Chapter 1
At first, he thought it was moonlight.
Tobirama blinked drowsily, then closed his eyes again.
The glaring white light pierced his eyelids, so he opened them once more.
Slowly blinking, he realized it wasn't moonlight but just a streetlamp.
Mosquitoes recklessly collided with the lamp emitting white light, and not far away, a dog barked loudly.
The evening breeze swept across the hem of Tobirama's clothes, bringing a slight chill.
He reached out and scratched the rough ground, pushing himself up and leaning against a nearby wall.
Where was he?
It appeared to be a small alley here. Large trash bins were placed not far away, and the walls were adorned with peculiar graffiti and colorful twisted letters.
The night sky was murky, thick gray clouds obscuring the moonlight, with just a faint glimmer seeping through.
Every part of his body ached, wounds of all sizes still oozing blood. At times like these, the armor he was wearing felt exceptionally heavy, nearly suffocating him.
He couldn't remember anything.
Tobirama leaned against the wall, urging his limbs to stand.
The flowing blood quickly dried, clothes sticking to his body, now covered in fresh blood. His lungs felt like a tattered bag, oxygen entering through the airways, only to escape through the holes. The lack of oxygen made it hard to keep a clear head.
Instinct replaced reason.
Tobirama staggered forward.
A buzzing in his ears gradually drowned out all thoughts in his mind, as if his mind and body had disconnected. His body moved step by step, while his mind was a jumble of fragmented words and single letters swirling like a tornado, slipping through his fingers, grabbing onto nothing.
Fresh blood stained the ground with dark spots.
The only thought that remained was: don't stop.
Don't stop, must... must..."
The long road was marked by one streetlight after another, like signposts. He walked through the bright patches, entered the shadows, and then stepped into the halo of another streetlight. The light had no warmth, shining on his white hair covered in a layer of dust, the torn half of his headgear, and his blood-stained, battered body.
The cold wind seeped through the armor and penetrated the torn clothing, chilling his body that was already growing cold due to blood loss. His fingertips were almost turning blue. He continued to move forward.
Strangeness filled the air, as if it were another world. There was no hint of the damp earthy scent unique to the Land of Fire, and it didn't match any place Tobirama had ever been to.
Am I still alive?
It's like I can't hear my heartbeat anymore.
Tobirama pondered dazedly.
I must have died... but where is my elder brother?
His fingertips brushed against the rough wall as Tobirama turned a corner.
Before his eyes lay an empty street.
It was as if, in the blink of an eye, the world had quieted down.
Too quiet, even the barking of dogs had ceased. On the adjacent small building, laundry hung to dry swayed gently in the wind, yet it hardly seemed like a place where anyone lived.
The air carried the scent of soil and dust, and the most familiar, pungent scent of blood. It was fresh, with a hint of sweetness.
Some say the way to cope with a battlefield is to fall in love with it, but Tobirama was not one of them.
There was a struggle here. Not too long ago, in fact, perhaps even right now.
Tobirama stood in silence for a moment, and the nearby streetlight flickered with a crackling electrical sound. In that intermittent light, he resumed his slow steps.
don't stop, must wait for...
Wait for what?
His barely coherent thoughts quickly unraveled. A sudden sweetness surged in Tobirama's throat, and he coughed twice. Blood clung to his lips, staining his blue armor, mixing with the other bloodstains.
A sudden whooshing sound, accompanied by the acrid scent of gunpowder, assaulted him. Tobirama barely had time to tilt his head, and his cheek suddenly went cold. Clang! Half of his headgear fell to the ground, and a fiery pain flared on his cheek. Then a sticky warmth began to flow down his face. Tobirama maintained his tilted posture, shifting his gaze to a blurry figure in the distance, holding a weapon emitting white smoke in the frigid air. Behind the figure, there were vague shadows, as if many others were there... yet the air remained eerily quiet.
I've become this sluggish.
Thoughts bubbled up from the depths of his mind, only to dissipate in his consciousness not long after.
A familiar scent wafted into the air here.
It was too familiar, as for three-quarters of his life, he had been accompanied by this scent.
Tobirama looked puzzled at that spot, it was...
That... no, it couldn't be, but...
He took a slow step towards it, one step, then another. He walked faster and faster.
The warm liquid running down his cheeks felt icy in the cold wind.
The streetlight suddenly went out. He stepped into the darkness.
In the eerily quiet air, the crowd erupted in noise. But after a moment, they fell silent again, and the sound of something hard hitting the ground reverberated. Someone had dropped their weapon.
Tobirama, however, could no longer see any of this. He was simply pursuing that scent, a scent of flowers flourishing in the bitter cold, a bonfire burning in a snowy expanse, a lantern in the night, the earth, the forest, the spring when the snow receded to reveal new green sprouts, a silhouette forever standing before him.
It was, it was...
"...Elder brother?"
The crowd parted, and a familiar figure stood out, appearing in Tobirama's line of sight.
Hashirama's eyes widened, his face filled with astonishment, and emotions that the current Tobirama couldn't decipher swelled in his usually warm gaze.
Cautious gazes from all around fixed on Tobirama.
But a comforting presence enveloped him, and Tobirama's heart eased, his body going limp. He let himself fall into the arms of the person before him, consciousness returning to darkness.
"Wait, are you... Tobirama?!"