The mark left in the forest didn't vanish. Not with the morning sun, not with rain, not even when Akari tried to disrupt it with chakra. It was old—so old that it resisted anything he attempted, like it was carved not onto the earth, but into reality itself.
By the time he returned to Konoha, the sky had turned amber with dusk. The Hokage Tower, framed against the fading light, stood taller than ever—its presence absolute. Yet Akari walked its halls with a shadow on his back.
Inside the council chamber, Madara stood alone before the same wide window, fingers loosely clasped behind his back.
"You returned early," Madara said, without turning. "What happened?"
"I found the camp. Neutralized most of the leadership." Akari paused. "But there was something else."
He stepped forward and unrolled a scroll he'd brought. At its center was a perfect replica of the symbol he'd seen scorched into the forest floor.
Madara's eyes darkened.
He said nothing at first, just stared.
Then, slowly, "I haven't seen this mark in decades."
Akari narrowed his gaze. "You know it."
Madara nodded once. "Barely. When I was still a boy, there were rumors—of shinobi older than our clans, those who bound chakra not with hand seals, but with names. Words that shaped the world. Forgotten now."
"Not forgotten," Akari replied, "just buried."
Madara turned fully now, cloak falling from his shoulders, the dim light casting hard shadows over his face.
"They were called the 'Kuyō no Kotoba'—The Nine Words. More a myth than a bloodline. Those who spoke their power vanished long before even the Uchiha rose."
Akari looked down at the mark again. "Then someone is trying to bring them back."
"Not someone," Madara said. "Some thing."
A long silence passed between them.
Madara finally spoke again. "We can't allow this. If the Nine Words return—if even one of them does—it could undo the very structure we've built."
"Then we hunt them," Akari said. "All of them."
Madara smiled faintly. "No, not we. You. This is now your mission. I'll deal with the fallout in the East. You follow the traces. Quietly."
Akari bowed once. "I'll begin immediately."
As he turned to leave, Madara added, "And Akari…"
He stopped.
"If this becomes something we can't contain… you know what must be done."
Akari said nothing, but the weight of those words settled over his shoulders like stone.
---
Two Days Later – Ruins of Natsukusa Temple
Akari moved alone now. His steps were silent, but his thoughts loud.
The ruins had long since crumbled into moss and dust. No one had walked these paths in decades, perhaps longer. But beneath the vines and stone, he found the pattern again—etched into fallen tiles, burned into the soil.
The same mark.
He knelt, pressing a hand to it. There was no chakra residue. No presence.
But there was a feeling.
Like being watched by something ancient.
Suddenly, a voice echoed behind him—soft, melodic, and distinctly feminine.
"I wondered when the flame would come sniffing."
Akari turned.
Standing in the broken archway was a woman in black and gold robes, her long hair bound high behind her, eyes glowing like candlelight.
"You're one of them," he said calmly.
She tilted her head. "And you are the child of war. A weapon shaped by men who think themselves gods."
Akari didn't move. "What do you want?"
"We want balance."
"You want power."
The woman smiled. "Same thing, in the right hands."
In a blur, she moved—her hands forming no seals, but her voice muttering words in a tongue Akari had never heard. The air trembled, the stone beneath them cracked, and the trees twisted toward the sky.
Akari answered with steel and shadow—his blade flashing out as he vanished into mist.
The forest lit up with battle once more.
And far above them, unseen by both, the clouds churned—not from weather, but from memory.
Something old was waking.