The stone walls of the Land of Iron's summit chamber absorbed sound like parched earth, amplifying the suffocating tension. Five chairs, hewn from local granite, formed a stark circle. In each sat a figure radiating the nascent power and deep-seated suspicion of their fledgling nations. Hashirama Senju, First Hokage, occupied his seat with an air of forced calm, the Konoha leaf symbol bright on his forehead protector. Beside him, a half-step back, stood Tobirama Senju, his crimson eyes scanning the room like a hawk, missing nothing – the ever-present shadow to his brother's blazing sun.
Opposite Hashirama, the First Kazekage, Reto, seemed carved from the same harsh stone as his desert homeland. His eyes, sharp as obsidian flakes, darted with cold calculation. At his shoulder stood Shamon, a pillar of Suna's resolve, weathered features impassive but eyes like sun-bleached bone watching every micro-expression.
To Hashirama's right, the First Mizukage, Byakuren, exuded unnerving stillness. His gaze was deep water hiding treacherous currents. Beside him, the sharp-featured shinobi destined to become the Third Mizukage stood with disciplined poise, a reflection of Kiri's shrouded strength. Opposite Byakuren, the First Raikage, A, was barely contained energy. Muscles strained against his Kumo attire, and the faint, ozone tang of lightning crackled around him. His bodyguard, the equally imposing future Second Raikage known only as "A," mirrored his leader's fierce vigilance.
Completing the circle, the First Tsuchikage, **Ishikawa**, sat with deceptive relaxation. Unlike the often-depicted ethereal detachment of Mu, Ishikawa possessed a grounded solidity. His expression was a carefully maintained mask of neutrality, weathered but strong, like bedrock. His eyes, however, held the patient, unyielding watchfulness of the earth itself. A nameless Iwa shinobi stood beside him, embodying stone-like endurance.
Hashirama took a deliberate breath, the sound loud in the thick silence. "My fellow Kage," he began, his resonant voice earnest, cutting through the palpable distrust. "Thank you for answering my call. We stand at the dawn of a new era. The chaos of clans warring endlessly is behind us. Villages, nations… we have built walls against the storm. But true peace…" He paused, meeting each gaze in turn. "...requires more than walls. It requires trust. It requires balance."
He gestured expansively. "Konoha possesses the Tailed Beasts. Forces born from the Ten-Tails, capable of unimaginable destruction." A ripple of tension passed through the room. "But I believe their true purpose is not as weapons, but as guardians of *stability*. Symbols of *deterrence*. To foster that stability, I propose we share this power. One Tailed Beast for each Great Village."
A low murmur rose. Tobirama leaned forward, his voice a low, pragmatic counterpoint. "Sharing implies responsibility and value, Hokage-sama. Such power cannot be simply *gifted*. There must be compensation. Resources, binding agreements, tangible guarantees. Power unearned invites recklessness."
The Raikage slammed a fist onto his stone armrest, the crack echoing sharply. "Compensation? Ha! The beasts fell into your lap, Senju! You speak of peace while holding the leash on monsters! Name your price, but spare us the charity!" His bodyguard, "A," shifted, muscles coiling like springs.
Reto let out a dry, grating chuckle. "One beast?" He leaned forward, flinty eyes locking onto Hashirama. "Sunagakure already possesses the One-Tail, Shukaku. We have wrestled the desert's fury into a weapon. What need have we for another uncontrollable force?" He let the implication hang, heavy as sand. "No. Your offer is… insufficient. If Konoha seeks true balance and wishes to compensate Suna for its inherent… *geographical disadvantages*…" His voice turned razor-sharp. "...we demand fertile land bordering the Land of Wind. And..." He paused for maximum impact. "...thirty percent of the revenue Konoha receives from selling *any* other beast to any other village."
The stunned silence was absolute, thicker than the stone walls. Tobirama's eyes flashed with icy fury. "Preposterous! Extortion thinly veiled as negotiation!"
Byakuren finally spoke, his calm voice laced with steel. "Land? Revenue shares? This smells of opportunism, Kazekage."
Ishikawa remained silent, but his watchful eyes, deep-set and patient, moved minutely between Reto and Hashirama, assessing the shifting fault lines in the room. His stillness was not detachment, but the calm before an avalanche's decision.
The air itself seemed to curdle. Chakra pressures surged – the dry, suffocating weight of Suna's sand, the oppressive density of Iwa's earth, the cold, clinging mist of Kiri, the volatile crackle of Kumo's lightning. Tobirama's fingers brushed the flap of his kunai pouch. The Raikage's bodyguard visibly tensed, ready to explode. Shamon subtly shifted, placing himself fractionally closer to Reto. The fragile dream teetered on the precipice of annihilation.
Hashirama watched it all unfold. The distrust blooming like poisonous fungi. The old hatreds, buried shallow beneath the new village structures, seeping through. Calculating eyes, clenched fists, postures coiled for violence. The hopeful light in his own eyes dimmed, replaced by a profound, crushing sorrow. *Is this our legacy? Walls built only to hide behind? Bloodshed traded for suspicion?* Despair, cold and heavy, settled in his chest.
Then, slowly, deliberately, Hashirama Senju stood. Not with the imposing might of the God of Shinobi, but with the quiet humility of a man witnessing his deepest hope crumble. He stepped away from the stone chair, away from the symbol of Konoha's dominance. He turned, facing each Kage in turn – the furious Raikage, the skeptical Mizukage, the calculating Kazekage, the implacably watchful Tsuchikage Ishikawa, and finally, his brother, Tobirama, whose stern face held a flicker of wary confusion.
And then, the leader of the mightiest village, the man who could reshape continents, did the unthinkable.
He bowed.
Deeply. From the waist. Holding the position. The sheer, unexpected humility of the act, so alien to the pride and power saturating the room, cut through the thickening chakra like a perfectly honed blade.
"Please..." His voice, thick with emotion, was muffled at first. He straightened slightly, tears welling, tracing glistening paths down his cheeks. He wasn't bowing to their power; he was bowing to the *dream*, to the *future* he desperately needed them to envision. He wasn't addressing the hardened warriors before him, but the generations yet unborn. "Look at us! We who have known nothing but the taste of ash and the sting of loss! We who carved our paths through rivers of blood! Is *this* the inheritance we forge for *them*? A world forever fractured? Forever suspicious? Forever balanced on the knife-edge of the next war?"
He swept his arm out, encompassing the charged circle. "Now is the time! The time for *us*, the shinobi, to break these chains of pain! To shatter the cycle of hatred that consumed our fathers and theirs before them!" He met Reto's flinty gaze, Byakuren's penetrating stare, the Raikage's simmering rage, Ishikawa's patient scrutiny, Tobirama's cold logic. "Look beyond the dirt, beyond the coin, beyond the fleeting advantage! See the *dream*! A world where our villages stand not as rivals, but as pillars upholding a shared peace! Where the power we wield," he gestured vaguely, encompassing the unseen Tailed Beasts, "is not a blade at each other's throat, but a shield protecting a fragile dawn!"
The crushing tension didn't vanish, but it *shifted*. The Raikage's clenched fist slowly uncurled, his fierce gaze fixed on the weeping Hokage with grudging, bewildered awe. Byakuren's skeptical mask softened minutely, a flicker of something akin to reluctant respect, perhaps even dawning understanding, in his deep-set eyes. Reto's calculating gaze narrowed, not in anger now, but in intense reassessment, stripping away assumptions to see the man beneath the mantle. Ishikawa remained outwardly impassive, but the intensity of his observation deepened, his earth-like patience absorbing the raw emotion, weighing its substance. Even Tobirama, though his jaw remained a hard line, averted his gaze for a fleeting moment, a flicker of profound, complex pain – perhaps grief for his brother's pain, perhaps the sting of his own pragmatism – crossing his stern features.
Silence reigned. Profound. Heavy. The path of immediate gain, of territorial squabbles and revenue streams, suddenly seemed petty, almost shameful, under the blinding weight of Hashirama's vision and his tear-stained vulnerability. The dream, fragile as a seedling in barren rock, had not been embraced, but it had been *heard*. In that charged, fragile silence, haunted by the ghosts of endless wars and illuminated by the faint, desperate hope for peace, the first Five Kage Summit found its true pivot. The arduous bargaining would resume – the details of beast distribution, the fierce arguments over Reto's audacious demands, the hard-won compromises – but the spark of immediate, catastrophic conflict had been doused. Not by overwhelming force, but by the unexpected, disarming power of a dreamer's tears. The long, treacherous road towards Hashirama's elusive peace had truly, tentatively, begun.
____
The village's atmosphere had grown increasingly tense, with Hashirama's announcement of his tailed beast mission creating ripples of uncertainty throughout the population.
Kenji is waiting for the legendary of Madara Uchiha and Hashirama Senju. After their battle, it would be time for him to leave. He will first go to Uzushiogakure to learn fuinjutsu. With his shapeshifting ability, no one will tell him apart.
Kenji has just one regret. If he possessed the ability to create demons now, he could potentially save Hashirama from his inevitable fate against Madara. The God of Shinobi, transformed into an immortal demon under his command, would shift the balance of power dramatically. But such dreams required capabilities he had yet to unlock.
His departure from Konoha had always been planned for this period—the chaos surrounding leadership transitions and external missions would mask his absence perfectly.