to spare you further from any of the boy’s temper.

"Thank you," you whispered, rising from the ottoman with a respectful bow. Your limbs felt heavy with the weight of her warnings, reflecting those of Akatosh himself, your mind crowded with thoughts of duty and forbidden attachments.

As you made your way through the temple corridors toward your chambers, you passed several sisters who bowed their heads reverently. Their deference no longer surprised you—you had grown accustomed to being treated as the future Divine, set apart from others by the burden of your destiny.

You stopped by the kitchen, gathering a small plate of bread and butter along with an apple, though you had little appetite. Lost in thought, your feet carried you to the safest place in the temple.

Your room welcomed you with familiar comfort— the silk bedding embroidered with golden patterns, the low table where you practiced calligraphy, the small altar where incense burned. You shed your formal robes, changing into a simple nightgown before kneeling before the altar. The ritual of evening prayers came automatically, your lips forming the ancient words while your mind wandered far beyond the temple walls.

When you finally slipped beneath the covers, sleep did not come easily. You stared at the ceiling, watching shadows cast by moonlight dance across the ancient beams. Your mother's warnings echoed in your thoughts, conflicting you with her paranoia, while mingling with memories of Tobirama's crimson eyes and Izuna's kind smile.

What would it be like, you wondered, to live beyond these walls? To walk freely among ordinary people, without the weight of prophecy and tradition pressing down upon your shoulders? To choose your own path rather than following one laid out centuries before your birth?

As exhaustion finally claimed you, your dreams took shape with unusual clarity. You stood at the edge of a bustling village market, your priestess robes exchanged for a simple cotton dress. Around you, people moved with purpose—merchants hawking their wares, children darting between stalls, shinobi passing through with weapons glinting in the sunlight.

No one bowed as you passed. No one whispered reverently about dragon blood or ancient duties. You were simply another face in the crowd, anonymous and wonderfully free.

You wandered to the village square, so different from the solemn quiet of the temple grounds. Children darted between market stalls, their laughter ringing like temple bells. Women in colorful kimonos haggled good-naturedly with local mongers over the price of fresh fish and vegetables. The air smelled of grilled meat, sweet dumplings, and the earthy scent of people living their lives unburdened by sacred duty.

You moved through the crowd, marveling at how no one stared at you or stepped aside in deference. How it felt to be a normal person. The sensation felt foreign, yet exhilarating.

Though these dreams would never be your reality, you let yourself dream of what life would be without the temple.

Without the war.

Chapter Text

Time can transform a girl into something unrecognizable— a truth you understood with every bruise that blossomed across your skin, every callus hardened your once-delicate hands. Years of transformation, of being unmade and reforged by hands that knew only the language of war.

You traced the fading bruise along your forearm, a watercolor of violet and yellow that marked Madara's latest lesson in defensive techniques. The pain had dulled to a whisper, joining the chorus of aches that had become as familiar as prayer. Your body— once soft with childhood— now moved with the lethal grace of a weapon that understood its purpose.

The Uchiha brothers were consistent and deliberate with their training, driving you at the same pace as any other Uchiha shinobi. They were more forgiving in the beginning, focusing mostly on teaching basic forms of jutsu. Now, however, everything was more hands-on. You learned offensive and defensive moves alike, and when you failed to block or counter, you had to withstand the blow behind it. Izuna had a much softer touch, pushing you to your limit, but not beyond.

The same cannot be said for Madara.

"Again," Madara commanded, his voice cutting through the afternoon breeze as you faced him in the eastern courtyard. You suppressed a sigh, knowing that in his current mood, it would only earn you another round of drills. Sweat had already soaked through your training clothes, your chest heaving with exertion while he stood unmarred, unmoved. You tried to slow your breathing and appear more controlled under his gaze. "I said again," Madara repeated, sharpening his tone. “Your fire style lacks conviction. You hesitate before the final seal."

You nodded once, forming the hand signs with practiced precision. The chakra built within your core— a familiar heat that spiraled upward through your chest— as you ensured it didn’t mix with your magicka. You inhaled deeply, feeling the energy concentrate, then exhaled with deliberate focus.

"Fire Style: Dragon Star Jutsu!"

Multiple projectiles of flame erupted from your hands, scattering across the training ground in a deadly pattern. Each fireball maintained its integrity as it arced through the air, striking the targets Madara had arranged with impressive accuracy. All but one— the furthest target remained untouched as the final flame flickered and died mere inches from its surface.

Frustration burned hotter than the jutsu in your chest. Despite the years of training and your natural ability, absolute perfection still eluded you.

"Better," Madara responded with a flat voice. “But still not good enough.”

"I'm trying," you replied, irritation threading through your words as you formed the hand signs once more. The chakra burned in your gut, wild and desperate to escape.

"Well, try harder," he countered, his Sharingan spinning lazily, tracking your every movement. "Your enemies won't accommodate your exhaustion."

Before you can release the jutsu, a sharp pain shoots from your spine, causing you to collapse with a breathless gasp— you had used too much chakra, feeling the pulsing burn throughout every fiber of your being as you winced in the grass.

Another failure.

You groaned with agitation as you scrambled to your feet, panting as you caught your breath. You felt two gloved hands support you, steadying you as they pulled you upwards. Madara’s large form engulfed you, and you wasted no time throwing your weight against him as your body threatened to give out from under you.

“Ugh, Madara,” you complained with a dramatic whimper as you slumped against his chest.

"After all this time, you still haven't learned to gauge your own limits?" Madara scolded you without much fire, taking pity on your wasted form.

“Shut up,” you murmured with a sigh. “You’re the one who keeps pushing me.”

“How am I to know when you are at your limit?” He retorted incredulously as you looked up at him.

“I distinctly remember someone saying ‘your enemies won’t accommodate your exhaustion,’ to goad me into another round.” You narrowed your eyes at the older man, earning a skeptical scoff.

“I’ve heard enough from you, woman. Can you walk?” He asked dismissively, still supporting you against his chest.

“Madara,” you stated plainly as the tall Uchiha raised a single brow. “You’re the only reason I’m standing.”

“Hm,” he huffed, scooping you in his arms as if you weighed nothing. “I guess I’ll take that as a no.”

Madara’s stride was brisk, purposeful, the kind of pace that was meant to disguise care as impatience. You rearranged yourself in his arms, looping your own around his neck and sighing with exaggerated resignation, cheek smushed against the rough linen of his uniform.

“Are you pleased with yourself?” You asked, peeking up at his profile with a deliberately wounded look.

“I’d be more pleased if you didn’t insist on overextending yourself every session.” His mouth quirked, the line of his jaw betraying the smallest hint of a smile.

“You should just admit it,” you replied, struggling to keep the teasing lilt from your tone. “You enjoy carrying me.”

Madara shot you a sidelong glance and snorted. “I enjoy the silence that comes with you being too tired to sass me back. That’s all.”

“You’re lying,” you said, poking at his collarbone until he grunted in warning. “I know you like it when I let you play the knight in shining armor. You can’t fool me, Madara Uchiha.”

He nearly tripped over a garden stone, and you relished the subtle pink that crept across his cheekbones. “Perhaps you should rest that voice of yours.”

“I’ll consider it,” you replied, “if you agree to drop me in a patch of soft moss.”

“You’re lucky I don’t throw you in the bushes,” he huffed.

You grinned, watching the sky pass above you— mid-autumn clouds, a falcon circling high, the crimson banners atop the temple’s pagoda catching the breeze. The world was suspended and dreamlike in his arms, your senses humming with fatigue and a strange, weightless satisfaction.

When he reached the veranda, Madara barely paused to nudge open the carved doors with his shoulder. The cool air inside the temple pressed against your overheated skin like a blessing. But you were not alone— in the dim corridor, lounging against a pillar as if he’d always been there, was Izuna.

His arms were crossed, and his face wore the kind of half-smirk that promised trouble. “What did you do to her this time?” He asked, eyes flicking from your limp form to Madara’s imperious scowl.

You answered for Madara, plastering on your best damsel-in-distress pout: “He defeated me utterly and carried me off as his spoils. I don’t think I’ll ever recover.”

Izuna rolled his eyes, but the concern beneath the sarcasm was real. “She looks half-dead, brother. Don’t you know how to pace a training session?”

Madara’s chin lifted. “She did this to herself.”

“Liar. He’s been cruel to me all day,” you interjected, relishing the chance to gang up on Madara with Izuna.

“Cruelty is his love language,” Izuna said, falling in step beside Madara as he continued down the corridor toward your chambers. “He’d sooner die than admit he likes you.”

Madara scoffed, but his grip on you tightened momentarily. “You’re both intolerable.”

“And yet you choose to spend every waking moment with us,” Izuna pointed out, grinning at you.

Madara huffed as you smiled at him. “It’s because he loves us.”

“I can still leave you to die,” Madara said with an exaggerated scowl.

Izuna’s eyes crinkled as he glanced at Madara, and you seized the opportunity to deepen your performance, letting your head loll dramatically onto Madara’s shoulder. “Izuna, if I die, tell the world I fell bravely in battle— against an unrelenting tyrant,” you whimpered, clutching Madara’s shirt as if it were your only lifeline.

“Izuna, don’t encourage her,” Madara muttered, though he made no move to dislodge you.

“Why not? You’re only grumpy because you know she’s right.” Izuna ducked in front of Madara, walking backwards to face you, a single dark brow raised in wicked challenge. “Besides, I think she only let you win so you’d have an excuse to carry her. Women are clever like that.”

You affected a faint gasp, clutching at your chest in mock outrage. “You wound me, Izuna! Are you implying I would stoop to manipulation?”

He leaned close, voice a conspiratorial whisper: “With Madara? I’m saying he’s lucky you even let him have the illusion of control.”

Madara’s brow twitched, but he kept walking, attempting stoic indifference. “If you’re so certain, perhaps you’d like to take over. I’m happy to drop her right here.”

Izuna feigned consideration, tapping his chin. “Tempting, but I have a reputation to uphold. I’ll carry her when she’s properly unconscious, as tradition dictates.”

You snorted, unable to stop your laughter. The sound drew a genuine, if exasperated, sigh from Madara. “If either of you spent half as much energy training as you do running your mouths, you’d be unstoppable.”

“Jealousy is unbecoming, Madara,” you crooned, lolling your head back to gaze at him with mock adoration. “Not everyone can be as tall and ferocious as you.”

He ignored the bait, but Izuna pounced. “It’s true. Some of us have to rely on charm and wit. And good looks.” He winked, then flashed you a grin. “Don’t let him bully you, Alessia. He’s just threatened by your beauty.”

“It’s okay, Madara, I think you’re beautiful too.” You stroked his cheek as you snickered, earning a flustered glare from the older brother.

Madara stopped before the door to your room, looking as if he were debating whether to drop you on the spot. “You’re both ridiculous,” he said, but when he set you down, his touch lingered, almost gentle. “And now, you’re Izuna’s problem.”

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked away, boots loud against the stone as you made an exasperated expression.

Chapter Text

Izuna watched him go, lips twitching with amusement. “He’s in one of his moods again. Maybe he needs to eat something. Or hit something.” He leaned against your doorframe, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you. You made your way into your room, letting your hair down as you kick off your shoes. “You know you’re the only person who can make him lose his cool like that.”

You flopped back onto your bed, groaning as the aches in your body protested the sudden movement. “You sound like you’re keeping score.”

He slipped inside, closing the door with his heel. “Maybe I am.”

Izuna idly looked around your room, as if he were lost. You watched him from your bed, propped up on your elbows, a lazy smile threatening the corners of your mouth. The ache in your muscles was already fading, replaced by the familiar, restless thrill of his presence.

"You're not going to sit down?" You asked, tilting your head in challenge.

He hesitated, then settled at the edge of your bed, careful to keep a hand’s breadth between you. In the hush that followed, he watched as you chewed your lip in absent thought.

"You let him get to you too easily," he said finally, voice low. "Madara, I mean. You could flatten him if you wanted."

"Could I?" You replied, stretching so your bare toes brushed his thigh. "He'd never forgive me for beating him in front of his own brother. Besides, letting Madara win makes him tolerable the rest of the day."

Izuna rolled his eyes but didn't move away. "You give him too much credit. He’s not that fragile."

You studied the delicate scar at his collarbone, the one you’d seen so many times but never asked about. "Maybe I like it when he acts tough."

"And what about when I act tough?" Izuna ventured, and in the dim light, you could almost mistake the mischief in his stare for something sharper, more dangerous.

You grinned, sitting up and curling your legs underneath you, your knees nearly brushing against his thigh. "You don’t act, Izuna. You just are."

He snorted, but his pulse jumped visibly at his throat. "Careful, Alessia. I might get the wrong idea."

"Try me," you said, softer than you intended. The dare hung in the air, electrifying the space between you.

Izuna’s gaze locked with yours, and for a moment neither of you breathed. You saw every twitch in his expression, every subtle shift in the set of his jaw. His hand slid across the comforter, slow and unsure, until his fingers just brushed the back of your hand.

You didn’t move.

You wanted to see what he’d do.

His thumb traced a line along your wrist, sending a bloom of heat up your arm. "You should know," he said, voice trembling for the first time since you’d known him. "I might not be as disciplined as my brother."

"Who says I want you to be?" You purr with hooded eyes as you lean in to him further.

He laughed, but the sound was ragged, clearly taken by your challenge. "You’re trouble."

"I always thought you were the type to like trouble," you replied, and it was true— you both knew it.

This close, the air felt charged, electric. You could have counted every eyelash on his cheek as his face tilted toward yours— slow, uncertain, as if the universe might shatter if he moved too quickly. For a breathless instant, you were sure the distance between you would close, sure his mouth would find yours.

But at the last possible moment, Izuna pulled away, the spell snapping so sharply you almost gasped. He rose to his feet and turned away, running a hand through his raven hair with a noise that was half groan, half curse as he stepped back, flustered and refusing to meet your eyes.

You blinked, disoriented by his abrupt absence. Your heart hammered in your chest, every nerve ending still tingling with the kinetic near-miss of his mouth. You watched his silhouette against the moulded walls, jaw clenched, the line of his spine taut and defensive.

“Well,” he said after a moment, voice rough-edged, “I should… I should go before Madara comes looking.” He didn’t turn, didn’t risk a glance back. “You need rest, anyway.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to say something—anything—but he was already opening the door, the action sharper than necessary, like a kunai thrown in haste. He shut it behind him with a finality that pressed the air from your lungs.

The silence he left behind was absolute, heavy with all the things he hadn't said, all the tension he hadn't released. You stared at the space he had just occupied, your heart beating erratically as the heat in your chest pooled somewhere low and insistent.

You sat very still for a long moment, the sound of your own pulse echoing in the hush. Then, in a burst of irritation, you grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it across the room. It smacked into the wall with a satisfying thud, landing in a heap of silent, shared disappointment.

The training, the bruises, the relentless Uchiha discipline—you could endure all that. What you couldn’t bear was the quiet longing that was becoming impossible to ignore.

You flopped onto your stomach, face buried in the comforter, and tried to will away the storm Izuna had left behind in your mind. It didn’t work. Even as you closed your eyes, you saw his, and all the things he hadn’t said.

There was nothing for it but to get up, clean up, and pretend to the rest of the world that you hadn’t just come within an inch of something dangerous and wonderful. With practiced motion, you willed yourself to the bathroom, shrugged off your clothes, and surveyed your reflection in the lacquered mirror. Eyes a little too bright, lips swollen with the fight, and a flush of color that had nothing to do with training.

You snorted. If Madara saw you now, he’d berate you for letting your guard down. If your mother saw you, she’d sigh and remind you that restraint was the most important lesson of all.

But restraint had never been your strong suit.

Chapter Text

The first frost had arrived, painting the temple grounds in crystalline white as if Akatosh himself had breathed winter upon the world. You noticed it at dawn when you slipped from your chambers to watch the sunrise. Your breath formed clouds in the frigid air as you stepped into the courtyard, the crunch of ice beneath your feet breaking the sacred morning silence.

You were grateful for the break away from the Uchiha brothers, having trained vigorously through the entire autumn. The pair departed six days ago with no set return time.

You breathe in the cool air, expecting to have a calm and relaxing day. Instead, around early afternoon, a commotion at the temple gates drew your attention— familiar chakra, urgent voices, and hurried footsteps that spoke of unexpected arrivals.

"Priestess Alessia!" Sister Mei called, rushing toward you with unusual haste, her usually composed features pinched with concern. "The Divine requires your presence in the main hall immediately. The Senju have arrived without warning."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "The Senju? Both brothers?"

She nodded, already turning to lead you toward the hall. "Lord Hashirama and Lord Tobirama await with the other priestesses. They bring troubling news."

You followed quickly, unconsciously straightening your robes and smoothing your hair. You found your mother in the receiving hall, her posture rigid as she spoke in hushed tones with Hashirama. New lines around his eyes, but his presence remained as commanding as ever. Beside him stood Tobirama, even taller and broader than you remembered, his white hair contrasting sharply with the navy traveling cloak dusted with ice. His crimson eyes found yours immediately, widening slightly as they took in your appearance.

"Alessia," your mother called, gesturing for you to come forward. The other priestesses stood off to the side, awaiting command from the Divine. "The Senju bring reports from the valley."

You approached with measured steps, bowing respectfully to both brothers. "Lord Hashirama, Lord Tobirama,” you greeted formally. “The Temple of Akatosh welcomes you, though I sense this is not a social visit."

Hashirama's usually warm expression was grave. "I fear not, Lady Alessia. A sickness has taken hold in our clan and several surrounding settlements. It strikes quickly, claiming the youngest and eldest among us first. Our healers are overwhelmed and have yet to find a way to combat the illness."

"We've lost five children in the past week alone," Tobirama added, his voice tight. "And twice that many elders."

Your mother's hand came to rest on your shoulder. "The Senju seek the temple’s knowledge of medicinal herbs and healing techniques," she explained. "This illness appears resistant to conventional treatments."

"We wouldn't ask if the situation weren't desperate," Hashirama said, his proud shoulders slightly bowed with the weight of his people's suffering. "But your temple's reputation for healing and knowledge is unmatched."

You glanced at your mother, recognizing the silent challenge in her eyes. This was a test— not just of your knowledge, but of your ability to maintain your composure and successfully problem solve as the future Divine.

You would not fail.

Drilling the brothers with questions for more information, you and your mother took your findings to Akatosh, leaning on his wisdom for further insight. The priestesses aided in your ritual, calling forth knowledge from your ancestors.

Akatosh's voice resonated through your mind as you knelt before his shrine, the dragon's ancient wisdom flowing into you like an ethereal river. Your mother knelt beside you, her eyes closed in communion with the great beast who dwells between planes.

"The answer lies in balance," Akatosh's voice echoed, the first time you have heard it directly since your father’s death. "Fire that burns can also purify. What destroys can heal when properly tempered. The key is mixing summer herbs with winter."

Understanding bloomed within you as fragments of knowledge clicked into place—ancient herbalist texts studied, alchemical formulas known only to the temple, and even snippets of medical techniques you'd glimpsed in scrolls Izuna had smuggled from the Uchiha compound.

"I have an idea," you announced, rising from your meditation position with renewed purpose. Your mother watched with quiet pride as you strode toward the temple's alchemy tower, already mentally cataloging the ingredients you would need.

Tobirama followed behind you as you emerged from the inter sanctum, his crimson eyes tracking your movements with newfound curiosity.

"I see you’re taking the lead— you'll need assistance," he stated rather than offered, falling into step beside you.

"The priestesses will help," you replied, pushing open the heavy wooden door leading to a stairwell. He followed closely behind you as you climbed up the alchemy tower. The room beyond was cool and dark, illuminated by small windows and the soft glow of crystal lamps that revealed walls lined with shelves of herbs, minerals, and tinctures collected from across the known world.

"I meant me," Tobirama said, his voice low and steady. "I want to help. I’m sure I can be of some use to you."

You paused, turning to study his face. The offer surprised you— Tobirama had always maintained a careful distance from temple matters, viewing magick with respectful skepticism at best.

"This isn't like forging weapons or creating explosives," you warned, already reaching for various filled jars. "When tempering herbs, precision is everything. One moment of distraction could render the entire batch useless— or worse, toxic."

A flicker of something— perhaps amusement, perhaps offense— crossed his features. "I've mastered jutsu that can slice a single leaf in half from fifty paces without disturbing the ones beside it. I think I can manage to keep water at a consistent temperature."

Despite everything, you felt a smile tug at the corner of your mouth. "Very well, Lord Senju. Let's see if your legendary skills live up to their reputation."

For the next few hours, you worked side by side in a dance of meticulous coordination. Your hands moved with practiced efficiency— grinding, measuring, and combining ingredients with the confidence born of years spent studying your mother's arts. Tobirama proved his worth immediately, his chakra control allowing for perfect temperature regulation as various elements were distilled and combined.

The other priestesses joined your efforts, their reverent silence occasionally broken by your quiet instructions. The scent of herbs filled the chamber— bitter, sweet, and medicinal— as the complex remedy took shape under your guidance.

The amber liquid swirled in the glass vial as you held it to the light, examining its clarity with a critical eye. Perfect. You corked it and placed it carefully in the wooden rack alongside the others, each one representing hours of strenuous work. Satisfaction warmed your chest as you surveyed the growing collection of medicine—enough to treat at least thirty of the afflicted.

"That should be sufficient to get everything started," you said, wiping your hands on a clean cloth. "The priestesses can complete the remaining batches following the recipe."

Priestess Mara nodded, already instructing the others in the precise measurements needed for the next batch. Their heads bent together over a mortar and pestle, faces solemn with concentration.

You rolled your shoulders, feeling the stiffness of muscles that had been held in one position for too long. The sun had long since set, your only indication of time's passage the changing of the crystal lamps and the growing heaviness in your limbs.

"You should take a break," Tobirama's voice came from behind you, quieter than usual. When you turned, you found him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. The harsh lamplight cast shadows across his face, curving the sharp angles that war and time had carved into his features.

"There's still work to be done," you replied automatically, though your body betrayed you with a poorly concealed yawn.

Tobirama's lips quirked in the ghost of a smile. "The work will be here tomorrow." He pushed away from the doorframe, approaching with measured steps. "You've been standing in the same spot for nearly four hours."

"Have I?" You glanced down at your feet, half-expecting to see them rooted to the stone floor.

"I counted." His admission surprised you, as did the gentle way he took the cloth from your hands. "You need a break, Alessia. Some fresh air, at least." His voice dropped lower, meant for your ears alone. "And thank you... for this. Not many would work so tirelessly for strangers."

The sincerity in his tone made your heart swell, relishing any tenderness the man would show you. Tobirama had always been sparing with praise, even as a child. To hear gratitude from him now— raw and unfiltered— sent a daring warmth through your chest.

"They're not strangers," you said simply. "They're people who need help."

Something shifted in his expression— a softening around the eyes, a slight relaxation of his perpetually guarded demeanor. "Come," he said, not quite a command but not quite a request either. "Show me something beyond these walls. I've been inside too long."

Chapter Text

The impulse to refuse died on your lips as you recognized the opportunity before you.

"Just a short walk," you conceded, suddenly eager for air untainted by staunch herbs. "There's a place not far from here where we can see the entire valley."

Tobirama nodded, a hint of anticipation flashing in his scarlet eyes. You led him through the quiet corridors of the temple, past the guest quarters and meditation halls, now empty in the late hour. The temple guardians posted at the eastern entrance bowed respectfully as you approached.

"Priestess Alessia," one acknowledged, his eyes flickering with curiosity to Tobirama at your side.

"We're taking a brief respite," you explained, your tone betraying nothing of the strange flutter in your chest. "Please inform the Divine if she inquires."

Once beyond the temple walls, you breathed deeply, savoring the night air. Frost crunched beneath your feet as you led Tobirama along a narrow path that wound through the ancient forest. Moonlight filtered through the branches, casting dappled silver patterns across the forest floor.

"The Uchiha visit often," Tobirama stated rather than asked, his voice carefully neutral. When you glanced back in surprise, he gestured to a fading bruise visible on your wrist where your sleeve had ridden up. "Training marks. I recognize them."

You tugged your sleeve down instinctively. "They have been teaching me basic shinobi maneuvers."

"Is that what they call it?" An edge sharpened his tone. "Basic shinobi maneuvers don’t give bruises like those, Alessia. You shouldn’t—"

The accuracy of his assessment unsettled you, but you cut him off, not wanting to discuss anything related to the Uchiha with him. "We haven't seen each other in months, and this is what you want to talk about?"

His footsteps paused behind you, as if taken aback by your outburst. "You're right. Forgive me."

The apology, so readily given, caused an abrupt tinge of guilt to burn in your chest. The Tobirama you remembered would have pressed his point until you conceded or fled. This older version seemed to have learned restraint— or perhaps he just didn’t want to give you grief after helping him.

The path narrowed further as it began to climb upward, forcing you to walk single file. You felt Tobirama's presence behind you like a physical touch, his controlled chakra signature as familiar to you now as your own. When the path grew steeper, he reached forward once to steady you when your foot slipped on ice-covered stone, his hand warm against the small of your back.

Finally, the trees thinned, revealing your destination— a rocky outcropping that jutted from the mountainside like a claw grasping at the sky. Below, the valley stretched into darkness, the temple a collection of golden lights against the shadows. Beyond it, barely visible in the moonlight, lay the massive form of Akatosh, his scaled body curled protectively between the slopes— a magnificent sight rarely witnessed by human eyes. Above, stars scattered across the night sky like silver dust on black silk, unhindered by the temple's lanterns or the smoke of distant towns.

"Well, this is it," you chirped, stepping carefully onto the flat expanse of the rock. Wind tugged at your robes as you approached the edge, where the mountain fell away in a sheer drop to the valley below. "But it’s prettier during the day."

Tobirama joined you, staring off into the expanse. "It's still beautiful," he admitted, his usual reserve softening as he surveyed the panorama before you. "I forget sometimes, amid all the fighting, that the world still holds places like this."

You lowered yourself to sit at the edge, your feet dangling over the precipice. After a moment's hesitation, Tobirama joined you, his larger frame settling beside yours with careful grace. His warmth radiated through the cool night air, a stark contrast to the frozen stone beneath you.

You glanced at his profile, sharp against the night sky. The moonlight turned his white hair to silver, highlighting his handsome features. In this moment, he resembled the boy who used to follow you around the temple— before bloodshed and duty had claimed both of your childhoods.

"That's why I come here," you admitted, swinging your feet gently. "To remember there's more to life than studying and ritual."

"And training?" He added with a raised eyebrow.

You laughed, the sound startling in its lightness. "Yes, and training. Though I'll have you know I give as good as I get these days."

"Is that so?" A hint of challenge crept into his voice. "I find that hard to believe. Last I remember, you could barely throw a kunai straight."

"That was years ago, Tobirama. Things change." You leaned back on your palms, affecting nonchalance. "I could probably take you now."

His chuckle was unexpected— deep and rich, echoing against the mountainside. "Such confidence from someone half my size."

"Size isn't everything," you retorted, nudging his shoulder with yours. "It's about skill and precision."

"And you've mastered both, have you?" His eyes glinted with amusement.

"I've mastered many things," you said with exaggerated haughtiness, lifting your chin. “I could set this entire valley ablaze with one breath.”

"Fire style," he concluded, his tone shifting slightly. "Fitting, I suppose."

"I've been working on combining wind and fire techniques," you continued. "But not everyone in the temple is thrilled with me learning shinobi techniques. I just don’t think I’m the type to read books, collect bones, and pray all day."

"I can imagine," he said, his expression shifting again. "You’re the type who’d rather run amok and cause trouble.” The ghost of a smirk graces his face, and you can’t help but smile back.

“Well, someone has to,” you chide with a coy smile. "I suppose I'm a bad influence then?" You asked, feeling a familiar warmth in your chest. The night air carried a deep chill, but you barely felt it with the slow heat rising in your body.

"The worst," he agreed, but his eyes betrayed him— soft around the edges as they reflected the starlight. "Though I have to admit, I've missed your particular brand of trouble."

Your heart fluttered at his words. Time had transformed him from the serious boy you remembered into this commanding presence, yet here, away from prying eyes, glimpses of that boy remained.

The realization emboldened you.

"Have you missed me, Tobirama?" You asked, your voice a teasing lilt. "Or just the chaos I bring?"

He turned to face you fully, moonlight casting half his face in shadow. "Perhaps both," he admitted, his usual guard lowering. "The Senju compound can be... austere."

"And I'm not?" You teased, leaning slightly closer.

"You're many things, Alessia," he said, your name rolling off his tongue. "Austere is not one of them."

Something shifted in the air between you— the familiar territory of banter giving way to something more profound, more dangerous.

Just as things had done with Izuna before he fled.

Fear skipped over your heart, worrying that Tobirama would flee just the same, but you willed it away. You unconsciously found yourself studying his lips, wondering about things you had no business wondering about a Senju warrior.

"Tobirama," you began, unable to stop yourself, "have you ever kissed anyone before?"

Chapter Text

The question hung between you, fragile and weighted. For a moment, you thought you'd crossed a line, but then his expression changed— a flash of something almost predatory before settling into smug confidence.

"Of course," he replied, one eyebrow arched in amusement. "You haven't?"

Heat bloomed across your cheeks, and you looked away toward the valley below. "When exactly would I have had the opportunity?" You retorted, gesturing vaguely at the temple lights. "Eligible suitors don’t exactly surround me. Just the clergy and visiting dignitaries three times my age— which, gross."

His chuckle was low and warm, stirring something in your stomach. "Fair point… though, you have quite the curiosity," Tobirama mused, his voice dropping to a husky timbre that sent fresh shivers across your skin. "Is this what they teach priestesses to ponder during their devotions?"

The teasing light in his eyes made your cheeks burn hotter, but you refused to back down. You have faced Madara's flames and Izuna's lightning; you could certainly handle Tobirama's mockery.

Your chin lifted defiantly, even as your heart hammered against your ribs. "I'm still human, despite what the Divine might believe. Besides, I want to have my first kiss before I turn into an old hag."

Tobirama studied you with intense eyes, his expression unreadable. "I think you have a long time until then," he scoffed lightly, shifting slightly to face you. "Though I'm not sure I'm the best person for this particular... ritual."

"Why not?" You challenged, leaning closer against him. "Would you prefer I ask Izuna?" You asked with a dark gleam in your gaze, playing on his weakness.

Something dangerous flashed in his crimson eyes—possessive, perhaps jealousy— before he reeled it back in. "That would be unwise," he said shortly.

"Then who better than you?" Your voice was barely above a whisper now, your eyes drawn to his lips as if magnetized to them.

He studied you for a long moment, the silence stretching between you as he slowed his breathing. "Very well."

Your heart stuttered. "Very well?"

"I'll indulge you, brat.”

Before you can smile dumbly, Tobirama moved with the deliberate precision that characterized everything he did. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he leaned forward. You closed your eyes instinctively, heart hammering against your ribs as his breath mingled with yours.

When his lips finally touched yours, time seemed to slow. The initial contact was feather-light against your mouth, making your breath catch. Then he pressed forward with deliberate care, his warmth melting into you. His lips were unexpectedly soft, moving against yours with patient exploration. Each subtle shift sent tendrils of heat spiraling down your spine, pooling low in your belly. You tasted a hint of green tea on his lips as his hand slid from your cheek to cradle the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, drawing you closer as the kiss threatened to deepen from innocent to something far more intoxicating.

But then he pulled away.

The kiss was brief, mostly chaste, and it left you absolutely breathless.

Your eyes fluttered open to find him watching you, his expression unreadable in the moonlight.

"Oh," you breathed, the single word encompassing a universe of new sensations.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile. "Satisfactory?"

"I— yes," you stammered, suddenly shy beneath his steady gaze. "Thank you for the... demonstration."

His smile widened fractionally. "I am happy to help."

"What about your first kiss?" You asked, trying to mask your lingering breathlessness. "Was it out of pity as well?"

Tobirama's expression shifted, his eyes focusing on something distant beyond the valley. "Unremarkable," he said simply. "A kunoichi from an allied clan. It was during a celebration after a successful joint mission."

"Unremarkable?" You pressed, leaning toward him with renewed curiosity. "That's all you're going to share? Was she pretty? Did you like her? Did you kiss her again?" The questions tumbled from your lips before you could stop them, your natural inquisitiveness breaking through your momentary shyness.

Tobirama regarded you with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "You ask too many questions," he murmured with a sigh. His voice held no criticism, only a fond observation that made you pout. "Some things are better left in the past, Alessia."

"That's not an answer," you pointed out, nudging his shoulder with yours.

He sighed again, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "We should head back before they send a search party for you. Gods know what the Divine would do if she knew I'd spirited you away to a cliff’s edge in the middle of the night."

You frowned but couldn't argue with his logic. Your mother would indeed be furious if she discovered your nighttime excursion with the warrior— especially after her constant warnings to give him space.

Tobirama rose to his feet with grace, extending his hand down to you. "Come," he said, his voice gentler than you were accustomed to hearing. "The path back will be treacherous in this darkness."

You placed your hand in his, allowing him to pull you upright with effortless strength. His fingers were rough but warm around yours, and he didn't immediately release your hand once you were standing. Instead, he studied your face in the moonlight, a dark heat reflecting in his crimson eyes.

"This way," you said softly, reluctantly pulling your hand from his to lead the way back toward the forest path. The night had grown colder during your time on the cliff, frost crystallizing on the pine needles that carpeted the forest floor. Your breath formed clouds in the air as you carefully picked your way down the trail.

When the path narrowed around a familiar steep section, you felt his hand settle over your hip, a steadying presence as you navigated the uneven ground. The touch, though light, bore into your consciousness.

"Careful," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "The last thing we need is for you to break your neck on my watch."

You turned your head slightly, finding his face mere inches from yours. "I've walked this path a hundred times," you assured him, though you made no move to pull away from his touch.

"In the dark? On ice?" His eyebrow arched skeptically as he kept his hand at your waist, guiding you forward with gentle pressure.

You smiled and rolled your eyes, concentrating on each step, but your mind kept wandering back to the feel of his lips against yours, the gentle caress of his hand on your neck, or the current hand holding you below your waist. The distraction proved costly as your foot hit a patch of ice hidden beneath fallen leaves. The world tilted suddenly, your balance betraying you as you pitched forward with a startled gasp.

Strong arms caught you before you could fall, Tobirama's reflexes proving faster than gravity itself. You found yourself pressed against his chest, his arms encircling your waist with shielding firmness. His quick movement pulled you against him, your back to his chest, his breath hot against your neck.

"I've got you," he murmured, his voice low and reassuring in your ear. The world seemed to still around you, the forest silent save for your quickened breathing and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back.

When you regained your balance, Tobirama didn't immediately release you. Instead, his grip shifted, one arm releasing your waist while his other hand slid down to capture yours. His fingers interlaced with yours firmly, the heat of his palm seeping through your chilled skin.

"Perhaps I should ensure you make it back in one piece," he said, his tone light but his eyes serious in the moonlight.

You nodded, not trusting your voice as warmth spread from your joined hands through your entire body. His grip was strong but tender, his thumb occasionally brushing across your knuckles as you navigated the treacherous path together. The simple contact felt far more intimate after the kiss you had shared earlier. The more you thought about it, the faster your heart would beat, and you began to worry that he could hear it. You chew on your bottom lip to avoid smiling like an idiot, your shoulders brushing against his casually.

The remainder of the journey passed in comfortable silence, Tobirama's hand never leaving yours, even after the path widened and leveled out. The temple lights grew closer, red and golden beacons against the night sky. Only when you reached the outer gardens did you expect him to release you— yet his fingers remained firmly laced with yours.

"You don't have to hold my hand anymore," you hummed, though you made no move to pull away.

Tobirama glanced down at your joined hands, then back to your face. "Perhaps I want to," he replied simply, his usual stoicism softened by something that might have been affection.

Your heart trembled as you walked together through the sleeping gardens, past dormant flower beds and silent pavilions. The temple guardians nodded respectfully as you passed, their eyes betraying nothing at the sight of your clasped hands.

When you reached the corridor leading to your chambers, Tobirama slowed his pace, seeming reluctant to end your time together. The hallway was dimly lit by wooden lamps that cast a pale glow over the polished wooden floors. Your footsteps echoed softly as you approached your door.

"Well," you lilted, pausing before the familiar carved panels and turning to face your white-haired companion.

Tobirama nodded, his eyes never leaving your face as he finally, reluctantly, released your hand. "Thank you for tonight," he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "For the medicine, and... for the company."

"Thank you for the assistance," you replied with a soft smile, "and for not letting me tumble down the mountain."

A rare smile curved his lips, transforming his usually stern features into a striking young man. "That would have been a poor end to an otherwise pleasant evening."

Tobirama’s eyes softened as you peered up at him, and he looked as if he wanted to say something but stopped himself.

Something unspoken passed between you— a current of understanding that transcended the boundaries of what was allowed. Before you could second-guess yourself, you rose on your tiptoes and pressed your lips gently to his, your hands moving to his chest. Unlike the first kiss on the cliff, this one carried more purpose— a silent promise, a tender farewell.

Tobirama’s hand moved to cradle your face and the back of your neck once more, fingers threading into your hair as he matched your subtle intensity. You had to silence a whimper rising in your throat as the kiss deepened, feeling him fight against his own restraint. When you finally pulled away, his eyes remained fixed on yours, pupils dilated in the dim light, his thumb still tracing your lower lip as though he couldn't bear to break contact completely.

“Will you be leaving tomorrow?” You asked quietly, somberly knowing his answer.

“Yes,” he responded with a matched tone. “I suspect elder brother will have us depart once the medicine is ready.”

You knew the priestesses would be rotating shifts all night, yet wouldn’t be finished until late morning at the earliest, buying you a sliver of more time with Tobirama.

“Well, then I shall see you in the morning.” You quip before grabbing his hand once more with a gentle squeeze.

The Senju lowered his eyes, unable to disguise the longing that lay within them as his fingers lingered on yours, as you slowly pulled away. “Goodnight, Alessia.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Sister Hana helped pin your hair up elegantly, pairing your blue satin gown with a sapphire headpiece. The snow had continued to fall through the night, prompting you to wear your hooded fur cloak to ward off the chill.

“I have something for you,” Sister Hana hummed from behind you as you took in your appearance.

Turning to her with an expression of pleasant shock, the young dark-haired woman laughs and hands you a book with roses on the cover. “It’s nothing special, I just…” She trails off as you look over it with knitted brows. “I know sometimes the ancient tomes aren’t the most interesting reads, so I wanted to give you this, from my own collection.”

The novel was labeled The Forbidden Desires of a Samurai's Wife, and you immediately knew it was a romance novel. A slight blush rose to your cheeks, along with a grateful smile as you pulled Hana into a hug.

“This is very thoughtful, thank you, Sister Hana!” You nearly squealed.

“Okay-okay,” she smiled. “Keep it hidden, and if your mother or the priestesses ask, it didn’t come from me. Now scram, I believe you have a hot date.”

You took that as your cue, striding from your chambers with a fluttering heart.

As you entered the tea room, warmth enveloped you, a stark contrast to the winter chill outside. The Senju brothers were already seated at the table, steam rising from the jade teapot between them. Hashirama's face brightened at your arrival, while Tobirama's eyes followed your movement with a new intensity that made your skin tingle beneath your robes.

"Lady Alessia," Hashirama greeted, gesturing to the cushion across from them. "Please join us."

You settled onto the chair, arranging your formal gown with a practiced hand. The table held an assortment of breakfast options— none of which seemed appetizing with the amount of butterflies in your stomach.

"I hope you slept well," you offered, reaching for the teapot to serve them both as protocol dictated. Your sleeve brushed against Tobirama's hand as you poured his tea, his eyes flashing over you while you maintained your neutral composure.

"Better than expected," Hashirama replied, accepting his cup with a grateful nod. "Though I must say, my brother seems particularly eager this morning." His eyes twinkled with mischief as he glanced at Tobirama. "In fact, I don't believe I've seen him in this good a mood in months."

A faint blush bloomed across Tobirama's cheeks, his usual composure momentarily disrupted as he shot his brother a warning glare.

You hid your smile behind your cup, savoring both the fragrant jasmine blend and Tobirama's discomfort. "The temple has that effect on visitors," you said innocently. "Something about the mountain air and sacred energy."

"Is that what they call it these days?" Hashirama mused, his grin widening as Tobirama's blush deepened. "Sacred energy?"

"Brother," Tobirama warned lightly, muscle tensing along his jaw.

Hashirama laughed with a knowing smile, and you began to wonder how he knew of your escapade the night before. "Forgive me, Alessia. I rarely get to see my stoic little brother this flustered. I just can’t help myself."

You met Tobirama's eyes across the table, offering a conspiratorial smile that seemed to ease his tension. "The Divine says discomfort builds character," you replied, taking a small sip of your tea. "Perhaps Tobirama is simply growing wiser in our presence.”

This earned a barely perceptible smirk from Tobirama and another hearty laugh from Hashirama. The conversation flowed easily after that—talk of a proposed summer solstice festival, which Hashirama was far more enthusiastic about than his younger brother, among other things. The pair seemed to be in better spirits than when they arrived, and you were proud to be partly the reason for that.

A gentle knock at the door interrupted the conversation as Sister Mei entered, accompanied by two other sisters. They bowed respectfully before addressing the room.

"Divine Anora sends word that the medicine is prepared and ready for transport." Sister Mei announced, her voice carrying a note of accomplishment. "The priestesses worked through the night to complete the full quantity requested."

Behind her, the other sisters carried wooden scrolls bound with red silk— the detailed recipes and instructions for creating more of the remedy once the initial supply depleted.

Hashirama rose immediately, his expression shifting from casual warmth to focused determination. "This is wonderful news. Please convey our deepest gratitude to Divine Anora."

"The crate has been prepared in the entrance hall," Sister Mei continued. "It awaits your inspection before departure."

"I'll see to it at once," Hashirama declared, turning to his brother. "Tobirama, perhaps you could finalize any remaining details with Lady Alessia while I prepare the horses?"

You caught the subtle glance between the brothers— something unspoken that passed between them in an instant. Tobirama nodded once, his expression carefully neutral despite the opportunity his brother had just created.

"Of course," he replied, his voice betraying nothing.

As Hashirama followed the sisters from the room, silence settled between you and Tobirama. The moment the door closed, you felt the atmosphere shift— the formal constraints of breakfast conversation giving way to something more intimate.

"Your brother is not subtle," you observed, a smile playing at the corners of your lips as you set down your teacup.

Tobirama's mouth quirked upward. "Subtlety has never been his strength," he agreed, rising from the table. He stood before you, extending his hand in an echo of last night's gesture. "Walk with me?"

You placed your hand in his, allowing him to help you to your feet even though you needed no assistance. His fingers curled around yours with a now familiar gentleness, warmth radiating up your arm.

"Where shall we go?" You asked, suddenly aware of how little time remained before his leave.

"Somewhere we won't be interrupted," he replied, his crimson eyes holding yours with an intensity that immediately quickened your pulse, spreading heat through you like a wildfire. "The gardens, perhaps?"

You nodded, leading him through a side door that opened onto a covered walkway. Fresh snow blanketed the garden beyond, unmarred save for the delicate tracks of small animals. The world seemed hushed under winter's spell, the usual sounds of the temple muffled.

Your breath formed puffy clouds in the frigid air as you walked together, Tobirama's hand still clasping yours as if it belonged there. You slowed your pace as you reached a secluded corner of the garden, partially sheltered from view by a snow-laden pine. "We don't have much time," you said softly, turning to face him.

"No," he agreed, his eyes tracing the features of your face as if committing them to memory. "War doesn't allow for lingering."

"When will you return?" The question escaped before you could contain it, vulnerability seeping into your voice despite your best efforts.

Tobirama's expression softened as he studied your face. "Spring, perhaps. When the mountain passes clear." His hand reached up to brush a snowflake from your cheek, lingering against your skin. "Unless you'd prefer I stay away?"

"Don't be ridiculous," you scoffed, attempting to mask the ache in your chest with playfulness. "Who else would I torment?"

His low chuckle warmed the space between you. "Is that all I am to you? A source of amusement?"

"Perhaps," you teased, tilting your head. "Or perhaps I simply enjoy watching the great Tobirama Senju blush like a schoolboy when his brother teases him."

"I did not blush," he protested, though the corners of his eyes crinkled with suppressed mirth.

"Oh? Shall we ask Hashirama to confirm?" You made as if to turn away, but his hand caught your wrist, pulling you back to face him.

"You wouldn't dare," he growled, though there was no real threat in his voice.

"Wouldn't I?" You raised an eyebrow, enjoying the rare opportunity to see the composed warrior flustered.

In one fluid motion, he pulled you closer, his arm slipping around your waist. "You're playing a dangerous game, Alessia." His words rang through your ears, echoing Izuna’s not long ago.

Another warning you refused to heed.

"Good thing I've been trained to handle danger," you whispered, your hands coming to rest against his chest. Through the fabric of his tunic, you could feel his heartbeat— strong and steady, though perhaps a touch faster than usual.

Snow continued to fall around you, delicate flakes catching in his white hair and on your eyelashes. The world seemed to narrow to just this moment— his breath, his heartbeat, this man whose eyes held yours with such intensity.

"If the Solstice festival is to happen," you said suddenly, an impulsive thought crossing your mind. "I wish to join."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "Are you allowed to leave the temple?"

"I-I don’t know," you admitted, your fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. "But I think if Hashirama were to petition the Divine, I may be able to convince her."

You knew it would be a long shot, considering it’s an impossible task— unless you manage to force her hand. “I’m just a priestess, I’m sure the temple can spare to miss me for a few days.”

A rare, unguarded smile transformed his face, brightening his handsome features. "Then I will ensure the festival happens, and hire the most eloquent writer to petition the Divine for your presence."

"I have faith in you, Tobriama," you offered with a grin. "I would be beyond thrilled to spend a few days with your grumpy face."

"I’m not grumpy," he protested, though his smile remained.

"Actually, you're the grumpiest," you insisted, reaching up to poke his cheek. "But I like you anyway."

His hand caught yours, turning it to press a kiss against your palm—a gesture so abruptly tender it made your heart still in your chest. "I will return in the spring, gods willing, with good news of the festival," he promised, his voice low and intimate. "Then we plot your escape."

You smiled demurely up at the white-haired shinobi, already picturing you both strolling through the lively festival, hand in hand. However, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the spell between you, forcing you to step back reluctantly. Hashirama appeared at the garden's entrance, his tall figure silhouetted against the morning light.

"Tobirama," he called, his voice carrying across the snow-covered expanse. "The medicine is secured. We must depart while the weather holds."

Tobirama's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as he nodded to his brother. "I'll be there momentarily."

Hashirama's familiar smile flashed briefly before he retreated, leaving you alone once more in the quiet garden.

"I suppose this is goodbye," you huffed, suddenly aware of the tightness in your throat.

"For now," Tobirama corrected, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

You leaned into his touch, memorizing the warmth of his palm against your skin, the scent of cedar and smoke that clung to him, the intensity in his scarlet eyes as they held yours.

"Be safe," you commanded, your voice stronger than you felt. "I'd better see you this spring, Tobirama Senju. Don't make me come hunting for you."

His chuckle warmed the space between you. "As if you could find me."

"I would," you insisted, leaning in closer to him. "I'd track you across every battlefield if I had to."

Something shifted in his expression— a softening around the eyes that made your pulse quicken. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his calloused hand sliding to cradle the nape of your neck as his lips claimed yours with devastating precision. Unlike the slow brushes from the night before, this kiss devoured— hot and insistent, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you opened with a gasp, letting him taste you fully. You grabbed at his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer. You stifled a lascivious moan as his tongue danced with yours, igniting something in you that burned like dragonfire.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and flushed despite the cold, his forehead rested against yours for one precious moment.

"Until spring," he murmured, his breath warm against your lips.

"Until spring," you echoed, reluctantly lowering your arms as he stepped back.

With one last lingering look, he turned and strode toward the temple gates where Hashirama waited with their horses. You followed at a distance, watching as the pair readied to leave.

At the gates, Tobirama mounted his horse with grace, adjusting the reins as Hashirama secured the precious cargo of medicine to his own horse. When all was ready, the elder brother led the way. The white-haired Senju looked at you one last time, an unspoken understanding passing between you before he nodded and turned his mount toward the path. You watched as they rode away, snow swirling around them as they descended the mountain trail.

"He cares for you," your mother's voice came from behind you, startling you from your reverie. You hadn't heard her approach, too focused on Tobirama's retreating figure.

You turned to find her standing at your shoulder, her eyes fixed on the disappearing riders. Her expression revealed nothing of her thoughts, though you detected a note of concern beneath her usual composure.

"We're friends," you said, trying to keep your voice casual even as your cheeks burned with the memory of his kiss.

Your mother's eyes, so like your own yet filled with far more ancient wisdom, studied your face. A small, knowing smile curved her lips as she reached up to brush a snowflake from your hair— a gesture so similar to Tobirama's moments before that you looked away with guilt.

"Friends," she repeated, the word hanging between you like a blade. "Is that what you call it when you disappear into the night with a man, only to return with stars in your eyes?"

Your mouth opened in shock, but no words emerged. How had she known?

"I am the Divine, child," she said, answering your unspoken question. "Little happens in this temple without my knowledge." Her hand came to rest on your shoulder, her touch gentle but her eyes serious. "Especially when it concerns my daughter and a Senju heir."

You looked away, unable to meet her penetrating gaze. "It was just a walk."

"And I am just a simple priestess," she countered, her tone making it clear she believed neither statement. She sighed deeply, her breath forming a cloud in the frigid air. "Alessia, listen to me carefully. The path you contemplate treading leads only to heartbreak. Believe me, child, for I have walked it."

"Mother—"

"No," she interrupted, her voice taking on the firm edge that brooked no argument. "You are a Tatsu, destined to be the Divine. He is a Senju warrior, sworn to destroy the Uchiha— the very clan whose blood also flows through your veins." Her eyes softened with a sadness that made your chest ache, seeing her pain reflected in them. "What future could possibly exist between you?"

The question struck you like steel, forcing you to confront realities you'd been happy to ignore in the shelter of Tobirama's arms. Your heritage, your destiny, the war that raged beyond the temple walls— all conspired to keep you apart.

"I never said I wanted a future with him," you protested weakly, though the words tasted false on your tongue.

Your mother gave you a sad smile as she gazed at you. "Oh, my daughter. Your heart speaks louder than your words ever could." She reached out, adjusting your fur collar against the cold. "Love is a luxury neither of you can afford. Remember your position, your duty to this temple and to Akatosh."

"Is that what you told yourself?" The words escaped before you could stop them, sharper than intended. "When you fell in love with father?"

A flash of discomfort crossed her features before she composed herself. "Yes," she admitted quietly. "And I was right. Look what became of that love— stolen moments, secret meetings, and ultimately, grief." Her fingers tightened on your collar. "I would spare you that pain if I could."

“I… just want to know what it feels like,” you confessed quietly, turning to face away from your mother.

“Love between a Tatsu priestess and a Senju warrior can only end in tragedy. Especially one who carries Uchiha blood." She reminded you with a sharp tone.

You swallowed hard, unable to deny the truth in her words, yet unwilling to accept the finality of them. "The temple remains neutral," you argued, grasping at hope. "Perhaps someday—"

"There is no someday, Alessia," she interrupted, her voice gentle but firm. "Not for you. Not with him. The moment he discovers what flows in your veins, any tenderness he feels will turn to duty— and duty will demand that you be controlled or eliminated."

The blunt assessment struck hard, stealing your breath. You wanted to protest, to insist that Tobirama was different, that he would understand, but the words died in your throat. You had seen him on the battlefield; you practically saw his hate and ruthless brutality firsthand.

You don’t doubt that he is capable of atrocity.

But what would he do if he learned your secret?

Your mother squeezed your shoulder, a gesture that conveyed both sympathy and finality. "Guard your heart, daughter. It is the one thing I cannot protect for you." With that, she turned and walked away, her figure growing smaller as she retreated inward toward the temple, leaving you alone with the falling snow and the hollow ache in your chest.

You remained at the gates long after she had gone, watching snowflakes dance in the empty space where Tobirama had been. The warmth of his lips still lingered on yours, a ghost of something that felt too much like possibility— and now, too much like pain.

Your mother's warning echoed in your mind, a counterpoint to the intimacy you clung to in your heart.

What would he say if he knew the truth? That the girl he kissed beneath the falling snow carried the bloodline he had been trained to hunt and destroy?

Would he kill you?

The thought twisted in your gut like a kunai. You had been raised in a world of careful balance, taught to value both sides of your heritage without favoring either.

But the outside world recognized no such neutrality.

Out there, beyond these temple walls, you would be forced to choose— Uchiha or Senju.

Dragon priestess or shinobi warrior.

A sudden gust of wind sent snow swirling around you, the cold finally seeping through your robes. With one last look at the empty path, you turned back toward the temple, your heart heavy knowing how many secrets you truly keep from Tobirama.

Chapter Text

The Uchiha arrived at the temple only a month later, their sudden appearance sending the temple into its familiar flurry of preparation. You had been expecting them, of course— they rarely missed a season without visiting— but the timing felt almost deliberate, as if the universe itself conspired to complicate the delicate balance of your heart as the desire within deepened.

This afternoon, you found yourself in the training grounds with Izuna, your body moving through the familiar forms. The ornate golden fans gleamed in the sunlight as you channeled your chakra through them, creating currents of wind that sliced through the air with deadly precision. These fans— a final gift from your father— had become extensions of your own body, your favorite weapon second to the katana.

"Your stance has improved," Izuna noted, circling you with appraising eyes. His dark hair was tied back loosely, several strands having escaped to frame his face during your sparring session. "But your form is a little off."

Izuna moved behind you, his hand gently correcting the angle of your elbow. "Like this," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "Feel the difference?"

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your skin tingled where his fingers had touched. Izuna had always been tactile in his teaching, but since the evening you almost kissed, each point of contact seemed charged with something unspoken.

Something that mirrored the tension building between you and Tobirama.

"Again," you said, stepping away to regain your composure. You moved through the sequence once more, this time keeping your movements fluid and unpredictable. The wind responded to your command, swirling around you in a violent vortex before you sent it slicing toward the practice dummy.

Izuna's supporting smile sent the warmth of approval through your chest. "Perfect. You're a natural with wind style— better than most of my clansmen."

"High praise from a Uchiha," you teased, folding your fans with a practiced flick of your wrists.

He laughed, the sound echoing pleasantly across the training ground. "Just don't let Madara hear me say it, or he’d take all the credit."

You smile, your mind wandering to the older Uchiha’s increasing disappearance. "Speaking of Madara, where is he? I haven't seen him much since you arrived."

Something flickered across Izuna's face— concern, perhaps, or hesitation. "Meeting with your mother. Clan business, he said."

"Clan business with the Divine?" You frowned, wiping sweat from your brow as you peered at him. That could only mean one thing- Madara is seeking strategic counsel. 

Izuna quickly recovered his nonchalant demeanor, giving you a smile to ease your worry. “Boring stuff, I’m sure. If it were important, he would have dragged me in there too.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, and he rolled his in response, swinging an arm over your shoulder.

“Fine, don’t believe me. Go bust in there and ask for yourself.” He chided as he began leading you toward the temple.

“Yeah, and be set on fire? No thanks,” you scoffed as you followed his lead.

“Guess you’ll just have to take my word for it,” Izuna smirked, squeezing your shoulder before dropping his arm. "Go rest before dinner. You've earned it."

You nodded gratefully, parting ways as the halls split into separate wings. While Izuna headed toward the guest quarters to clean up, you made your way to your chambers, sinking into a hot bath that the sisters had prepared. The scented water soothed your aching muscles, and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself a moment of peace.

After changing into a fresh gown of red silk, you decided to wander to the guest wing to find Izuna to quell your boredom.

You didn’t make it far before footsteps echoed sharply against the lacquered cedar planks ahead. Madara rounded the corner with a stride that owned the corridor, shoulders draped in his typical Uchiha tunic. His hair— longer now, somehow darker— fell in a wild curtain down his back, framing his handsome face.

He stopped when he saw you, jaw tightening, then smoothing into a mask of mild interest. “Alessia.” He regarded you from beneath dark lashes— as if staring directly would be giving too much. “Izuna said you’d finished early.”

“Yes, and I’ll have you know he’s much finer company,” you answered, stepping into the center of the vast corridor. You tilted your head, letting your hair spill over one shoulder as you mock-glared at him. “Especially since you no longer grace me with yours. I guess you prefer to brood alone these days.”

He tsked, a flicker of real amusement breaking his mask. “I see you haven’t lost your tongue.”

“Oh, I might have, if the elder Uchiha had decided to teach me more than sword forms and fire release.” You moved closer, catching the faintest scent of fresh sage and sweetgrass. “But I suppose when one is busy with ‘clan business,’ there’s little time for such things.”

Madara glanced away, his lips pressed flat. “Clan business is… unending,” he allowed, lowering his voice. “I imagine it’s much the same for a future Divine.”

“Spare me,” you said, your tone dismissive but firm. “You came here for a higher purpose, and to avoid being trapped at council meetings, not to debate philosophy with my mother.”

He cocked a brow, surprised. “And what exactly makes you think that?”

“Well,” you drawl, having read him before he even looked at you. “Dangerous men don’t win wars by convening with failed elders.” You pause as you take a few steps closer. “And my mother says you stalk the halls like a dragon denied its hoard.”

A genuine, unguarded smile flashed across his face, and you felt an old, comfortable delight bubbling up in you. “Am I any worse than you? I seem to recall several instances where your theatrics and mouth got you in more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Absolutely, mother claims I get it from the Uchiha.” You leaned in, lowering your voice as if confiding a dangerous secret. “She even says you and Izuna are a bad influence— and will one day try to steal me away for the Uchiha.”

He planted his feet, arms crossed, his expression suddenly unreadable. “And what do you think?”

You let the silence stretch, examining the way his jaw flexed, the way the light carved out the hollows of his cheeks and caught on the dark shine of his hair. “I think you are exactly as bad as you want to be, Madara. And exactly as good.”

He blinked, caught—just for a moment—off guard. “That’s not a compliment.”

“No,” you said, a hint of mischief in your voice, “but it’s honest, which I know you value more than flattery.” You drifted closer till your perfume and his arrogance mingled in the charged, narrow distance between you. “But tell me, Madara, do you plan on stealing me away?”

He stepped forward, closing the gap so abruptly your breath tangled in your throat. “If I wanted to take you,” he said, voice low, “you would have already been taken.”

You laughed, the sound ringing just a shade too wild in the empty hall, attempting to cover up the flustering rise of heat in your chest. “Is that a threat, or a promise?”

He shrugged, mouth curving in the faintest, almost wicked, smile. “Depends on whether you’d resist.”

“I suppose you’d enjoy it more if I did.” You let your gaze linger, challenging him. “But I wonder how long until you’d get sick of me— I’m not easy to handle, you know.”

His eyes, blacker than obsidian, glinted with something foreign. “I know well enough, Alessia.” He leaned in, lips nearly grazing your ear. “Besides, you’re just like your father.”

You tilted your face up, feigning a contemplative pout. “What do you mean?”

The edge of his mouth tilted in a smirk as his eyes narrowed. “You’re a brazen brat with honeyed words.”

Your face twisted with displeasure as you dramatically rolled your eyes, breaking away to leave him. ”Ugh, I knew I should have—”

He reached out, catching your wrist before you could escape. His grip hit you like electricity, a current that travelled up your arm and settled somewhere perilously close to your heart. “But only a fool could get sick of you.”

You let your wrist relax in his grip, steadying your breathing as you pause under his intense stare. His words stirred something in you. The light teasing you prodded him with had shifted dangerously, but you pressed on, daring to find the limit. “Wise words from a man with the Sharingan, yet he cannot see what’s in front of him.”

His gaze sharpened, all trace of humor gone. “You think I don’t notice you?”

The question hung between you, rousing and raw, and you suddenly regretted your words. Madara’s energy had changed, sharpening to something direct and inquisitive— curious and tempting.

You looked at him, truly looked, and saw past the armor of wit and indifference to something weary and wild. His gaze searched yours just as deeply, and you felt a power rooted within it. You wanted to reach for his face, but instead, you let a sly smile creep back over your lips.

“Sometimes,” you confessed. “But you hide it well. For a man who can control fire, you’re awfully good at keeping things on ice.”

He released your wrist, but not before tracing a thumb over your pulse. “Well, let me assure you that I see far more than I let on.”

Another tight silence, sudden and full, threatened to swallow the rest of your courage. You wanted to ask what he meant by that— what did he truly see? The darkness in his eyes now reflected a reserved meaning that made Madara appear even more threatening.

Yet it did nothing to quell the heat rising from your core.

In actuality, it made it worse.

You smiled in a way that dared him to test your resolve, but before you could volley another taunt, the sound of footsteps broke the spell. Izuna rounded the far end of the hall, his easy gait slowing as he caught the angle of your standoff. His eyes flicked from Madara’s still-parted lips to your flushed cheeks and lingered there, the beginnings of a smirk already forming.

“Well, well. I thought I smelled trouble.” He emerged, arms folded, eyes flicking between the two of you with open amusement. “Am I interrupting something?” Izuna asked, his voice innocent yet insinuating.

Madara’s posture didn’t shift, but you felt the air between you cool by half a degree; the heat that had been rising now swirled into something secretive. Madara merely tilted his head in Izuna’s direction, resuming his usual demeanor.

“Nice to finally see you,” he said, his tone perfectly calm, not a trace of fluster in the set of his jaw. “Did you get lost, or were you busy fraternizing with the sisters again?”

Izuna looked wounded. “Please, brother, give me some credit. I know these halls better than the back of my own hand.” He slunk up beside you, throwing his arm over your shoulder. “You’re the one who always seems to lose track of time whenever someone interesting is around.”

Madara’s mouth twitched, the faint suggestion of a smirk betraying his amusement. “Interesting is not the word I’d use.”

“Oh?” Izuna arched a brow and flicked his gaze towards you, eyes glittering. “What word would you choose?”

Madara considered, eyes narrowing as his piercing gaze moved back to you. “Provocative,” he said finally, as if he had determined his assessment. “And reckless.”

You tried not to fidget under their scrutiny, but there was no hiding the heat that prickled up your neck. “I’m sure there are worse things to be,” you said, managing to keep your voice steady.

Izuna laughed, a low, delighted sound. “See? At least she owns it. Unlike some people,” he added, side-eyeing his brother. “Madara would have you believe he’s always composed and perfect, but I see him fussing over his hair every—”

Before Izuna could finish, Madara reached behind his brother and pulled on his ponytail with a swift jerk. Izuna nearly fell back, scowling at his older brother as he recovered. “Where did you pick up this habit to gossip like a harlot?”

You snorted, breaking from your flustered stronghold. “I can think of several places.”

Izuna’s frown moved to you with playful offense. “I don’t know what you could possibly mean by that. It’s not my fault that the harlots find me… stimulating.”

You rolled your eyes, but did little to stiffle your giggle and the blush deepening on your cheeks. “Careful, Izuna,” Madara grumbled quietly, “or you’ll corrupt the priestess with your filth.”

Izuna held up his hands. “I don’t know, Madara. Alessia has done her fair share of corruption. Don’t let her innocent eyes fool you.” Izuna grinned at you wickedly, earning a horrified glare from you. “Isn’t that right, Alessia?”

You made a show of sighing, pulling away from them and toward the broad staircase that led to the dining hall. “If you’re both quite finished,” you said, “I’m starving and refuse to entertain either of you any further.”

Both men fell in step behind you, their muffled chuckles echoing in the hall as you dramatically retreated.

Chapter Text

The night pressed close around you, thick and humid with the thoughts of men and the slow, burning friction of their locked stares. Even with the balcony doors open to the mountain breeze, you lie restless atop the tangled silk sheets, unable to sleep for the electric storm building in your core.

You know what it is— you’re no stranger to arousal.

It had been building since Tobirama left; nothing you could do would snuff it out. And once the Uchiha arrived…

The fire burned hotter than ever.

You'd spent ages after dinner pacing the length of your chamber, retracing the steps of your day with Izuna and Madara, and every recollection knotted further into your shoulders, your belly, the insides of your wrists. When you closed your eyes, the afterimages shimmered in the darkness: Izuna’s teasing smile, the weight of Madara’s hand on your wrist, the way he looked at you as though seeing every hidden reaction you thought you kept concealed.

You turned onto your back, arms folded above your head, and let the night sounds of the temple bleed into your consciousness— the soft hum of the breeze, the muted chorus of insects, the shuffling of the monks as they extinguished the last tapers in the halls. You tried to let the white noise lull you, but it only sharpened your awareness of how alive you felt, how desperately you wanted to escape your own traitorous body. You cursed yourself for leaving your romance novel in the library, knowing that it was the only thing that could distract you from this perpetual misery.

It was impossible to pinpoint when the lines between affection and desire had begun to blur. Or if they had ever been clear to begin with. You’d always known yourself to be susceptible to beauty; your mother and the entire order of priestesses had spent your girlhood warning you that the dragon’s blood ran too close to the surface in women of your lineage, that it would draw suitors like moths to flame—dangerous, persistent, and easily burned.

You never concerned yourself with the potential consequences of that. These men gave you a thrill that was meant to exist outside of the temple. Their presence, their attention, their touch… the thought of it all was driving you mad.

You wanted to be seen. To be chosen. To surrender.

But you can never surrender.

A memory surfaced, hot and electric: Tobirama’s hand on your neck, gentle lips moving fiercely against yours. You could still taste him— still feel his tongue battling yours for territory. His hands, unyielding but gentle, made you feel as if you mattered more than the world itself.

You missed him. You missed him with a rawness that made you hate yourself.

But the Senju would be gone for months, just like they always had. Their visits were more seldom than the Uchiha’s, but the tension was building all the same. After Tobirama leaves, you’re left with a dreadful pinning, a slowly growing hole in your heart.

So you had turned to the Uchiha instead. Their presence was consistent and steadfast, easing the ache that ailed you in the Senju's absence. It was natural, being that you were so close to them already. Affection already existed, paving the way for your desires.

At first it was a necessity, then a habit, and now, something like an addiction. It gave you a thrill, and you chased it every time without question. Izuna’s laughter, his casual affection, the way his rivalry with Madara drew you in like gravity. You barely fought it.

And Madara… You hate to admit the fire his glances have started, how his innocent touches felt far less than innocent to you.

Izuna was right.

You’re corrupted.

You groaned in the dark, rolling over and cursing yourself, despising the hunger that gnawed at your insides. You had always considered yourself strong-willed, but the taste of Tobirama’s lips had ruined you— worse, it had made you starve for more. He lingered in your dreams, daring you to desire him more every night.

And longing did not abate with Madara’s and Izuna’s arrival; it only spiraled, feeding off itself. You found yourself comparing every touch, every gaze, every word to Tobirama’s. It wasn’t fair to the Uchiha, and it wasn’t fair to you, but you couldn’t stop. Every time Izuna laughed and nudged you, you wondered how his mouth would feel pressed to yours, how his hands would move on you, what would happen if he slipped past the line. When Madara looked at you—really looked—you felt it like a threat, a dare, a promise of what he might do if given the chance.

The two of them were as constant as hunger, as predictable as pain.

You pressed your hand over your lips, remembering the way Madara’s words had hovered there, so close to a kiss that it almost hurt. You wondered what it would be like if he actually did it— if he lost control, just once, and let himself take you. Would it be a victory or a surrender? Would you regret it in the morning, or would the guilt simply ferment, growing into something more dangerous?

Yet it was Tobirama at the forefront of your mind. Even now, you ached for him. You wanted to believe your connection to him was deeper, that you were different from any kunoichi who no doubt charmed him. What you had with him was raw, effortless, and fleeting. Like everything else in your life.

You felt filthy, shamed, and alive all at once.

The thought of the summer festival gnawed at you, a forbidden dream you clung to through the long, solitary evenings. Visions of leaving the temple, seeing new sights, all while being tucked against Tobirama’s side, made your heart race. You truly wanted nothing more.

If the Uchiha knew of the Senju’s invitation, they would ensure you never left the temple, surely opting to guard you here themselves. You never want to be the one to keep secrets, but your life has never been that simple. And now, you’re so stirred up, you don’t know which way is which.

The only thing you cared about was feeling that thrill again, to be wanted so thoroughly you could forget yourself.

And yet— every time you thought about leaving the temple, a cold certainty rooted you in place. You would never be able to leave. You could never belong to any one of them. You were not Alessia, the girl; you were the Divine’s only daughter, a vessel for the temple and its endless demands and obligations. You would spend your life being watched, protected, and imprisoned by the very thing that gave you life.

Chapter Text

The morning air was crisp as you made your way to the eastern courtyard, your war fans tucked securely at your waist. As expected, Madara was already there, his back to you as he performed a series of complex fighting styles. His movements were fluid yet powerful, each stance flowing into the next with a precision that spoke of decades of practice.

You paused at the edge of the courtyard, taking a moment to observe him. As he moved, the wind tousled his wild hair, blowing his shirt up just enough to expose the dense plane of muscle that lined his abdomen. There was something mesmerizing about watching Madara train— the raw power contained in each movement, the absolute control he maintained.

As you stood transfixed by Madara's enchanting display of strength— and a little skin— his movements suddenly halted. Without turning, he spoke, his deep voice carrying easily across the courtyard.

"Are you planning to watch me all morning?"

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you realized he had been aware of your presence the entire time. You stepped forward, smiling in deference.

“Why shouldn’t I?” You said, tipping your chin and letting your eyes slide deliberately from the line of his jaw to the shifting shadows along his side. “You are quite the view, Lord Madara. Perhaps I should invite some of the other priestesses to watch the show.”

He glanced over his shoulder, lips curling in a knowing smirk. “You’re just as bad as Izuna,” he replied, though the heat behind his words suggested he was anything but annoyed. “I’d say worse, even. At least he doesn’t bother to hide it.”

You approached him with measured steps, letting your gaze linger. “Maybe I don’t want to hide it.”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Then you should step closer. It’s harder to ogle someone from across the courtyard.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Closing the remaining distance, you stopped just short of his personal space and let yourself feel the gravity of him— the way his chakra saturated the air, thick and sweet like honey. “Are you offering a demonstration, or just showing off?”

He regarded you with a gaze that was both wild and perfectly controlled, the kind of look that promised you would never truly know which Madara you’d get until it was already too late. “What is it you want to see?”

“Surprise me,” you said, keeping your tone light, but inside, your pulse raced.

He reached for you with lightning speed, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. You found your balance, but not before a startled laugh escaped your lips. “That’s not a fighting form,” you managed, breathless.

He tilted his face close, so close you could see your reflection in his hungry, dark eyes. “If you’re distracted by something this simple, your enemy would have already taken your head,” he growled, his gloved fingers digging into the flesh of your side.

You grinned, refusing to cede the advantage, adrenaline running hot through your veins. “If you’re going to seize me, at least do it properly.”

“Are you giving me permission?” He asked, low and dangerous.

You slipped from his grasp before he could tighten it further, stepping backwards into a ready stance. “Only if you can catch me again.”

He eyed you, a predator waiting for the moment to strike. “You’re not as fast as you think, priestess.”

“Are you sure?” You teased, and then you were both moving— Madara launching forward, you spinning clear as you use your wind chakra to your advantage, your war fans already open as you muster some magicka to bolster your attacks. The courtyard filled with the whir and hiss of air slicing, Madara swiftly dodged your attacks, advancing on you further as he attempted to land blows. You twisted, ducked, leapt over a low sweep of his leg, and came down behind him, snapping your fan shut and pressing the blunt edge to the small of his back.

He stilled, then glanced over his shoulder with a dark, delighted smile. “Not bad.”

“But not good enough?” You prompted, unable to keep the coveted edge out of your own voice.

Madara didn’t waste a second, spinning in a blur of movement that forced you to step back—then forward—then sideways, attacking you again. He pressed you, relentless and unyielding, forcing you to fight for each breath, each inch of footing. Any time you thought you’d gained the upper hand, he turned it to his advantage: an ankle caught, pinning of your wrist, a palm at your spine. The contact was never accidental, always deliberate. His hands set you alight everywhere they touched, whether it was the crush of your body to his or the scalding brush of knuckles along your ribs as you twisted out of a lock.

He was ruthless.

And you loved it.

By the time your blouse clung to your skin, hair escaping its pins, Madara was still unfazed— his own shirt askew, but breathing barely elevated. You wanted to hate him for it, but he awarded you a slow, feral grin. “You learn quick for a priestess,” he said as he caught your arm and spun you into a back hold, then let you go so abruptly you nearly stumbled.

“You’d be amazed at what a priestess can do,” you shot back, pulse hammering in your chest as you reset your stance.

“You’re still holding back.”

He said it almost fondly, as if he relished the challenge of dragging every last bit of resistance out of you.

Maybe he did.

“I’m not the only one,” you countered, launching at him with both fans open, a vortex of wind driving him back two full steps before he planted both feet, grinned, and batted away the attack with a single, almost lazy swipe. The motion sent a shockwave through the air, snapping your jaw shut and sending goosebumps up your arms.

He closed the distance and, in a blink, you were chest to chest again. Only this time, his hand caught you at the small of your back, the other at your nape— grip not quite bruising, but certainly not gentle.

You froze, unsure whether to keep the fight going or to admit your defeat.

“Better,” he murmured, his breath against your hair. “But you still hesitate.” His nose brushed your temple, too close for mere instruction. “Next time, don’t.”

You swallowed, the words caught somewhere behind your teeth. He let you go without another word, stepping back with the kind of casual confidence that made your stomach flutter.

The rest of the session passed in a haze of tactile instruction— Madara demanding more, always more, never sated by your best. He made you repeat the fan forms, then insisted on sparring with live steel, complimenting the way you matched him parry for parry. Any time you faltered, he was there with a correction, always physical: a thumb skimming your jaw to draw your focus, fingers pressed to your ribs to re-align your balance, a hand curling around your wrist to adjust the angle of your blade. By the time the sun dipped over the temple roof, your arms and legs shook with exhaustion, but it was nothing compared to the tremor in your thighs and the slick ache at the core of your body.

When at last you collapsed to one knee, sweat streaming down your face and arms, Madara loomed over you, gaze shadowed and unreadable. For several heartbeats, he simply watched you struggle for breath, the silence stretched taut as a bowstring.

Then, with a swiftness that made your nerves spark, he crouched to your level, eyes still burning into yours.

“That’s enough,” he said, voice low but not unkind. “You fight well. Better than most men I’ve trained.”

You stared at him, chest heaving, unsure whether to thank him or curse him. It was flattering— almost a caress, coming from Madara. He straightened, offering you a hand. You took it, letting him pull you effortlessly to your feet. His palm engulfed yours, warm and rough, and he held on longer than necessary.

“I dare say you’re a warrior,” he said, softer now, more intimate. “You just don’t know what to do with it yet.”

That, more than anything, left you floored.

He released you, and the sudden absence of his touch was immediately noted.

“Go clean yourself up,” he said, turning away to retrieve his own blade from where it lay in the grass. “We’ll resume in the morning.”

You bowed, just to be obnoxious, and made your way out of the courtyard, the burn of his praise a low, steady fire in your belly.

The corridor back to your chambers stretched long and quiet, the hush broken only by your own rapid pulse echoing in your ears. You wanted to curse Madara for the way he left you— shaky, wet with sweat, and insides wound tight. In the privacy of your room, you peeled off your soiled training clothes and stood before your mirror, examining the flush that pinked your cheeks and the way your body hummed with remembered touches.

You could almost pretend it was just the exertion, just the aftermath of a difficult lesson, but the ache coiled low in your abdomen said otherwise.

A bath would help, you reasoned. You summoned a nearby sister and sank into the tub with a groan. But all the heat in the world couldn’t melt the tension that thrummed along your skin. If anything, the memory of Madara’s hands— his breath hot on your neck, his voice pressing into your flesh— made the water seem colder by comparison.

You slid under the surface, holding your breath until your lungs burned, hoping a shock of sensation might drown out the craving. But when you surfaced, it returned twice as savage, clawing at you from within.

You dried off, dressed in a fresh silk dress, and sat at your writing desk, determined to focus on tomorrow’s lessons. But every time your mind wandered, it circled back to Madara.

Or, shamefully, Tobirama. You remembered the way his tongue had parted your lips, the roughness of his voice when he’d finally let himself want you. Your hands drifted to your neck, then lower, tracing the memory like a bruise. You knew you shouldn’t let yourself dwell on it— shouldn’t let yourself hunger for something that could only end in disaster— but the hunger was real, and it was yours, no matter what the temple or your mother or the Dragon God himself had to say.

Chapter Text

You took a light meal in your chambers as dark clouds settled over the valley, unable to eat due to the lull growing in your gut. The steady patter of rain against your window helped soothe your thoughts, but the quiet soon gave way to restlessness as your mind wandered to impure things. Seeking a familiar distraction, you strayed from your chambers towards the library, hoping that you might stumble upon the younger Uchiha.

As if summoned by your thoughts, you encountered him in the hall, his face lighting up at the sight of you.

"There you are," he said, his smile warming you from within. "I was just coming to find you. Madara's locked himself away with some scrolls, and I'm in desperate need of entertainment."

You laughed, the sound coming too easily, too eager. "And I'm to be your entertainment, am I?"

"The very best kind," he replied with a wink. "Where would you like to go, my lady?"

“Follow me, kind sir.” You bow playfully as you lead him to your original destination, quickly falling in step beside you.

The library welcomed you both with its familiar scent of parchment and incense. Rain drummed steadily against the large windows, casting the room in a soft, gray light. You plucked a well-hidden book from the shelf and carried it casually. Izuna settled himself on the largest loveseat in the center of the room, watching to see where you would sit.

You joined him without hesitation, tucking your feet beneath you as you leaned comfortably against his side.

For a time, you read in companionable silence, the only sounds the turning of pages and the persistent rain. Izuna's presence beside you was warm and solid, his shoulder a comfortable support against yours. Occasionally, his arm would shift, brushing against yours.

As you delved into your book, you quickly picked up on the spicy part where you left off, hoping to sate the heat that’s been settling in your core uncomfortably. You carefully tilt your pages away from Izuna’s prying eyes, hoping to keep your reading anonymous.

Which didn’t last long.

"You’re smiling," Izuna stated suddenly, nudging you with his elbow.

You blinked, realizing you had indeed been smiling at a particularly raunchy passage. "O-oh, it’s nothing," you replied too quickly, attempting to hide the book's cover.

"Oh no, you don't," Izuna laughed, plucking the book from your hands before you could protest. His eyebrows rose as he examined the title. "The Forbidden Desires of a Samurai's Wife," Izuna read aloud, his eyes widening with delighted scandal. "My, my, Alessia. I had no idea the future Divine had such... exotic tastes."

"Give it back!" You lunged for the book, but he held it just out of reach, his reflexes too quick for you.

Izuna's eyes danced with mischief as he flipped through the pages, stopping suddenly with a theatrical gasp. "Oh, what's this? I think I've found something interesting." He cleared his throat as you froze with embarrassment, and began to read in an exaggerated, sultry voice:

"Kaori trembled as Lord Takeshi's calloused hands slid beneath her kimono, his fingers tracing fire across her bare skin. 'I have waited too long for this,' he growled against her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh there. 'Tonight, I will make you forget every man who came before me.' His palm cupped her breast, thumb circling the hardened peak as she arched into his touch, a moan escaping her parted lips—"

"Izuna!" You kicked at him, your face burning with mortification as you tried to snatch the book from his grasp. Your foot connected with his shin, but he barely flinched, continuing to hold the book aloft while laughing at your futile attempts.

"His mouth replaced his hand, hot and demanding against her flesh. Kaori's fingers tangled in his dark hair, urging him closer as pleasure coiled tight in her belly. She had never known such hunger, such desperate need—"

You tackled him then, throwing yourself against him with enough force to send you both tumbling back against the loveseat. You landed half on top of him, your hand finally closing around the book, but Izuna refused to release it, his laughter vibrating through his chest.

"Where did you even get such a book?" He asked, his dark eyes dancing with amusement. "I'm quite certain this isn't part of the temple's approved reading materials for a future High Priestess."

"Sister Hana gave it to me," you admitted, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "She believes the future High Priestess should understand all aspects of human nature... including desire."

"Sister Hana sounds like my kind of woman," Izuna chuckled, finally releasing the book to your grasp.

You couldn't help but bite your lip as you tucked the book against your chest, still half-sprawled across Izuna. "And what would you know about such things? Are you an expert on the art of seduction now?"

His eyes darkened at your question, taking it as an open-ended challenge, a devious grin spreading across his face. He shifted beneath you, his hand coming to rest at your waist, thumb tracing the seams of silk on your dress.

"What if I said that I am," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low timbre that sent shivers down your spine.

The air between you changed instantly, charged with an electricity that made your skin prickle with awareness. It was exactly what you wanted— but should run away from. You should have moved back, should have laughed off his words as mere teasing, but the reckless and hungry beast inside you rose to the challenge.

"If you're such an expert," you lilted, "then prove it."

You barely recognized your own voice, demure yet bold, as you formally issued the challenge. For a heartbeat, surprise flickered across Izuna's features before his expression shifted into something heavier, deepening with intent.

Your heart thundered in your chest as he slowly sat up, bringing you with him until you were sitting face to face, your knees touching. The book tumbled, forgotten to the floor, as Izuna lifted one hand to cup your cheek.

"Well, to demonstrate," he began, his voice low and intimate, "I look into her eyes, just like this." His gaze held yours, intense and unwavering. "I make sure she knows she is the only woman in the world at that moment."

Your breath hitched as his thumb traced your lower lip with enchanting gentleness.

"Then I kiss her— softly at first." He leaned forward, closing the distance between you with deliberate slowness. "Like this."

His lips brushed against yours, light and controlled. The contact, brief as it was, made the fire in your belly flare, threatening to escape your throat as a moan. When he pulled back slightly, your lips parted on an exhale, your body instinctively leaning toward his.

"Then," he continued, his breath warm against your mouth, "when I feel her respond, I deepen the kiss."

This time, when his lips met yours, there was nothing tentative about it. His mouth moved against yours with practiced skill, coaxing you to follow his lead. You responded eagerly, your hands finding purchase on his chest as he pulled you closer.

The first touch of his tongue against the seam of your lips nearly undid you, lost in the wave of thrill that washed over you. Your lips parted for him, a small whimper of pleasure escaping you as his tongue slipped inside to tangle with yours.

Heat bloomed through your body, shooting to your core. Your fingers dug into the fabric of his tunic as your core pulsed and ached under his ministrations. He kissed you with a talent that made your knees weak, his tongue tangling with yours in a dance that left you breathless and wanting to feel on every inch of your skin.

His lips finally left yours, but only to trail along your jawline toward your ear. "After that," he whispered, his breath hot against your flushed skin, "I move lower.” He breathed against your ear, the promise in his words sending electric currents down your spine.

His lips found the sensitive spot behind your ear, pressing a kiss there that made you gasp. Izuna's mouth traced a burning path down the column of your throat. Each press of his lips against your skin was deliberate, unhurried, as if he were savouring a meal.

Your back met the cushions as he gently pressed you down, his body shifting to position himself between your sprawled legs. The weight of him against you was intoxicating, causing you to grind against him wantonly like a bitch in heat, earning a pleased chuckle from the older Uchiha. His hand slid along your outer thigh, nails digging just enough to leave goosebumps in their wake before pushing the silk of your dress upward, exposing your leg to the cool library air.

"Izuna," you whimpered, his name falling from your lips in a desperate breath. Your fingers tangled in his dark hair as his mouth continued its downward journey, trailing kisses along your collarbone.

When his lips reached the edge of your neckline, hovering just above the swell of your breasts, you arched instinctively toward him, seeking more of his touch. A soft, needy sound escaped you— one you hardly recognized as your own.

"Beautiful," he murmured against your skin before pressing his mouth to the exposed curve of your breast above your bodice. At first, it was a gentle kiss, then he latched on, pressing his hard length against your damp center as he rolled his hips.

The clearing of a throat shattered the moment like glass.

You gasped, eyes flying open to find Madara standing in the doorway, his imposing figure silhouetted against the hall light. Mortification washed over you in a scalding wave, but Izuna barely reacted. Instead of jumping away as you expected, he remained positioned above you, his arm shifting slightly to block Madara's view of your flushed face.

"I see you have been busy, Izuna.” Madara's voice cut through the silence, sharp as a blade yet eerily restrained. “Defiling the priestess."

"Brother," Izuna acknowledged casually, as if being caught in such a compromising position was an everyday occurrence. "Your timing is impeccable, as always."

You could feel Madara's chakra from across the room— searing with a subtle, dark heat. The intensity of it made your skin prickle with awareness, seeking to shy away from it. You cursed inwardly, wishing anyone else in this temple had walked through that door.

"The Divine is looking for her daughter," Madara stated coldly. "I suggest you make yourselves presentable before she finds you instead."

Izuna finally shifted, allowing you to sit up and straighten your disheveled dress. Your cheeks burned with humiliation as you smoothed your hair, unable to meet Madara's gaze.

"We'll continue this lesson another time," he murmured against your knuckles, winking playfully before releasing your hand.

The wink sent a fresh wave of heat flooding to your cheeks, your embarrassment deepening under both of their gazes. You stood frozen, the forbidden novel still lying incriminatingly on the floor at your feet. Madara's gaze locked onto you, his expression unreadable.

You gathered enough courage to move, bending quickly to retrieve the book and stuff it in a nearby shelf. You nod to Izuna with a nervous smile and make your move to retreat. With your eyes lowered, you attempted to walk past Madara, mumbling an apology under your breath.

As you passed him, however, something compelled you to glance up. The look in his eyes nearly made you pause— it wasn't the cold disapproval you expected, nor the irritation that plagued anything that displeased him.

Instead, his dark eyes held something unfamiliar, something dangerous hidden in their depths.

You quickly averted your gaze, fingers instinctively rising to fix your necklace as you hurried down the corridor toward your mother's study. The weight of Madara's stare followed you, heavy and daunting on your back.

Chapter Text

The Divine was standing at her window when you entered, her tall figure silhouetted against the fading daylight. She didn't turn immediately, and you used the moment to compose yourself, smoothing your features into what you hoped was an expression of dignity rather than lingering desire.

"You summoned me, mother?" You announce, your voice as steady as you could muster.

She turned slowly, her inquisitive eyes taking in your appearance with a thoroughness that made you wonder if some evidence of your transgressions still marked your skin. If she noticed anything amiss, she gave no indication, merely gesturing for you to take a seat on the chair before her desk.

"Tonight is the full moon," she said without preamble. "It is time to invoke your visions and commune with Akatosh once again."

Your heart nearly stopped in your chest, images of your father’s death clouded your mind, and the Dragon God’s warning rang in your ears.

Are you ready to live through that again?

"As you know, many temple petitioners seek counsel," she continued, moving to a shelf lined with ancient scrolls. "They may wish to speak with their ancestors, to foresee what Akatosh allows of their future, or influence an outcome within the temple’s jurisdiction, all to find guidance for difficult decisions. You will assist me in answering their questions."

You nodded nervously; the idea of invoking another vision sparked the knots of anxiety in your gut, but you washed them down with the duty of a priestess.

"Yes, mother," you replied steadily.

She studied your face for a moment longer, her eyes lingering on your lips in a way that made you wonder if they still looked as kiss-swollen as they felt. "Meet me in the inner sanctum before midnight, and be sure to prepare yourself."

"Of course," you bowed again before taking your leave.

You left her chambers with a hushed sigh, your steps quickening as you made your way down the hall. Your gut and heart churned at the tumultuous array of emotions swirling through you. Izuna’s tongue still felt hot on your flesh, Madara’s predatory eyes still bore into yours, and now a pit forms in your belly at the thought of subjecting yourself to another vision.

Stripping down in your room, you donned the traditional ceremonial undergown— white, thin, and threaded with faint lines of gold. Over it, you layered the red silks, meticulously folding and pinning them until they hugged your body like a second skin. Your mother’s crown waited on the vanity, a circlet of hammered gold and obsidian that felt ancient and heavy as you settled it onto your brow. You painted your lips with red paste and lined your eyes with kohl, the blackness drawing out the golden hues hidden in your irises.

Then you waited. For the remaining hours, you paced your room absentmindedly, attempting to press every emotion from your brain. Your communion with Akatosh looms over you, causing your confidence to falter with each passing thought.

At your mother’s summons, you traversed through the labyrinth of the temple to the inner sanctum, smelling the scent of burnt candles in the air. The other priestesses waited inside the shrine’s heart, their faces tranquil, hair bound and crowned in the manner of the old dynasties. They intoned your arrival in low, resonant voices, the echoes vibrating across your skin.

Your mother stood at the center of the ritual circle, her own gown matching yours, her presence filling the chamber as surely as the scent of incense. She beckoned you forward, arms wide, and as you entered the circle, the priestesses closed ranks behind you, each holding a symbol of the elements: a carafe of water, a feather, a thimble of salt, a bowl of coals, and a filled soul gem.

Bones were arranged in a spiral on the floor, charred with a cleansing fire. Your mother extended her hands, palms up, and you placed your own atop hers. She squeezed, and you could feel her magicka pulse, a silent command to brace yourself.

A sickle appeared— one moment hidden in her sleeve, the next, cool and sharp against your wrist. You didn't flinch as she nicked the flesh, the shallow cut beading up with dark blood. It dripped into the bowl between you, mixing with crushed herbs and powdered bone, hissing as it touched the coals.

The priestesses began to chant, a deep, wordless sound that vibrated in your chest. Your mother’s voice joined, weaving through the others, and her hands pressed against yours harder until your vision blurred at the edges. You stared into the bowl as the blood boiled and spat, releasing a pungent, metallic smoke that twisted upward, seeking your eyes, your mouth, to enter your being.

“Look through the veil," your mother murmured. "Tell me what waits on the other side.”

Then you felt the world slip.

A rush of heat— then an instant, impossible cold.

You stood in a garden at dusk. Not the draconic terraces of the temple, but a small, unremarkable patch behind a large wooden house. The air was thick with the scent of wet grass and honeysuckle. Someone was speaking— a voice you vaguely recognize, though the words muffled and distant, as though spoken through water. Somewhere, a child laughed, high and wild. You turned to face the house, following the trail of inaudible voices.

You reached for the door— but your non-physical hand wouldn’t manifest. The voices inside grew louder, thick and hushed, and you pressed closer to the splintered wood, but the words wavered and broke apart before you could catch them. The urge to step inside was powerful, magnetic, but something in your chest twisted, caution pinning you.

You forced yourself to focus, to peer through the window, to will the voices into clarity. But the harder you pushed, the fainter the house became, its edges fraying, the voices dissolving into a static hum. You tried to chase the vision, to move toward the porch, but the world stuttered, faded, and then you were back: the smell of burnt bone and salt in your nostrils, your mother's hand a vice on your shoulder.

You blinked, the afterimage of the house flickering at the periphery of your vision. Your mother watched you with the stillness of a hunting cat.

“What did you see?” She demanded, voice low and urgent.

You relayed the vision as best you could, describing the house, the garden, the voices you could not decipher. When you tried to explain the feeling— the compulsion to move forward, the simultaneous dread— you found yourself stammering, unable to put the sensation into words that would satisfy the hunger in your mother's eyes.

She frowned, her gaze narrowing. “Hm, it is only your second vision. Try to reach further next time. Expand it, harness it, shape it, or it will slip through your grasp. This is something you must learn to master, Alessia.”

You wanted to say that you had tried, that it felt as if the world was pushing back against you, but you kept the complaint to yourself. Your mother’s disappointment was never loud, but it always landed with the weight of steel.

“Now, while the moon is nigh, I want you to channel inside yourself and seek Akatosh. Gods willing, he will reveal some truths behind your vision.”

The priestesses began to sing again without cue, their voices shifting into a lower register of guttural grunts as your mother lit a separate bundle of sacred herbs.

The dense resinous smoke from the herb bundle curled into your nose, flooding your senses as your mother pressed the flame to the roots, the core of it glowing with a primal red. The ritual chants swelled, clashing and overlapping until all individual meaning was just a wave of force, bearing you up and over the edge of consciousness. You were falling again— no, pushing, your mind scraping across the surface of time itself, and this time you let it take you, refusing to flinch, refusing to yield.

As your mind faded into black, you felt it before you saw— an impossible pressure in your chest. Then it transformed out of the darkness: scales like polished gold, claws that glinted moonstone white, and piercing, all-knowing eyes.

Akatosh.

When the god spoke, his wisdom was stronger than words, imprinting itself into your brain. So, my child. Again, you seek what is not yet ready to be found. He spoke without a formal greeting, as if reading your mind.

You tried to stuff down your immediate disappointment— already seeing how this conversation was going to go. “I need some clarity on my vision. Why the house? Who are the voices? And why can’t I get inside?”

The dragon hummed, a sound that rumbled through your bones and nearly dropped you to your knees.

You are at the crossroads, Alessia. It is not given to mortals to see the shape of the room before their feet cross its floor.

You grit your jaw, desperate for more than his useless riddles. “Why show me at all, if I cannot understand it? I still don’t have any answers from the first time we communicated!”

Because all understanding comes with time, daughter of my blood, and you cannot comprehend what is not yet revealed, especially when you lack the fundamentals.

You felt frustration surge in your chest, hot and reckless as you questioned the Dragon God. “What does that mean? What am I lacking?”

Akatosh lowered his monumental head, bringing an eye—vast, molten gold—level with yours. Young priestess, you are not yet of two realms. You have not bonded.

“Bonded?” You paused, taken aback.

Gold light morphed around you, as if passing unspoken information. The meaning then echoed through you: dragon’s blood is nothing until awakened, until a living dragon calls it through the veil and anchors it to this world.

You will imprint, the god intoned. Your soul is tied to another being— a dragon who will serve and guide you. This dragon will help you harness your gifts. Only then will you be ready to see what is untold.

His instructions are clear now- you are to bond to a dragon, similar to a summoning contract for lesser creatures. Your mother bonded with her dragon, Meridia, only two years before her ascension as Divine. Is Akatosh implying that you are ready for this next step?

“What must I do?” You questioned, your annoyance having shifted to enthusiasm.

Atop the mountain lies the Altar of Kings, the god boomed. There, your blood will determine your bond. Your mother will perform the Rite of Resonance, summoning them forth.

“How will I know which one—”

Akatosh’s rumbling rolled over you, a wave of sound that left you shuddering and small. There will be no mistaking it, Alessia. The one who is called forth will be summoned by your blood directly. Even the dragons themselves do not know to which Divine they are bound to. The Dragon God sprawled out, as if to lie down. The time is now, child.

You wanted to question him, to demand more, but you felt the vision recede, the Dragon God’s presence sucked from you like a tide pulling away from shore. The smoke in the sanctum became the whole of your world, and your body crashed back into itself, lungs flooding with air as you fell forward, your mother’s hands steadying you.

Your hands were raw-boned and shaking, the thread of blood at your wrist caked into your skin. Somewhere, a priestess touched your shoulder, murmuring assurances in the Old Tongue. The only sensation that registered was the weight of your mother’s palm bracing you against the wave of consciousness.

You managed to blink yourself back into the present, the walls of the sanctum resolving into hard, cold stone and a mirage of flickering candles. The bones in the bowl hissed, the last of your blood smoldering into vapor.

Your mother bent close, her eyes boring into yours. “What did he advise?”

It took a minute to find words as you felt the air settle in your lungs. “He wants me to go to the Altar of Kings… To bond with a dragon.”

The priestesses inhaled in unison, a ripple of awe and dread passing through the chamber. Your mother’s face broke, pride and terror warring in her expression. “He has invoked the Rite of Resonance?”

You shrugged as you nervously chewed your lip, still shivering from the aftershocks. “He just said the dragon chooses the priestess, and that I’ll know them when they come.”

Your mother contemplated in silence for a moment as the priestesses watched you anxiously. “You are the youngest in many generations to be bonded. I assume Akatosh did not allude to why he was bestowing you with such capacity?”

You shook your head, her inquisitive eyes flashing with controlled concern. ”No, he did not.”

“As I expected,” she sighed heavily as she cradled your face, her eyes searching yours for any sign of fear, or refusal, or ordinary weakness. All she found was the shaky, yet determined ambition left in the wake of Akatosh’s words, and though she was uncertain, your mother’s face shifted with pride.

“I suppose it is time then,” your mother stated with finality.

The other priestesses stepped back, eyes searching others with unspoken words. You rose, still shaking, and followed your mother out of the sanctum. The corridor wound up and up— past the empty altar room, past the side chapels, past the barracks where even now the Uchiha slept, oblivious to the ritual that would change everything.

You did not ask where she was taking you. Even though you had never set foot on this path before, your legs knew the way: higher, always higher, toward the heart of the mountain where the first High Priestess had knelt and bled for the favor of dragons.

It was cold on the peak, the crisp night air biting at your exposed skin as the wind blew your gown violently. The moon was bright and low, covering the stone altar in a shade of silver. Your mother stood at the margin of the circle, her ethereal silhouette against the night. The other priestesses fanned out around her, each taking up a position at the points of an ancient star, each carrying a torch of dragonbone wrapped in sage.

You stepped into the center in front of the altar, feet sinking into the grooves carved by your predecessors. The altar was ringed with glowing magickal runes, old enough that only the gods and the temple knew their meaning.

The wind at the summit battered your ceremonial robes and threatened to tear the gold circlet from your head, but you felt none of it— your nerves were seared raw and exposed, tuned to only the rhythm of your blood and the pulse of the altar at your feet. The priestesses began a hymn of hums and chants. Their voices rose and fell with the gusts, blending into an enchanting whirl.

Your mother’s hand found yours, her touch grounding you as she stepped up to the altar. She took the bone-handled ritual dagger from her sleeve, offering you the hilt. You understood without words— the blood would have to be yours, freely given. You steeled yourself and sliced a clean, fast line across your palm over your previous cut. The blood pooled in your cupped hand, then ran down your wrist in slow, dark threads.

“Place your hand on the altar,” your mother whispered, her voice barely audible over the rising chorus.

The runes flared to life, red and angry and alive at the contact. Your blood seeped into them, and the altar drank deep, greedily, as if it had waited lifetimes for this offering. The priestesses’ song grew rougher, the tempo impossible, voices splitting into harmonics that made the very air vibrate.

Above, the moon vanished behind rolling clouds. Wind screamed down from the sky, whipping your hair and dress around, stinging your exposed flesh. The braziers— dormant since the last priestess’s summoning— exploded into red-gold flames, casting the circle in flickering dragonfire. The scent of smoke and ichor collided in your nostrils, and the ground trembled with a low, gathering thunder.

In the distance, you heard it: a roar, not of freedom or reverie, but of rage. A shadow blotted out the clouds, impossibly vast. Something ancient and wretched plummeted from the sky, beating its way closer with each gust of wind. The priestesses fell silent, the ritual chant snuffed out by the rush of air and magic.