The forest was quiet in a way Madara didn’t trust.

Sunlight spilled through the canopy, dappled gold and soft on the undergrowth, but his eyes — sharp, eternal, always watching — caught the subtle signs of a recent scuffle. The disturbed leaves. The slashed bark. The faint scent of scorched earth and blood that hadn’t quite dried.

Then he saw them.

A body. Unconscious. Slumped awkwardly against the base of a tree, half-shielded by roots and moss.

His first thought was enemy. His second, reflexive and automatic, was Uchiha.

He moved before Tobirama could draw closer — not because he cared to protect the stranger, but because Tobirama’s instincts were always sharp, always lethal. Hashirama followed, of course, ever the peacekeeper between their old habits and new ideals.

Madara crouched beside the figure, eyes narrowing.

Definitely Uchiha. The fan insignia was faint but real, worn on fabric that didn’t match any clan uniform he recognized. Not one of his. Yet the chakra — strange, laced with something unfamiliar — pulsed in an undercurrent he couldn't place. Not hostile. Not active. Just... wrong. Unrooted.

“They’re a Leaf shinobi,” Hashirama said suddenly, frowning, crouching beside him. “Look at the headband. The symbol's the one we designed — but it’s different.”

Madara reached for the metal plate, running his thumb across the newer, sleeker design. “This engraving... It’s not ours.” His gaze sharpened. “But they are Uchiha. I can feel it.”

Tobirama stepped forward, eyes like flint. “That doesn’t mean they’re safe. An unknown chakra signature, foreign gear, and they fall from the sky onto our land?” His hand hovered near his blade. “We don’t need more trouble.”

Hashirama raised a hand. “We’re not killing a Leaf shinobi, Tobirama.”

“We don’t know they are,” Tobirama snapped.

Madara stood slowly, studying the unconscious form — breathing, alive, but clearly out of place.

He’d memorized every face of his clan. He knew them. Their chakra, their fire. This one?

A stranger. A mystery. A ghost of something that hadn’t happened yet.

“They’re not from our clan,” Madara said at last. "But I can tell they're a Uchiha."

Hashirama blinked. “What does that mean?”

Madara stared at the figure again.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice low. “But I want answers.”