Hourglass

As Tobirama drifts between life and death, he clings to a single hope that flickers in his mind like the last ember in a dying fire: Hiruzen. His vision fades, yet he prays that Hiruzen will lead Konoha with wisdom and compassion, and with strength tempered by mercy. He has guided Hiruzen, prepared him as best he could, but doubt lingers like an old wound—will Hiruzen truly be ready? Will he steer the village toward peace or fall to the same cycles of vengeance that plagued Tobirama’s life?

The world around him fades to black, the finality of it washing over him, yet... in the darkness, a sensation blooms—sharp, immediate, and unexpected. He feels his awareness snap into place somewhere else entirely, and suddenly, he’s on a battlefield. The disorientation is instant, profound, but his mind snaps into clarity, cataloging the world around him in five jarring realizations.

First, his body feels strange, almost foreign. There’s a hollowness in his limbs, an unsettling absence of pain that feels unnatural. His hands and arms are positioned as if they’re guided by an invisible string, as though he’s a mere instrument—a tool without agency. The awareness prickles at his instincts, and he doesn’t like it, not one bit.

Second, he senses it: hiraishin. The jutsu he perfected, that defined him in combat, yet... he hadn’t chosen to activate it. Somehow, he’s traveling against his will, bound to a marker he doesn’t recognize. And dread sinks deep into him, an emotion he’s unaccustomed to feeling. Who would dare use his own technique to control him like this?

And then, the third realization hits with a ferocity that steals his breath: a chakra signature—strikingly familiar, unforgettable. Izuna. It’s a chakra he had thought he would never encounter again, a chakra he had once clashed against with deadly purpose, with no room for doubt or forgiveness. How could he be sensing Izuna? The question batters his mind, flooding him with memories of past battles, of the rivalry and bitterness that had defined their encounters, of the blood-soaked history between the Senju and Uchiha.

But his fourth realization obliterates all rational thought. Between him and Izuna is another presence, smaller, yet more profoundly familiar than he could have imagined. Kagami. He knows that chakra—steady, bright, a promise of hope he once harbored for the future. Kagami, who had shown that the cycle of hatred could be broken, that the will of fire could burn in an Uchiha’s heart as fiercely as any Senju’s. In an instant, Tobirama’s chest tightens with a visceral need to protect, an instinct he thought he’d left behind on that final battlefield. Kagami is here, somehow, in the line of his attack. His katana bears down, aimed at Izuna, but Kagami is in its deadly path.

And in that blinding instant, the fifth realization crashes into him, colder and sharper than any weapon. He cannot change his course. His hands don’t move, he physically can’t move his body, and the blade arcs down toward Kagami with lethal precision. Panic surges through him—a rare, bitter emotion that slashes at his very soul. Helplessness. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, deafening, as he struggles against invisible bonds, trying to wrest control, to turn, to redirect, anything to save Kagami from the fatal blow.

There’s no time to think. Desperation overtakes him, and with every ounce of will he can muster, Tobirama forces his grip to loosen. The katana slips from his fingers, skimming past Kagami’s cheek with a hair’s breadth to spare. The blade strikes the mud, embedding itself in the earth, but the momentum of his movement hurls him forward. His body crashes into Kagami, the impact resonating through his limbs as they both slam into Izuna.

They hit the ground in a tangled heap, the wet earth yielding under their weight. Izuna stumbles, the shock vibrating from his chakra in raw waves, a disbelief so powerful Tobirama can feel it thrumming in his bones. He’s barely processed what’s happened when he realizes he’s lying atop both of them, Kagami’s slender form wedged between him and Izuna’s heavier frame. The mud is cold and wet against his skin, seeping through his armor, grounding him in the surreal reality of the moment.

Izuna’s chakra pulses violently, a mixture of confusion, anger, and shock so profound it borders on horror. Tobirama can feel it radiating off him, a torrent of emotion that clashes with his own racing heart. He knows Izuna is wondering the same thing he is—how? Why?

Kagami, pressed between them, is silent, his chakra steady yet flickering with an undercurrent of trust.

They lie there, locked in the moment, paralyzed in different states of shock. Tobirama’s mind races, grappling with questions he cannot answer. How has this happened? Why is he here, with them, on this battlefield that feels both real and unreal? The clash of emotions within him is overwhelming—dread, anger, guilt, and something dangerously close to relief that Kagami still lives. His breaths come in shallow, uneven gasps, his chest tight with the weight of what he almost did, of how close he came to killing his student.

Tobirama meets Izuna’s gaze for a fleeting, charged moment, and in those storm-dark eyes, he sees shock, confusion, and fury churning like an oncoming tempest. The raw, unfiltered emotions in Izuna's chakra are palpable—electric and volatile. For once, Tobirama cannot tell if Izuna is more furious at him or the situation itself.

Izuna breaks the silence first, his voice slicing through the tension. “What the fuck?”

Tobirama wants to reply, but his mind is blank. He doesn’t know what to say because he, too, would like to know the answer. He opens his mouth, then closes it, grasping for words that don’t exist. The moment stretches awkwardly, his confusion only deepening.

Kagami groans beneath him, the sound breaking Tobirama’s spiraling thoughts. “Sensei, can you get off of me? You’re heavy.”

Tobirama instinctively shifts, rolling off Kagami without a second thought. The request feels so natural, so familiar, that it doesn’t register as strange. Sitting back on his knees, his first instinct is to check on his student. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice steady but laced with concern.

Kagami pushes himself to his feet, brushing mud off his clothes. “I’m fine, sensei,” he says with a reassuring grin.

But something about that word—sensei—snaps Tobirama's focus like a breaking thread. He stiffens, his sharp gaze flicking to Kagami. Sensei? The word echoes in his mind, discordant and wrong. Kagami shouldn't call him that. He hasn’t become the boy’s teacher, yet, and won’t for a few years.

Realization hits him like a thunderclap, and his blood runs cold. His confusion gives way to searing anger, chakra exploding out of him in waves of killing intent. The battlefield grows silent as his fury saturates the air, making even seasoned shinobi falter. His voice cuts through the stillness like a blade. “Kagami, what did you do?!”

Kagami gulps, shifting uneasily under Tobirama’s glare. He looks every bit like a child caught stealing sweets, guilt written across his face, but he doesn’t apologize. The boy man holds his ground, though his nervous chakra betrays him.

The silence presses down on the battlefield like a physical weight. One of the braver—and evidently stupider—Senju soldiers attempts to capitalize on the distraction, lunging at Kagami from behind. Tobirama’s scarlet gaze flicks to the man, and with nothing more than a glare, he sends the fool crumpling to his knees, trembling. Without sparing him another glance, Tobirama turns back to Kagami, his fury undiminished.

“I told you to burn my research!” he hisses, his voice low and venomous. His chakra flares with an edge that makes Kagami cringe.

Before Kagami can stammer out a reply, a new presence lands beside Tobirama, drawing his attention. Hashirama. His elder brother’s familiar chakra thrums with worry as he places a steadying hand on Tobirama’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong, Tobirama?” Hashirama asks, his voice calm but tinged with concern. “Why are you so upset?”

Tobirama doesn’t bother suppressing his frustration. His voice is sharp as he snaps, “What’s wrong? My student,” he spits the word like a curse, “against my explicit instructions, decided to use my time travel seal to send us both to the past.”

The ripple of chakra across the battlefield is palpable. Everyone reacts in varying degrees of shock and disbelief. Izuna gasps audibly, his chakra a cacophony of confusion and incredulity. Madara, standing off to the side, scoffs in disbelief.

“He,” Madara says, his voice dripping with skepticism. “cannot be serious.”

Hashirama, however, doesn’t waste time with disbelief. His expression shifts to disapproval, and his chakra hums with disappointment. “Tobirama!” he exclaims, his voice carrying that infuriating note of scolding. “You messed with time? Why would you even create such a seal?!”

Tobirama scowls, barely reigning in his temper. “I had no intention of ever using it,” he snaps. “It was research—nothing more. Kagami was supposed to burn it after my death, along with all my other dangerous work. If you want to be angry, anija, be angry at him!” He jabs a finger in Kagami’s direction.

Kagami’s composure finally cracks. His chakra flares with frustration and defensiveness as he shouts, “I had no choice!” His voice carries a raw, desperate edge that silences even Hashirama’s scolding. “Danzo, Hiruzen, Homura, and Koharu were destroying Konoha! Torifu wouldn’t help me!”

Tobirama freezes, his anger momentarily eclipsed by confusion. “What?” he demands, his voice low and dangerous. “Explain.”

Kagami takes a shaky breath, his chakra still crackling with emotion. “Hiruzen removed the age restrictions for the academy—for graduation, for the chunin exams—children are being sent to die. I tried to stop him, but Danzo, Homura, and Koharu sided with him. Torifu tried to help me, but he and I were outnumbered, so he gave up after a while.”

Tobirama feels as though the ground beneath him has crumbled. His chest tightens, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. The sheer weight of those words leaves him reeling.

But Kagami isn’t done. His voice drops, quieter now but no less devastating. “They also changed the police force. It’s no longer open to other clans. Only Uchiha are allowed now. They’ve made it a prison for my clan—a scapegoat.”

Tobirama’s hands clench into fists, his nails biting into his palms. His chakra churns with growing fury, but he can tell Kagami isn’t finished. He signals for him to continue.

Kagami hesitates, then blurts out the worst of it. “Danzo... he started researching the Sharingan after I developed my Mangekyo. On my last mission, he stabbed me in the back, stole my eyes, and left me to die. I didn’t have a choice—I had to use your seal.”

The world tilts on its axis, and for the first time in his life, Tobirama feels an emotion he cannot suppress—pure, unbridled rage. His chakra explodes outward, suffocating and oppressive, a force so overwhelming that every shinobi on the battlefield drops to their knees, gasping for air. Only Hashirama, Madara, Izuna, and Kagami remain standing, their bodies taut with tension.

Tobirama’s vision blurs at the edges, red and black clouding his sight as his killing intent lashes out indiscriminately. His voice, when he speaks, is a guttural growl. “Danzo...” The name is venom on his tongue. How dare he? How dare they all?

He feels like a dam has broken inside him, and the flood of fury is unstoppable. The sheer betrayal claws at his mind, threatening to consume him. Danzo. Hiruzen. Homura. Koharu. All of them. They have taken everything he built and twisted it into something monstrous.

Kagami approaches Tobirama slowly, his small frame trembling with raw emotion. His chakra quivers like a candle in the wind, flickering with pain, anger, and grief. The boy's footsteps are hesitant, and Tobirama watches, his own fury still simmering beneath the surface but beginning to ebb.

When Kagami reaches him, he wraps his tiny arms around one of Tobirama's legs. The gesture is so unexpected, so uncharacteristic of the hardened shinobi world they live in, that it catches Tobirama off guard. Kagami clings tightly, his face pressing against the cold, battered armor, and his chakra pulses with a desperate, childlike need for comfort.

Tobirama exhales slowly, his anger dissolving into the ether as if siphoned away by Kagami's touch. The killing intent that had radiated from him mere moments ago fades, leaving only the heaviness of fatigue and a strange, quiet sadness in its place.

Madara moves suddenly, his intent clear. He steps forward, reaching to grab Kagami and pull him away from Tobirama, but Hashirama's hand shoots out to stop him.

"Don’t," Hashirama says quietly, his tone calm but firm. His eyes meet Madara’s, and there’s no hesitation in his voice as he adds, “The little one isn’t in danger. You know that.” He says it as if it’s the most obvious fact in the world, as self-evident as the sun’s warmth or the inevitability of rain. “Tobirama doesn’t harm children.”

Madara hesitates, his chakra flaring with doubt and irritation, but Hashirama’s certainty makes him pause. Slowly, Madara steps back, though his crimson eyes remain fixed on the scene before him.

Tobirama places a hand on Kagami’s curly hair, his touch firm but unexpectedly gentle. “When did you awaken the Mangekyo?” he asks, his voice low and steady. “You didn’t have it when I—” He cuts himself off, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Kagami’s reaction is swift and unexpected. He pulls back just enough to glare up at Tobirama, his small fists pounding weakly against Tobirama’s leg. The blows lack any real force, but the emotion behind them hits harder than any weapon. “What did you think would happen?!” Kagami shouts, his voice breaking.

Tears spill down the boy’s face, leaving glistening tracks on his cheeks. “You’re the only teacher I’ve ever had! The only father I’ve ever known! And you just—” His voice cracks again, and he hiccups through his sobs. “You just sacrificed yourself so we’d live! And then—then when we went back to get your body—”

Tobirama grimaces, guilt clawing at his insides. He doesn’t need Kagami to finish that sentence to know what kind of sight they must have found. The battlefield, his broken body—it would not have been a clean or dignified end.

Kagami continues to cry, his small frame shaking with the force of his sobs. Slowly, Tobirama kneels, lowering himself to the boy’s level. He wraps his arms around Kagami, pulling him into a firm, protective hug. The child’s chakra is a storm of anguish, and Tobirama lets it wash over him, his own emotions more subdued now, tinged with regret and something that feels suspiciously like tenderness.

Behind them, Hashirama clears his throat gently, his voice soft as he asks, “Tobirama, what did the child mean just now? I didn’t understand half of it.” His chakra hums with curiosity and concern. “What is this ‘Konoha’ he was talking about?”