The Amamiya Clan didn't make a grand announcement when they struck first. They simply marched. But hiding was never their way. By the time their banners appeared on the Kaguya borders, word had already spread through the Land of Fire like wildfire.
"Has the Amamiya Clan gone insane? Are they trying to get themselves wiped out by the Kaguya?"
The commonfolk whispered. Even the minor clans scoffed, calling it a pebble thrown at a mountain. A suicide march.
But others remembered. The Amamiya had beaten the Kaguya before—back when the Kaguya were at their strongest. Now, after years of losses, that same mountain was cracked and bleeding. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't suicide. Maybe it was vengeance.
Opportunistic families began sending out scouts and spies, eager to profit from the chaos that was about to erupt.
And within the Kaguya stronghold, that chaos was already brewing.
"Those Amamiya bastards have gone too far! Do they really think the Kaguya fear them!?"
The elder's roar filled the clan's council chamber. One insult led to another until the room was a storm of shouting, like wild dogs snapping at each other instead of the threat outside.
Then a heavy voice cut through the noise.
"Enough."
Kaguya Kuma rose from his seat. His glare was cold, his chakra presence sharper than a blade. The hall fell silent almost immediately.
"We are here to plan," he said. "Not to bark."
Kuma was the clan's strongest shinobi, powerful enough to almost touch the level of a Kage. But power didn't always mean control. The Kaguya leadership had split into factions—those who wanted war at any cost, and those, like Kuma, who could still see the edge of the cliff.
From his side, a soft, mocking voice spoke up.
"Well said, Kuma-san. You've made your point. Let's proceed."
Kaguya Takemoto's tone was polite, but his smirk ruined the courtesy. His faction had the upper hand politically, and everyone knew it.
Kuma's jaw tightened. He hated how that man twisted respect into a blade. But now wasn't the time.
"Fine," he muttered. "If you're all so eager for war, say your piece."
"The Amamiya have challenged us again and again," one hot-headed jonin barked. "This time, we crush them for good!"
The chamber erupted with shouts of agreement.
Kuma watched their faces—their pride, their blindness—and felt a bitter taste rising in his throat. None of them understood how fragile the Kaguya had become.
Once, they'd been feared like the Uchiha—untouchable, unchallenged. But that was before Hefū Gorge, before the Great Plains massacre, before the disasters at Tachibana Temple and Hanabira Pass. Now, their numbers had fallen from three thousand to barely a thousand.
Their enemies, old and new, were circling like vultures. If the Amamiya managed even a partial victory, the rest would descend to devour what remained.
Kuma exhaled quietly. Idiots drunk on ghosts.
If the clan fell, he'd make sure someone—anyone—survived. That was all he could do now.
He leaned back, closing his eyes while the others shouted over strategies that would get them all killed.
Takemoto noticed the silence but misread it as surrender.
"Since no one disagrees," he said smoothly, "let's prepare to teach the Amamiya a lesson they won't forget."
The room thundered in approval.
Kuma didn't move. Didn't speak. His hands rested on his knees, still and heavy, like a man waiting for a funeral bell.
Outside, black banners were already being raised.
The war between the Amamiya and Kaguya clans had begun—and neither side realized it would decide the fate of both.