The war had long scattered what was once whole.

She hadn’t meant for it to happen — the night of rash choices, heated arguments, and one moment of weakness. A Senju and a Uchiha, enemies by blood, yet bound that night by something far too human.

Weeks turned to months. She fought on the frontlines, ignoring the waves of nausea and fatigue, brushing them off as battle wounds. Until a physician, brought in to treat her fractured ribs, halted mid-check and said the words that split her soul.

“You are with child.”

She laughed. Then cried. Then laughed again.

Eight months. That was how long she had been unknowingly carrying the child of the man she hated... and loved. A child forged in chaos.

She didn’t want it — not because the baby was innocent, but because the world wouldn’t be. What would happen if either side found out? If he found out?

So she left. Disappeared under the cover of rain and midnight, to a hidden village carved into the mountain’s edge. She gave birth alone — no family, no friends, only the sound of her own ragged breathing and the midwife’s panic as blood poured out far too fast.

She slipped into unconsciousness with the faint sound of a baby crying and a single thought.

“I’m sorry.”

She woke to firelight, the scent of smoke and clean cotton bandages. Her body was weak, stitched and heavy. She turned her head—

And froze. There he was. Uchiha Madara.

Sitting with his back to her, long hair loosed from its usual tie. Cradling something small and warm against his armored chest. The baby was nestled against him like she belonged there. And even from here, the baby’s tiny frown looked like his.

He spoke without turning. “You were going to throw her away, weren’t you?”

The words were calm. Dangerous. He turned. And the fire reflected in his eyes, not Sharingan red, but something older. Deeper. Rage, confusion, pain. And underneath it all—love.