The battle was over.
The forest bore scars like wounds: shattered trees, gouged earth, and pools of sand that no longer moved. Smoke curled upward from smoldering fires left by jutsu, and the air stank of chakra burned to exhaustion.
Naruto sat with his back against a splintered trunk, every breath like fire in his chest. His body screamed from overexertion, his skin raw where the fox's chakra had seared him. Sweat dripped into his eyes, mixing with blood.
But what held him upright wasn't strength. It was stubbornness.
Across from him, Gaara knelt in the wreckage. The cocoon of sand had collapsed, and the monstrous form of Shukaku crumbled into formless grit. The boy who had been nothing but a vessel now shook violently, as if unsure where his body ended and the demon began.
He stared at Naruto, confusion twisting his face. His voice came out hoarse, almost childlike:
"Why didn't you kill me?"
Naruto swallowed hard, the weight of his words almost heavier than the fight itself.
"Because I know how it feels. To be hated. To be feared. To have everyone look at you like you're just… a monster. But if I killed you, I'd just be the same as them."
His voice broke, but he forced it stronger.
"I don't want to copy their hate. I want to change it. I want to prove we can be more than what's inside us."
Gaara's lips parted, but no sound came. His sand twitched weakly at his feet but didn't rise. For the first time since his childhood, there was no whispering voice of Shukaku demanding blood. There was only silence—and that silence terrified him more than the madness ever had.
Temari and Kankurō finally reached them, arriving breathless. Their eyes darted from the broken battlefield to their brother, alive but dazed. Temari approached cautiously, placing a hand on Gaara's trembling shoulder. He didn't shake her off.
Kankurō's gaze lingered on Naruto. "You… you beat him. Nobody's ever done that."
Naruto gave a lopsided grin, eyes already heavy with exhaustion.
"I didn't beat him. I just made him listen."
And then, his body gave out. Darkness claimed him before he hit the ground.
---
By the time Naruto and Sasuke were carried back, the invasion had ended.
The Sound forces scattered. The Sand retreated in shame and confusion. The monstrous snakes had been slain or sealed.
But victory was not sweet.
Konoha's proud walls were cracked, its homes scarred, its people bloodied. Smoke drifted through the streets, mingling with the cries of the wounded. Everywhere Naruto looked as he was carried on a stretcher, there were bandages, broken weapons, and faces lined with grief.
And at the center of it all—on a ruined rooftop where a barrier had stood—the Third Hokage lay motionless.
His robes were torn, his staff shattered, but his expression was serene. The villagers gathered below, some weeping, some silent, all unable to comprehend that the man who had led them through war and peace was gone.
Naruto sat upright despite the medics' protests. He stared at Hiruzen's still form, his throat tight.
Old man… You gave everything. And I wasn't even strong enough to stop it from happening.
Kakashi placed a hand on his shoulder, silent but steady. Naruto looked up, and for once, his teacher's usual laziness was gone, replaced by quiet grief.
The Will of Fire, Naruto realized, wasn't just words. It was this—the strength to stand even when everything else burned.
---
Days later, the village gathered. Black cloth draped the streets, and incense smoke curled through the air. A sea of villagers, shinobi, and children stood shoulder to shoulder before the stone monument of the Hokage.
The coffin lay before them, draped in the Leaf's symbol.
Asuma stood with bowed head, Kurenai beside him with tears streaking her face. Iruka wept openly, clutching his forehead protector. Kakashi, face half-hidden as always, let his one visible eye close, just for a moment.
Naruto stood among them, fists clenched. He wanted to cry, to scream, to demand why—but instead he whispered, "I'll carry it on. I'll protect them. I promise."
His voice was swallowed by the wind, but he knew the Hokage would have heard it anyway.
---
While the village wept, the underground stirred.
In a hidden chamber, Danzo Shimura sat surrounded by Root operatives kneeling like statues. His cane tapped once against the stone floor.
"The Third is gone," he said softly, his voice calm, his eye gleaming. "Sarutobi's weakness finally consumed him. Konoha stands at a crossroads."
One operative asked quietly, "Shall we take control, Lord Danzo?"
Danzo's lips tightened. "Not yet. The clans will rally. The Sannin may return. The elders will grasp for power. Let them. They will tire themselves in their squabbles."
He leaned forward, voice dropping to a blade's edge.
"Our work will be done in silence, as always. While they mourn, we will prepare. And when the time comes, we will shape Konoha into the weapon it must be."
His eye narrowed further.
"The boy… Uzumaki. His ability is dangerous. Too dangerous. Today he rivaled a Jinchūriki and lived. If left unchecked, he may surpass even the Hokage."
A murmur rippled through the Root.
Danzo's lips curved into a thin, cold smile.
"We cannot allow him to remain free. He must be guided… or controlled. The Will of Fire will be ours to command."
The operatives bowed in silence.
---
That evening, Naruto sat alone on a rooftop. The village was quieter now, though patches of smoke still drifted from broken homes. Lanterns glowed dimly in the streets below, casting long shadows.
He looked down at his bandaged hands. Hands that had mirrored others. Hands that had been coated in demonic chakra. Hands that had chosen to save Gaara instead of killing him.
"I don't know who I'm supposed to be," he whispered. His voice cracked, but he didn't stop. "But I know I don't want to just copy everyone else. I want to be someone worth copying. Someone the old man would be proud of."
The night was still, save for the faint wind. Somewhere deep in the village, Danzo was making the same vow—but his was of control, not hope.
And so, in grief above and in secrecy below, two seeds were planted in the ashes of the invasion. One born of fire, the other of shadow.
Only time would reveal which would grow stronger.