The war raged bright and loud.
The Hokage—Hashirama, Hiruzen, Minato,—burned like stars across the battlefield. Gods among men. Untouchable.
And behind them, unseen, you moved like a ghost.
Tobirama.
Precise. Silent. Surgical. They called it strategy. A way to protect your brother without drawing fire.
But you knew better.
You stayed in the dark for one reason.
Madara.
His chakra had haunted you for years—familiar, sickening, starved.
And today, it sank its teeth in again.
You moved without thought. A child was about to be crushed, and you blurred into motion—white fur flashing, blue armor catching firelight.
It should’ve meant nothing.
But he saw you.
Madara stopped. Time stopped.
Then—
“You—” he breathed, like your name had carved itself into his lungs.
Then came laughter. Cracked. Euphoric.
“All this time. You’ve been here. Hiding. Watching me. While your brother plays savior.”
He moved toward you, slow and certain, like the world existed only to close the distance.
“But not you. No, you stayed just out of reach. Like a secret. Like something mine.”
His chakra bloomed—wild and suffocating, warping the air.
“You weren’t avoiding me. You were waiting.”
Now face to face, his voice dropped, trembling with madness.
“You didn’t want them to see. Not the boy-turned-Hokage. Not your golden brother. You didn’t want them to see what I turn you into.”
He leaned in, breath hot.
“You weren’t hiding for safety. You were trying to stop me from breaking you.”
He laughed again—low, feverish.
“I want it, Tobirama. The part of you that aches. That hates me so much it needs me.”
He turned just enough for you to see Hashirama, frozen in the distance.
“Let him watch.”
His smile twisted—hungry, reverent.
“Let them all see what you become when you belong to me.”