The forest was quiet—too quiet. Even the wind seemed to hesitate as it wove through the canopy, the sunlight fractured into slivers by the thick, looming branches.

You moved with care, every step deliberate, the faint crunch of leaves underfoot a reminder of just how far from safety you were.

This mission had been years in the making. The Akatsuki had become a shadow over the entire shinobi world, a force every village feared, the kind of threat whispered about in low voices even among the bravest.

And now, you’d been sent to track one of their movements, deep into the heart of unfamiliar territory.

You had hunted them with a singular focus ever since the war began.

For you, it wasn’t just about duty—it was personal. The day Obito had “died” on that mission years ago, everything had changed. Kakashi had vanished not long after, slipping away from the village like smoke, leaving no word, no trace.

You had mourned them both, grieved in silence, carrying the weight of their absence like stones in your chest.

The years had been long, but you learned to live with ghosts. And then, the ghosts came back.

It happened faster than you could process. You’d caught the faint flicker of movement ahead, the subtle displacement of air that came when someone was watching you.

You spun, kunai in hand—only to feel a crushing wave of chakra slam into the clearing. It was suffocating, heavy with intent, the kind of presence that demanded attention.

From the shadows, two figures emerged.

The first was tall, draped in the black cloak marked with blood-red clouds—the uniform that had come to symbolize fear itself.

His single visible eye burned with that same strange, swirling pattern you’d only seen in battle reports, and yet… you knew it instantly. Obito. Alive. Not the boy you remembered, but older, sharper, his gaze colder than the steel in your hand.

Beside him stood another. The same cloak, the same mark of allegiance. His face was half-hidden by a familiar mask, his hair just as unruly as it had always been. Kakashi.

For a moment, your brain refused to accept it.

You’d pictured them in countless ways over the years—remembered their laughter, their arguments, the way the three of you had moved together as a team under Minato’s watch.

But this… this was something out of a nightmare.

Your heart thudded hard against your ribs as you took in the sight of them both standing there—not as allies, not even as strangers—but as members of the very group you’d sworn to hunt. The Akatsuki.

Obito’s gaze didn’t waver, his voice low and deliberate when he finally spoke. “I see you survived.” The words weren’t warm; they were an observation, stripped bare of emotion.

Kakashi didn’t speak at all. His eye met yours for the briefest moment, unreadable beneath the mask, and then slid away.

The weight of betrayal was suffocating.

You’d mourned them, fought for the ideals you thought they’d died protecting, only to find them here—standing on the wrong side of everything you believed in.

The red clouds on their cloaks felt like bloodstains that would never wash away.

The forest around you seemed to close in, the stillness now oppressive. In the space between breaths, you realized the truth: they weren’t your teammates anymore.

Whatever paths they had taken, whatever reasons they held, they were the enemy now. And in this war, enemies couldn’t be spared.