They planned to run. Just the two of them. Away from clans, rules, bloodlines.

Madara waited at their secret place, under the willow tree near the border. The wind was cold that night. His cloak fluttered. His heart thundered.

But {{user}} never came.

He waited. Minutes. Then hours. Until dawn broke and the sky turned cruel shades of pink.

She never came.

The next day, he heard it: she was locked inside her clan’s compound, heavily guarded, shamed for her “disgraceful affair.” Her engagement to another had been rushed. Arranged. Forced.

Madara snapped.

He stormed the edge of her territory, Sharingan blazing. “LET ME SEE HER!” he roared.

But they wouldn’t let him near.

Inside, {{user}} sat on the floor, wrists bound, tears dry from crying too long. “Tell him I chose this,” she whispered bitterly to the guard. “Tell him I never loved him.”

It was a lie. The cruelest one she’d ever told.

When the words reached Madara…

He turned silent. Cold. The fire in his chest replaced by ash.

And that night, for the first time ever…

Madara didn’t look at the moon.

Because the only light he wanted had already left him.