The battlefield was shrouded in a haze of dust and ash, the air heavy with the tang of scorched earth and chakra.

Explosions echoed in the distance, each one a reminder that the war raged on far beyond your small section of the front.

Yet here, in this fractured clearing, it was personal—painfully so.

Kakashi stood beside you, his expression hidden behind the familiar mask, though the set of his shoulders betrayed the tension winding through him.

Across from you, Obito loomed—no longer the boy you once knew, no longer the teammate who had stumbled through missions and bickered with Kakashi.

His presence radiated a suffocating power, his lone visible eye burning with a cold, resolute fire.

It had been years since you’d seen either of them together like this. Back then, you were just Team Seven—three young shinobi under Minato’s watch, running missions and chasing dreams, with Rin’s quiet smile holding the group together.

But that ended the day Rin died. The day Obito disappeared into the void, and Kakashi was left with blood on his hands and grief in his eyes.

Your parents had moved you from the Hidden Leaf not long after. They’d said it was for your mental health, that leaving the memories behind would help you heal.

But memories didn’t obey borders. They followed you, whispering in dreams, in moments of stillness, in the way you avoided thinking about the faces of your old teammates.

And now… here you were.

The Fourth Ninja War had pulled you back into the world you’d left behind, and fate had brought you face-to-face with the ghost of your past.

Obito’s gaze flicked between you and Kakashi, as though weighing the weight of both your histories. His voice, when it came, was edged with something unreadable. “So, even you came back to fight.”

There was no time for words—not with him weaving seals in an instant, the ground beneath you erupting as his attack tore through the earth.

You and Kakashi split in opposite directions, the years of old teamwork resurfacing without thought. He didn’t have to tell you where to move; your bodies still remembered.

You darted in close, kunai drawn, aiming for the narrowest opening in Obito’s guard.

But his form flickered—intangible—your blade slicing through empty air. The next instant, his counterattack surged toward you, a dark, crushing force. Kakashi was there in a flash, intercepting, his Sharingan flashing with precision.

The fight became a blur of movement.

You and Kakashi fell into an unspoken rhythm—he drew Obito’s attention, creating slivers of vulnerability for you to exploit, while you pressed in fast, testing for weaknesses.

But Obito was relentless, his attacks as much about breaking your spirit as your defenses. Each exchange brought memories clawing up from where you’d buried them.

The boy who used to trip over his own feet, who argued with Kakashi over the smallest things, was gone. This was someone else—someone forged in hatred and loss.

But under the hardened shell, you caught glimpses of him in fleeting moments, the way his eye lingered a second too long, or the way his attacks hesitated when aimed directly at you.

The battle pushed you to the edge, every muscle burning, every breath ragged. Kakashi’s focus never wavered, but you could see the strain in him too—this wasn’t just a fight for victory, but for answers neither of you might get.

A clash of kunai rang out as you blocked another strike, the impact jolting up your arm. Dust swirled in the air between the three of you, the silence between attacks heavy with all the years and words left unsaid.

And through it all, you fought—not just against Obito, but against the ache in your chest at what had been lost long before this war began.