Konoha, October 11th – Early Morning
The sky over Konoha was washed in soft orange. Dawn's fingers stretched gently across the tiled rooftops and morning fog clung to the cobbled paths like a breath the village had not yet exhaled.
But inside the Hokage tower, there was no peace.
The conference room—broad, circular, and bathed in golden light—was packed wall to wall with tension.
Every important figure in the village was present:
Clan leaders, Jonin captains, elders, civilian envoys, mission strategists, intelligence handlers—faces carved by decades of service and shadows.
And all of them were talking. No—boiling.
The rumble of voices was like a storm trapped indoors, each gust carrying anger, fear, and disbelief. Words like "ambush", "sabotage", "jinchūriki massacre", and "war declaration" floated like knives.
And at the head of the room, cloaked in silence, sat Hiruzen Sarutobi—the Third Hokage.
He looked... tired.
Not just weary. Hollowed.
His robes were straight but heavy on his frame. His eyes held smoke, not fire.
Last night, the world he ruled cracked. And it was all still echoing in his bones.
But he would not show weakness here.
With a low cough and a raised hand, he summoned stillness.
The voices dimmed. The storm paused.
And then he stood.
"Many of you already know fragments of what occurred," he began, voice sharp now, forged in iron despite his age. "But I will say it in full, because the truth must not scatter in whispers."
Silence deepened. Everyone leaned forward.
"The Hidden Cloud did not come to make peace. They came to stage a coordinated betrayal."
Hiruzen's voice rose with each sentence.
"They intended to push the jinchūriki to madness—to make him the monster they wanted him to be.
They aimed to steal two unsealed Hyūga children—heirs to bloodlines not their own.
And finally, they detonated a suicide unit within our walls, disguised as delegates, to cripple our leadership during a child's birthday celebration."
The last words hung like ice in the room.
Low murmurs swelled—anger, shock, shame.
Hiruzen raised a hand again.
"This morning, it has been confirmed—Hidden Cloud forces have launched a full-scale assault along our northeastern defense lines. Their infiltrators are now approachimg near the borders of the Fire Capital."
Gasps, some curses, even the clatter of a clan leader's tea cup falling and shattering.
Then he added—low, heavy:
"Danzo Shimura… has perished.
Alongside over 107 shinobi—many from Root, but also from each of your clans."
That was the matchstick.
The room erupted.
Voices clashed, hands slammed on the table, heads turned in disbelief.
"How could we not know?! How long were they inside?!"
"They killed children to protect a ruse!"
"Our jinchūriki—was used like bait!"
But then came Shinku Yuhi. Stern, red-eyed, voice cold as steel.
"Heh… Of course there's one from every clan. How could Konoha's darkest cancer not have its fangs in every branch?"
He stepped forward. No fear. No pretense.
"I, for one, thank the jinchūriki. If you tell me where he went, I'll shake his hand for what he did to that cowardly bastered Danzo."
That silenced the room.
Even Hiruzen.
Because Shinku wasn't wrong.
Danzo's death had uncovered rot—decades of quiet crimes finally unearthed in blood.
And the one they once treated like a tool had done what no council or reform could ever dare to do.
Hiruzen closed his eyes, slowly. For a moment, the tired old man returned.
He remembered the boy with a demon in his gut, the friend who made impossible choices in the shadows, the village built on compromise.
Then he looked up again. Hard. Clear.
"Enough hiding."
He stood tall.
"We will answer their betrayal, with fire."
He raised his voice.
"They struck us in our home, thinking we would flinch.
They butchered our own and called it diplomacy.
They poisoned the name of peace, and made our children bleed for it."
He clenched his fist.
"No more."
"I ask, no, I demand your cooperation.
Mobilize your clans. Ready about your logistics. Alert your lines.
Today, Konoha declares war on the Hidden Cloud."
A thunderclap of silence followed.
And then, a voice like a sword drawn in vengeance.
Yoruusagi who was sitting at the side, Stood strong!
"We will fight.
And the world will remember what happens when you make enemies of us."
Everyone turned.
Yoruusagi stood in front of Kakashi, flanked by a group of elite jonin, gifted geniuses, and Uchiha representatives.
Their chakra crackled in the air, young, fierce, and unshaken.
They didn't flinch from blood.
They remembered last night.
And they would not forgive it.
Voices rose, one by one, then in chorus.
"We stand with the Hokage!"
"Let them feel our wrath!"
"For our fallen! For our future!"
Clan heads drew seals.
Jonin captains saluted.
Messenger hawks were released from windows.
And just like that, Konoha became fire again.
Not quiet, simmering smoke.
But roaring, furious, divine flame.
The world would burn before it broke their pride again.
That afternoon, the Hokage signed the order.
The Hidden Cloud War had begun.
---
The war council had ended, and with it, the storm of decisions and declarations. Yet in its wake, a deeper silence fell.
Not one of peace.
One of weight.
The kind that settles in the lungs. Makes breathing feel like remembering.
After the conference room emptied—filled just moments ago with clan heads, military tacticians, and flame-eyed promises—six people remained.
Team Jinchūriki.
These were the people Menma had forged bonds with. Some fragile. Some fierce. But each one now bore the guilt of distance, of powerlessness, of not being there when he fell into blood and fury.
They stood in a room still thick with the scent of old wood, war maps, and incense.
The Third Hokage slowly placed two sealing scrolls on the table in front of him, the wax still fresh on their surface. With a nod, Kakashi stepped forward to take them.
"These contain everything we've gathered regarding Menma, his state last night, and what he left behind at the party."
Hiruzen's voice was calm, but strained. A tone halfway between command and mourning.
He exhaled, deeper now, then added:
"It's also... my failure. I should have seen what Danzo was planning. Should have questioned his shadows more closely. Instead, we found only what was left of him, headless, next to a bloodstained summon scroll."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Images of the battlefield, the mutilated corpse half-hidden in ash and chakra mist,came back to each of them.
That, they now knew, was Danzo Shimura's final form.
The Hokage's eyes turned to Phantom, Raven, Guy, and the others.
"Your assignment," he said clearly, "is to find him."
Phantom's brows tightened slightly.
Hiruzen continued.
"You'll search outward, beyond Konoha. Track him. If you find him, do not engage unless you're absolutely forced to. Only Guy has permission to confront him directly. And even then, only if he believes he can bring Menma back without pushing him further."
Raven gave a quiet nod.
Phantom didn't blink.
Guy, eyes still rimmed red, merely bowed.
"If you can't retrieve him... mark his last known location. Watch from a distance. Wait for further orders. Phantom, you lead the operation."
Yoruusagi stepped forward instinctively, her chakra flaring slightly but held herself back. She could feel the Hokage's gaze already knowing her intent.
She didn't protest. Because somewhere inside, she understood.
Menma needed space.
And Guy… might be the only one who could reach him now.
Turning to Kakashi, A, and Yoruusagi, the Hokage's voice softened, but gained urgency.
"You three are tasked with rebuilding."
He looked them each in the eye.
"You will gather the youngest—those still growing. You will shape them into warriors, guides, and protectors. In two months, they will follow you to the battlefield, not as pawns, but as Konoha's future."
Then, to Yoruusagi, he added:
"I know how badly you want to run after him.
But I believe in Guy.
And I believe... Menma will come back when he's ready."
Yoruusagi said nothing.
But her silence said enough.
Once dismissed, the group didn't scatter immediately. Instead, they found a quiet rooftop, overlooking the misty rooftops of a rebuilding Konoha. The sun was just beginning to fall down and barley shined through the clouds. Light, but cold.
Yoruusagi stepped forward first, pulling a small scroll from her bag and holding it out to Phantom.
"If you find him," she said quietly, "please give this to him. It's our birthday gift, mine and Kakashi's."
Phantom's usually unreadable face faltered slightly.
"...Yesterday was his birthday?" Raven whispered.
Yoruusagi nodded.
"That's why he invited us. That's why he cooked."
The weight of those words fell over them like a stone dropped into still water.
They had all forgotten.
Or never realized.
Menma had thrown a celebration,
Not for himself.
But to finally feel... wanted.
And no one came.
Phantom bowed his head, tucking the scroll reverently into his inner pocket.
"I will deliver it with care, Yoruusagi-sama."
Kakashi finally opened the sealing scroll Hiruzen had given them.
A soft pulse of chakra. A quiet puff of smoke.
And then… the lunchboxes appeared.
Each box labeled carefully, each containing dishes they'd told Menma they loved. Now cold. Now silent. A meal that never had its moment.
Without a word, Kakashi distributed the boxes.
He removed his mask.
His own food sat neatly in compartments. Circular strange food with different sauces, a small cup of fried potatoes, and a folded packet, containing a note.
He opened it slowly, hands trembling despite years of battlefield experience.
"To the one holding this note:
You are invited to a humble dinner, made from the world's most common ingredients…
…but mixed with the rarest thing of all, love.
Your friend and family,
Menma."
Kakashi didn't blink.
He folded the note slowly, pressing it to his chest.
Then he opened the last package.
Inside, neatly wrapped in cloth, was a new mask.
Half-face, matte black with streaks of electric blue. Stylish. Handmade.
The fabric carried the faintest scent of kitchen smoke, and effort, and warmth.
Etched inside, in tiny letters:
"From the small fox to his big brother.
I'll always love you."
Yoruusagi, standing quietly, had tears running down her cheeks. Her Sharingan spun softly, not from rage, but from overwhelming grief.
In her hands: a crescent moon pendant, with a photo pressed inside.
A photo of her and Menma, the day he first mastered chakra flow.
The day he called her "family."
Guy, his face a mix of snot and tears, was wrapping his hands in tape, fists shaking but proud.
A, off to the side, had tears silently running down his chin as he inspected a hand-carved set of tools and a hand-drawn map, both things Menma had guessed he might need for his next journey.
Each gift spoke not of a boy manipulated by fate…
…but of a boy who had tried, with everything in his heart, to stay soft.
To offer love in a world that gave him none.
They didn't speak for a long time.
Each just stood, holding what they had been given.
And what they had not earned.
Some cried.
Some smiled sadly.
Some simply looked at the sky, wondering where he was.
Where the boy with fire in his soul and kindness in his hands had gone.
Somewhere out there, the wind carried the scent of ash.
And love.
Far from the murmurs of the war room, far from the cries and vows echoing in Konoha's heart, the one they were thinking of drifted quietly toward the edge of the world.
Menma sat low against a creaking piece of wood. Not a ship. Not even a proper boat.
Just an old ferry raft, forgotten by time, its ropes frayed, its body warped by salt and sun. It floated, half-guided by the sea's slow breath, half-dragged behind a larger ferry hauling goods toward distant, minor ports.
It had taken all of his remaining stealth to sneak aboard the night before.
Not to stow away.
But to vanish.
The raft was moored loosely to the ferry's edge by a single, tied rope.
A decision that meant: I want to disappear… but not completely.
Wrapped in a heavy cloak patched with wear and blood, Menma sat motionless, his back pressed to the warped wood, Snow curled beneath his chin, asleep but shivering. The cold of the sea had numbed their limbs, but neither moved.
Because there was nowhere else to be.
His legs dangled slightly over the raft's edge, the waves brushing his worn sandals. His fingers still twitched now and then, phantoms of the bloody hell he had summoned the night ago.
He didn't think about the battlefield.
He didn't think about the birthday he missed. The food boxes. The candle. The face of the girl who cried for him, or the brother who carried his mask.
All of it was behind the line.
The line of blood.
The line of fire.
This raft wasn't just wood and rope. It was a boundary.
One he had drawn himself.
No more betrayal. No more politics. No more pretending he belonged in a village that only wanted the weapon inside him.
He didn't know where the ocean led.
Didn't care.
It wasn't Konoha.
And that was enough.
He pulled the blanket higher around Snow, whispering a rare word of comfort.
"Just a little longer…"
The ferry creaked above. The rope tightened as the raft hit a swell.
Menma's eyes, no longer glowing, no longer red، looked out at the endless horizon. And somewhere inside the silence of the sea and sky, a new chapter began to whisper its name.