Late at night, Konoha lay in silence, most of its residents lost in sleep. Yet a rare few refused to waste their time on ordinary rest.
For Orochimaru, time was the most precious commodity in the world.
Even now, while the Third Hokage had long retired to his home, Orochimaru remained in his laboratory, fully absorbed in his experiments. As a former student of the Third Hokage and one of the legendary Sannin, Orochimaru commanded resources unmatched by most: a private research facility, fully equipped, staffed, and even outfitted with rare electrical devices.
The lab glowed like daylight. Orochimaru, dressed in his signature white robes, watched silently as his latest experiment unfolded.
"Master Orochimaru…" a lab assistant stammered nervously, sweat beading on his forehead. "The experiment… it failed. The subject couldn't handle the energy."
Through a reinforced glass chamber, a person writhed in pain, screaming, before their body began to stiffen and transform. Within moments, the living subject was completely petrified into an uncanny wooden sculpture. Sprouting small green leaves from their limbs, it was grotesque yet mesmerizing.
Orochimaru's pale, golden eyes flicked toward the assistant, cold and sharp.
"Master Orochimaru…" The man trembled violently, instinctively stepping back, feeling as if a snake had fixed its gaze upon him.
After a long pause, Orochimaru spoke, his voice low and serpentine, reverberating in the still air. "Report the results to the Third Hokage. You may leave."
"Yes, Master Orochimaru," the assistant gasped, relief flooding him as he bolted from the room. The fear that gripped him was unlike anything he had ever felt—just one glance into those slitted eyes was enough to make him feel swallowed alive.
Orochimaru, meanwhile, remained calm, detached. He cared little for how others perceived him; only the pursuit of the truth about life itself commanded his attention.
"Another failure," he muttered, voice laced with cold amusement. "The First Hokage's power is not so easily controlled. It seems I will disappoint my teacher again… and I'm running low on test subjects."
He moved to his desk, unrolled a parchment, and meticulously recorded his experiment's results. After a moment of thought, he added: Progress on Wood Release research remains slow. At least one hundred more subjects are required.
Even someone of Orochimaru's caliber could not escape fatigue. Days of sleepless calculation had built up, and when he finally allowed himself to rest, a deep drowsiness dragged him into sleep.
Just a short rest… he thought, closing his eyes.
Suddenly, a black, viscous mist enveloped him, whispering with countless faint voices, like the murmurs of a million souls. In an instant, he was consumed.
"Am I under attack?!"
That was his last coherent thought.
His consciousness was swept into an infinite darkness. Moments later, he snapped back to awareness, adopting a battle stance as he scanned his surroundings.
He was in the grand Cathedral of Bones—its towering arches and domed ceilings formed entirely from the skeletal remains of countless creatures. Empty eye sockets stared down at him, and the eerie atmosphere carried a strange sanctity.
Beneath the massive bone cross at the center stood a figure, shrouded and indistinct.
"Another has been chosen," the figure said calmly. "Do not fear. Here, no one may harm you."
Orochimaru's golden eyes narrowed. "When did that person appear? I didn't sense them at all." Even without sensory-specific abilities, he was a powerhouse—yet this figure had evaded him entirely.
"Who are you?" Orochimaru demanded, voice sharp, lips dry. "Invading Konoha without permission—are you trying to start a war?"
The cathedral, the figure, the darkness after sleep—it all pointed to one conclusion: a genjutsu.
Orochimaru formed hand seals, releasing his chakra. "Genjutsu, dispel!"
A shockwave rippled through the hall, but when it settled, nothing had changed. He frowned. Whoever this was, the illusion was strong.
"I am the Envoy of the Master, Commander of the Angels," the figure said. "Call me Adam."
Uchiha Munetsuki stepped down from the steps, his voice calm yet commanding, echoing like a sacred hymn. "This is neither illusion nor dream. You, Orochimaru, have been chosen as an emissary. Our meeting is destined—to awaken the Sleeper, the First Creator."
Orochimaru's mind raced. Who? Where? What?
"Do you believe in fate?" Munetsuki asked quietly.
A shiver ran down Orochimaru's spine. "What are you implying?"
"It is simple," Munetsuki said. "If you could see every trial that awaits you in the future, would the present version of you find happiness?"
Orochimaru scoffed. "Preposterous. You claim to see my future?" He crossed his arms, lips curling into a wicked smile. "Knowing your fate but being unable to change it… how is that happiness?"
"All are slaves to destiny," Munetsuki replied. "You may resist, but you will fail. Why not accept it? With understanding, even knowing your future, you can face it calmly. That is a form of happiness."
"We clearly have different definitions of fate," Orochimaru murmured, his eyes narrowing, purple shadows curling beneath them. "If there is nothing else, I suggest you let me leave—now."
From his sleeves, snakes slithered, fangs bared.
"Stop, Orochimaru."
In an instant, a figure appeared behind him, silent and precise. A glint of white light flashed, and a blade pressed against his neck.
Orochimaru's eyes widened, recognizing the familiar face beneath silver hair tied in a ponytail—middle-aged, unassuming.
"You… Sakumo! You didn't die?!"