The forest was quiet except for the low rustle of leaves, a sound nearly drowned out by the pounding in your ears.

Every breath burned, sharp and shallow, each step dragging heavier than the last.

You could feel the warm trail of blood seeping beneath your clothes, sticky against your skin. Somewhere along the fight you had lost your weapon, but you kept moving, forcing your legs to carry you deeper into the trees.

You didn’t hear him approach.

One moment the shadows were still, and the next they shifted, parting around a tall figure cloaked in black and red clouds.

The porcelain-white of his mask caught the dying light, the single red Sharingan eye behind it locking onto you instantly.

Obito Uchiha.

You froze, or maybe your body simply refused to move any further. There was no mistaking that overwhelming chakra pressing against you, heavy and suffocating.

You knew what he was—Akatsuki, enemy, traitor. The kind of man who could end you in less than a breath.

But instead of striking, he stepped closer. His gaze swept over you in quick calculation, lingering on the blood matting your clothes and the awkward angle of your arm.

When he spoke, his voice was low, calm, but edged with something you couldn’t name.

“You’re an Uchiha.”

It wasn’t a question.

Your vision swam, the trees tilting unnaturally as weakness clawed at you. Before you could react, darkness crowded in at the edges of your sight, and you felt the sudden weightless pull of your body leaving the ground.

Strong hands caught you—steady, unhesitating—and the world slipped into a blur.

When you came to, the air was cooler, the scent of damp stone filling your senses. You lay on a rough bed of blankets, dim firelight flickering over the jagged walls of a cave. The sound of dripping water echoed faintly, a quiet rhythm in the stillness.

Obito sat nearby, his cloak set aside, sleeves rolled up as he tied the last knot in a clean bandage wrapped around your arm.

His movements were precise, almost methodical, but there was no gentleness for comfort’s sake—only the efficiency of someone who’d done this countless times before.

“You’ll live,” he said flatly, as if it was merely a fact, not a kindness.

The Sharingan in his left eye glowed faintly in the firelight, watching you closely. “I didn’t save you for nothing,” he continued, his tone unreadable. “An Uchiha shouldn’t die out here like prey.”

There was weight in those words—something old, something rooted in blood and clan and all the tangled history that came with it.

You realized then that your survival had little to do with mercy. It was about what you were, what that name meant to him.

Outside, the wind sighed against the mouth of the cave, carrying with it the faint smell of rain. Inside, Obito leaned back slightly, his eyes never fully leaving you, as if ensuring that the decision to spare you hadn’t been a mistake.

You were alive. Because he wanted you alive. And that alone was reason enough to be wary.