The night had not been kind.

It rarely was.

Guarding the outer perimeter of the Uchiha compound meant silence, meant patience, meant listening for the smallest disturbance beyond the treeline. The Senju moved like disciplined storms; the Hagoromo favored distance and flame. Neither required noise to be lethal.

By the time the horizon began to pale, I had not closed my eyes once.

I did not permit myself the indulgence.

When I returned, the compound was already stirring. Smoke from early fires rose through the trees. Steel rang against steel in the training grounds.

Madara was waiting.

My brother did not ask whether I had slept. He did not need to. The shadows beneath my eyes were answer enough.

“Again,” he said after the first exchange of blows.

And so we did.

Again.

And again.

Chakra burned through my coils until it felt thin. My muscles trembled under the strain of precision strikes and rapid counters. The ground beneath us was torn apart, scorched in places where our techniques collided.

I refused to yield first.

He refused to go easy.

When I finally dropped to one knee, breath measured but heavy, he regarded me in silence.

“You require rest,” he said at last.

It was not concern. It was assessment.

“I am functional,” I replied.

His gaze sharpened slightly. He knew the difference.

“There are patrol routes in the eastern stretch,” he continued. “Quieter territory. Take them.”

A safer assignment.

From anyone else, it might have felt like dismissal.

From him, it was acknowledgment.

I inclined my head once and left before my legs could betray the fatigue crawling through them.

—

The eastern forest was different.

Still guarded. Still ours. But less volatile. Fewer signs of Senju scouts. Fewer chakra signatures lingering in the air like poison.

The wind moved gently through the trees, carrying the scent of earth rather than ash.

I slowed my pace.

Not because I wished to.

Because my body demanded it.

Every step reminded me that flesh, however disciplined, has limits. My shoulders ached from holding tension too long. My hands felt heavier than steel.

Needing rest is a weakness.

Needing it this desperately is… unacceptable.

I exhaled slowly and pressed forward.

And then—

A presence.

Not chakra flaring in aggression.

Not a hidden killing intent.

Something softer.

Out of place.

I stilled.

Through the trees, beyond the curve of a narrow path seldom used by shinobi, I saw movement.

Perhaps it was exhaustion dulling my judgment.

Perhaps it was something else.