The council chamber was quiet—too quiet for a room filled with shinobi leaders. Sunlight filtered through the paper windows, casting long shadows on the polished floor. At the center stood Akari, still cloaked in desert dust, facing a semicircle of Konoha's highest authorities.
At Hashirama's right, Madara leaned forward slightly, crimson eyes unreadable. Neither had spoken since Akari began his report. The tension in the room coiled like a snake.
"You're certain it wasn't just a defensive perimeter?" asked Tobirama, arms crossed, his voice skeptical but sharp.
Akari shook his head. "No. These weren't made to keep enemies out—they were made to feed something. The chakra wasn't meant to harm, but to awaken."
Hashirama rested his chin on folded hands. "And this spirit beneath the desert… the Suna operative said it wasn't of their making?"
"Correct." Akari's voice was steady. "They feared it as much as they revered it. They weren't using it—they were obeying it."
Madara finally spoke. "Another relic of the old world stirring. It always begins in forgotten places. Desert. Swamp. Ruins. But in the end, it finds the shinobi."
His tone was neither surprised nor disturbed. Almost…expectant.
"Then we strike," Tobirama said. "Seal it. Break the network before it spreads."
"And if doing that speeds its emergence?" Akari asked, meeting his gaze. "We don't know its purpose. Not yet."
"Are you suggesting we wait?" Tobirama's voice grew colder. "Watch while an unknown force rises beneath the borders?"
Akari didn't flinch. "I'm suggesting we understand it before we act blindly."
The chamber fell into silence again. Then Hashirama spoke, voice calm but weighty. "Akari, you've earned the right to speak freely. But Tobirama has a point. Whatever this force is, it's ancient and beyond our comprehension. We can't afford to hesitate."
Madara stood from his seat, walking forward slowly, eyes on Akari.
"You've been to the edge of the known world," he said. "Fought battles where chakra felt foreign to your skin. You've walked in silence where others lost their minds. What did it feel like this time?"
Akari hesitated—but only for a moment.
"Like we were being watched. Not by shinobi. Not even by something with a name. It was… indifferent. As if we were insects crawling across its slumber."
Madara's lips curved—not into a smile, but something close. "Then you understand. This isn't just a threat. It's a reminder."
"Of what?" Akari asked.
"That even gods can die. But they never forget."
A chill swept the room that had nothing to do with wind.
Hashirama sighed. "Regardless, we'll send an investigation unit. Akari, you'll lead it. But with a seal team this time. If these symbols are part of a greater array, I want our best ready to dismantle them."
Akari nodded. "I'll choose the team myself."
"Do it," Hashirama said. "And keep this contained. The people are still recovering from the last wave of conflict. If rumors of ancient spirits reach the outer provinces, we'll have more chaos than we can manage."
As the council adjourned, Akari stepped outside into the courtyard. The air in Konoha smelled of fresh leaves and warm stone. A contrast to the dry taste of the desert still on his tongue.
Madara joined him in silence.
"Do you believe it?" Akari asked without turning. "That something older than all of us is waking up?"
Madara clasped his hands behind his back. "I've always believed. The ninja world is built atop the bones of things too great to name. The clans, the wars, even this village—it's just the surface."
Akari glanced sideways. "And what if it can't be stopped?"
Madara's Sharingan glinted faintly. "Then we remind it: this world belongs to us now. We've earned it—with blood, with fire, and with will."
For a moment, Akari imagined what that confrontation might look like—not armies of men, but ideologies colliding. The old gods of the earth versus the new gods of chakra.
He hoped it wouldn't come to that.
But if it did… he would be ready.