"Raizen won, huh?"
Senju Hashirama smiled faintly as he set the message scroll down. He'd believed in that stubborn fool, though not because logic said he should. The Amamiya Clan was small, barely a ripple in the chaos of the Warring States. Against the Kaguya? It should've been a massacre.
Yet here it was — victory confirmed.
Hashirama leaned back, eyes distant. "Still chasing your ideals, Raizen? Still building toward that dream of unity?"
Another scroll lay open beside him. News of a new alliance — the Amamiya Clan joining hands with two other minor families. Odd, desperate, but strangely familiar. Hashirama could see it for what it was: the start of something larger.
If enough small clans gathered under one banner, they could form stability. And stability could become... a village.
"You're still fighting for peace," Hashirama murmured bitterly. "While Madara and I can't even escape the chains of our clans."
He clenched his fists. The latest battle between the Senju and Uchiha had ended without a true victor, but the damage ran deeper than blood. That fight had severed his last bond with Madara.
He wanted to reach out, to speak — but he was no longer the carefree boy who'd skipped stones by the river. He was Senju Hashirama, patriarch. His will was not his own anymore.
Meanwhile, far away, Madara Uchiha stood before his clan's banner, reading the same news.
Raizen's victory. His alliance. His persistence.
Madara's expression hardened; the warmth of youth long since burned away. A dry chuckle escaped his lips.
"Still holding on to that ridiculous dream, are you? You'll learn, Raizen. After loss carves through your heart, you'll understand how empty those ideals are."
His Sharingan glimmered faintly in the shadows.
"This world devours the naive. Even you — even Hashirama — will become the very monsters you hate. Peace doesn't exist. Not here."
Raizen, of course, had no clue about any of that. He was too busy dragging half the clan through a mud-soaked forest, barking orders like an overworked foreman.
The Amamiya were relocating — again — to the vast woodland they'd scouted earlier. The carts were loaded with supplies; chakra lamps flickered against the mist.
Raizen stood before the gathered shinobi and pointed toward the horizon.
"This is it. Our new clan grounds. And this entire forest? It's ours now."
The younger ninjas exchanged confused looks. Claiming an entire forest? Typical Raizen — ambition dressed as insanity.
But orders were orders. Dozens of Earth Style users slammed their hands to the ground. Tremors rippled through the soil as trees toppled and the land reshaped.
"Doton: Land Wave!"
Chunks of forest gave way to open terrain, ready for building. Water Style users stepped in next, smoothing mud into clay, while others reinforced the ground with chakra. Houses began to take shape — crude but sturdy.
Raizen stood apart, watching it unfold. A cynical smile tugged at his lips. "Guess I'm a civil engineer now. Great career progression."
Then he marked a massive circle in the dirt with his boot.
"From here," he ordered, "build a defensive wall. The biggest you can. The area inside this line belongs to the Amamiya — and to every ally that joins us later."
The shinobi blinked in confusion. The wall's radius was enormous, big enough to hold dozens of clans.
"Patriarch," one finally said, "isn't this… too far out?"
Raizen just grinned, wind tugging at his hair. "Not far enough. We're not just building a home — we're building a future. Someday, there'll be families filling every inch of this forest. When that happens, we'll expand again."
Silence followed, broken only by the thud of hammers and jutsu echoing through the trees.
Hours stretched into days. The new Amamiya settlement rose from the mud like a living thing — walls, watchtowers, wooden streets. Hope disguised as infrastructure.
Soon after, the allied Hanabira and Daitō Clans arrived, guiding their people toward the half-finished stronghold.
Both clan heads halted, awed by the enormous perimeter wall.
"Patriarch Amamiya," said Hanabira's chief cautiously, "isn't this boundary… a bit excessive?"
Raizen stood at the cliff's edge, arms folded, eyes fixed on the horizon.
"Not excessive," he said quietly. "Just early."
The two patriarchs exchanged looks, realizing what Raizen truly intended — not a mere alliance, but a foundation for something far greater.
A world where scattered clans could stand together.
Their doubts faded into silence.
"Perhaps," one murmured, "this really could be the start of something new."
Raizen didn't answer. His gaze stayed on the distant trees, where the first walls of the Amamiya stronghold gleamed under the morning sun — fragile, defiant, and alive.
...
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