In the dream, the Six Paths Sage gazed quietly at the bewildered Kakashi, his ancient eyes carrying a trace of helplessness.
Truthfully, Hagoromo had no desire to meddle so freely in the affairs of mortals. Even in the age of his life, he had learned well that humanity's conflicts often burned themselves out with time. Yet now, the matter of Uchiha Gen could no longer be dismissed as a fleeting struggle.
For beyond this singular threat, a greater shadow loomed. The shadow of his mother—Otsutsuki Kaguya.
Though sealed, she was never truly gone. Her presence lingered like a dormant storm, waiting for the right fracture in the world to break free once more. Hagoromo had long since prepared for this eventuality, placing barriers and safeguards in the Pure Land itself, weaving protections from beyond the grave to ensure her prison remained secure.
But Uchiha Gen had upset this careful balance.
At first, Hagoromo dismissed the boy's existence as yet another tragic symptom of human folly, a wayward spirit destined to collapse under the weight of its own corruption. Yet as months bled into years, the anomaly only grew more sinister. The strange chakra coursing through Gen's Mangekyō Sharingan no longer resembled mere hatred or malice—it was evolving, breaching the natural order itself, even gnawing at the boundary between life and death.
If left unchecked, that corruption would spread.
Not only through the living… but into the Pure Land itself.
And if the Pure Land was consumed, if the souls of countless shinobi who formed his final defense were tainted… then his last safeguard against Kaguya would shatter.
This, Hagoromo could not allow.
Even if intervening meant burning away his dwindling reserves of power, even if it meant risking the collapse of his other contingencies, he could no longer remain a silent observer. Yet, he also understood the peril of overreach. If all his strength was spent restraining Uchiha Gen, his mother's return would go unanswered.
The balance was precarious. Too precarious.
To make matters worse, another calamity loomed above. A celestial body, a massive world of ruin, was drawing ever closer. Hagoromo trusted that his brother Hamura, stationed upon the moon, would bear that burden. But still—it was another reminder of how fragile the weave of fate had become.
Which left him with one option: he needed an anchor. A mortal in the real world who could act where his own hands could not.
And among all the scattered souls and shinobi, one man stood apart.
Kakashi Hatake.
Yes, he bore the taint of Gen's curse, but unlike others, he had not succumbed. His will remained unbroken. His clarity and discipline suppressed the storm inside him, while his loyalty to comrades and village kept him tethered to the light. In a world already trembling on the edge, such qualities were rarer than miracles.
Yet even Kakashi was wavering. His heart was torn by doubt, his soul scarred by guilt and weariness. Hagoromo could see it—the resistance, the mistrust, even the fear.
Closing his eyes, the Sage exhaled a long, weary sigh. Perhaps… now was not the time to reveal everything. Too much truth at once would only drive the man further from his path.
Opening his eyes once more, Hagoromo spoke with solemnity:
"Kakashi, this old man does not compel you. No hand shall force the path you take. But know this—your choices will carve deeply into the fate of the Ninja World. If you still wish to protect all that you cherish, then seek Ryūchi Cave. There lies a key you will one day need."
He hesitated, then added, his voice low and grave:
"And remember—Tobirama Senju's path leads him into peril in the Hidden Mist. If left unchecked, his choices may ignite a disaster greater than you can imagine."
As the final words left his lips, Hagoromo's form began to dissolve, fading like mist into the endless void. His staff, his robes, his presence—all blurred until nothing remained but silence.
And Kakashi awoke, the weight of those words lingering heavily in his chest.
When Kakashi's eyes snapped open, the world inside the tent was unchanged.Naruto lay curled beneath his blanket, his small chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, his face utterly peaceful—as though untouched by the storms swirling beyond these canvas walls.
For a long moment, Kakashi simply sat in silence, letting his pulse slow, letting the chaos of his dream ebb away. Then, with deliberate calm, he rose and parted the tent flap.
But his steps halted.
A lone figure stood outside, waiting as though he had anticipated Kakashi's emergence.
"…Orochimaru-sama."
The pale man's presence was like a shadow that did not belong. His yellow eyes gleamed faintly in the gloom, his expression carrying a rare softness, touched by something like nostalgia—or perhaps mockery.
"Kakashi," Orochimaru murmured, voice smooth, almost wistful. "Of all places, of all times… I did not expect our reunion to be here."
"You returned to the village?" Kakashi asked evenly, his tone calm, stripped of both hostility and welcome.
"Yes." Orochimaru's lips curved into something thin and unreadable.
The silence between them stretched. Orochimaru's gaze lingered, studying every detail of the man before him.
Unlike Tobirama, who had loudly condemned Kakashi as corrupted beyond redemption, Orochimaru approached matters with the cold curiosity of a scientist. He wished to see for himself. Was Kakashi's mind still intact? Or had Uchiha Gen's taint hollowed him out?
What he found unsettled him.
Those eyes—calm, lucid, unwavering—did not belong to a man consumed. For the first time in many years, a flicker of genuine surprise stirred within Orochimaru.
"Kakashi," he said softly, a sly smile ghosting across his lips. "Your condition… it intrigues me."
But Kakashi brushed aside the implication, steering the conversation sharply: "Lord Tobirama. He has already gone to the Hidden Mist Village, hasn't he?"
Orochimaru's eyes narrowed, a faint twitch betraying his surprise. "…How did you know?"
Kakashi's voice was quiet, but there was weight in it. "Perhaps this is the corruption you and Lord Tobirama fear. I can… sense it, faintly. As though a thread is pulling me toward his peril."
That word—sensing—lodged in Orochimaru's thoughts like a thorn.
Before he could dissect it further, Kakashi asked the question that made even Orochimaru pause.
"Then tell me, Orochimaru-sama… what should we do next?"
For once, Orochimaru was left without an immediate answer. His tongue stilled. Why ask him? Shouldn't this be a matter for Hiruzen? A matter for the Hokage?
The silence dragged until finally, with a serpentine smile meant to conceal his own unease, Orochimaru replied, "…Let us seek out Hiruzen-sensei."
Meanwhile, within the Hidden Mist Village, the fog thickened like restless spirits. It slithered between rooftops and alleyways, heavy with the stench of iron and blood. The mist did not merely conceal—it suffocated, pressing down on every breath, as though hiding a secret too dreadful to speak aloud.
Tobirama moved like a phantom through the haze, each step silent, each gesture precise. But the further he advanced, the deeper his unease grew.
This was not the air of a living village.
The scent of blood clung to everything, sharp and nauseating. The villagers he passed wore empty expressions, their eyes dull, as if their very souls had been leeched away. The hollow stares that followed him sent a chill down even his seasoned spine.
This village has rotted, Tobirama thought grimly. It is nothing but a corpse wrapped in mist.
And then—movement.
Through the drifting veil, two silhouettes emerged.
Yagura, the Fourth Mizukage.And beside him… Danzo Shimura.
Their garments were spattered with blood, their faces hard, unreadable. They walked with the measured calm of men who had just left a battlefield behind them.
Tobirama froze, his sharp eyes narrowing.
Danzo.
His disobedient disciple. His betrayer. Now walking freely through this nightmare of a village, shoulder to shoulder with its Mizukage.
Tobirama's breath slowed, his body melding deeper into the shadows. He prepared to withdraw unseen.
But then he caught their voices. Low, deliberate. Words carried by the mist.
And so Tobirama listened, heart sinking, every instinct warning him that whatever plot Danzo and Yagura wove together would shape the darkness consuming the Land of Water.