Kumogakure — The Raikage's Strategy.
Now, I stood atop a tower among the clouds. Lightning split the sky. The air reeked of iron and thunder. The earth trembled with the sky's fury.
The Second Raikage, a wall of muscle and scars, dominated a room of stone and steel. Four generals surrounded him. The map of Uzushiogakure burned under torchlight.
"The Uzumaki are a threat," he roared. "Their seals destroy our greatest weapon. They are the obstacle to Kumo's dominance."
A general protested:
"Attacking them will unite the villages against us…"
The Raikage laughed—a sound that wounded my soul.
"Shimura is with us. He will sow rebellion within Konoha."
And so, destruction was sealed.
The Secret Meeting with Danzō.
Darkness pulled me again, and I stood in a hidden chamber—perhaps beneath Konoha, perhaps nowhere. The black stone walls swallowed the light of dying torches, and the air stank of melted wax and dried blood, a stench that turned the stomach. At the center, an obsidian table reflected shadowed faces: Danzō Shimura, his cane planted like a sentence, and three envoys, each bearing the headbands of Iwa, Kiri, and Kumo. Torn maps and sealed scrolls littered the table, stained with red ink.
Danzō's voice struck like a hammer. "The Uzumaki and Senju are uncontrollable, a threat to the shinobi world. Uzumaki fuinjutsu can cripple armies, and the Senju need no introduction. Together, they make Konoha a monster." His cane struck the floor, the sound echoing like a funeral bell. The Iwa envoy, face scarred, grunted: "Destroying Uzushiogakure is the first step. What do you gain, Shimura?" Danzō smiled, eyes glinting with malice. "I keep Konoha busy—false attacks, rebellions. Hiruzen will be blind. You destroy Uzushiogakure, and the last Uzumaki will flee to Konoha, where I will control them. And with them, the Leaf will be mine."
Traitor! Murderer! I tried to scream, but my voice was a trapped echo, and the dream dissolved.
The world faded into smoke, and I awoke in the Valley of Hell, cold sweat sticking to my skin like a second layer. My heart pounded like a war drum, the fragments of the dream spinning in my mind: the Kages conspiring, Danzō selling out my ancestors, the Uzumaki-Senju alliance doomed.
If Danzō destroyed Uzushiogakure… what will he do to the survivors of my clan? To my mother? To me?
POV: Tekka
Seated on his bed, Tekka was in shock.
So it was Danzō. He orchestrated everything—the destruction of the Whirlpool Village, Sakumo Hatake's death…
Later that day, in the dining room.
Tekka sat in a chair, his right arm resting on the table as he watched Akemi prepare dinner. It was a peaceful, soothing scene.
After all I've read… it makes sense she wouldn't want to move to Konoha.
When dinner was nearly ready, Riki arrived. His face bore explicit exhaustion.
"Dad, Mom, I'm home."
A family. This is my family. I'll kill anyone who tries to hurt them.
"Riki, go take a bath. Don't take too long—dinner's almost ready."
The boy headed straight upstairs to the bathroom, while Tekka remained, watching Akemi cook…
The cold stone walls of the Valley of Hell seemed to seep into me—a chill not just from the damp air, but from something deeper, darker. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I—Tekka Uchiha—held Riki's diary, its worn leather trembling in my hands.
The room was a sparse cubby. A candle's flickering light cast restless shadows that danced to the rhythm of my pounding heart. How does he know this? Riki's words, scrawled in uneven handwriting, cut like a kunai—each line a revelation that left me stunned.
So it was Danzō! My Sharingan activated unbidden, the tomoe spinning in the dim light as I read. He orchestrated it all. The destruction of Uzushiogakure. Sakumo Hatake's death.
The diary described secret meetings—Kages from Iwa, Kiri, and Kumo conspiring against the Uzumaki, fearing their fuinjutsu and alliance with the Senju and Konoha. Danzō, the vulture with all of Root's power, was the thread connecting them all, promising the enemy that Konoha would be blind, distracted by false attacks and internal strife, while Uzushiogakure burned.
And Sakumo—the man whose white blade I'd admired—had not fallen from weakness. Root had spread the rumors, poisoned Konoha against him, until shame drove him to suicide.
Riki… how do you know this? I clenched my fists, the diary's leather creaking. Dreams? Memories? What are you, my son?
The clatter of pots downstairs snapped me from my stupor.
Akemi was in the kitchen, the aroma of cooking rice rising with the salty scent of grilled fish and a hint of fresh basil. I hid the diary under the mattress—information I wasn't yet ready to face—and descended the wooden stairs, each step groaning under my boots. The dining room was a warm refuge against the valley's chill, lit by a paper lantern that bathed the earthen walls in soft light. I sat on a rough-hewn chair, my right arm resting on the table, fingers tracing old grooves in the wood—marks of shared meals, of a life I wanted to protect.
Akemi moved through the kitchen with grace. Her red hair—heritage of the Uzumaki—was tied in a loose bun, strands falling over her eyes as she chopped scallions, the knife reflecting the hearth's fire.
The crackling flames and steady rhythm of the knife against the board were a melody that calmed the storm in my chest. Now I understand why she never wanted to go to Konoha. If it were the Uchiha in her place, we'd do the same—or worse. Akemi hadn't been born in Uzushiogakure, hadn't seen Konoha's betrayal firsthand, but every day, she saw its marks in her relatives—the scars of Danzō's treachery, of the village that abandoned her people to the flames. Every cut of the knife, every precise motion, was proof of her strength—and her refusal to surrender.
The front door creaked, and Riki entered, shoulders slumped as if carrying the weight of a world I couldn't see. His face was smudged with dust and sweat, etched with exhaustion no boy should bear. "Dad, Mom, I'm home," he murmured, voice hoarse, eyes hollow. I've seen that look before—it's the look of someone hiding secrets.
What have you seen, Riki?
My chest tightened. I'll kill anyone who dares touch them.
Riki wasn't just my son—he was an enigma, writing things he shouldn't know, as if he'd seen the past… or even the future.
Akemi turned, wiping her hands on her apron, a smile softening her war-hardened features. "Riki, go take a bath. And don't take too long—dinner's almost ready." Her voice was firm but warm, filling the room with a comfort that made it feel like home. Riki nodded, trudging upstairs, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall.
I turned back to Akemi, now stirring a bubbling pot, steam spiraling delicately upward. But my mind was on the diary, on Riki's words that echoed like a warning.
Danzō destroyed Uzushiogakure. He broke Sakumo. And now…
I thought of the dreams Riki described—visions of Kages conspiring, of Danzō sealing the Uzumaki's fate. He knows too much. My fingers gripped the table's edge, wood creaking under the pressure.
If Danzō learns of him, I'll unleash hell before he lays a hand on the first Uchiha outside Konoha.
The sound of running water upstairs stopped—a silence that draped over the house like a curtain. Riki would come down soon, and for a moment, we'd just be a family, sharing a meal under the soft glow of the lantern swaying above the table.
The hearth's warmth filled the dining room, pushing back the Valley of Hell's damp chill, but I—Tekka Uchiha—carried a weight no flame could ease. My hand rested on the table, fingers tracing worn grooves, as my mind returned to Riki's diary, hidden under the mattress upstairs.
Danzō's shadow looms over us. The diary's echoes reverberated in my mind. But as long as I live, he won't touch my family.
He knew what was coming. After the war's end, Minato would be attacked by Obito, and the Uchiha massacre would follow. Riki couldn't allow that. In his original world, he'd never had a father—but here, Tekka wanted to stand by him. He'd do whatever it took to save him.
Dinner had ended, but the weight in my chest only grew. The dining room, warmed by the hearth's orange embers, felt too small to contain the secrets I carried. The ceramic bowls, still flecked with rice and sauce, were stacked in the sink, and the mingled scents of grilled fish and basil lingered, now tinged with woodsmoke. The paper lantern swayed gently, casting dancing shadows on the Valley of Hell's stone walls—each one a specter of the betrayal I'd uncovered in Riki's diary.
Still standing near the stairs, my worn boots creaking against the floorboards, my black tunic—embroidered with the Uchiha fan on the back—was unbuttoned at the chest, revealing battle scars like maps of war. My leather belt, holding a scroll pouch and a sheathed kunai, weighed against my hip. My dark hair, tied in a low ponytail, was damp with sweat—not from the house's warmth, but from the storm in my mind.
Danzō destroyed Uzushiogakure. He broke Sakumo. And Riki… how does he know this?