The air in the clearing, nestled in the rugged borderlands of the Land of Fire, was thick with a palpable, almost disbelieving joy. The war was over. The words, repeated in hushed, reverent tones and joyous shouts, seemed to hang in the humid air, a spell banishing a years-long nightmare.
A mid-sized Konoha detachment, a mix of seasoned veterans and fresh-faced genins, moved with an energy that hadn't been seen in months. They were going home.
The scene was one of organised chaos, brimming with the promise of return. Shinobi carefully packed away field tents with a new briskness, the canvas folding with sharp, efficient snaps.
Those who were able helped wounded comrades, their movements gentle, their voices encouraging.
"Just a little longer, Taichi. We'll have you back in your own bed by the end of the week."
A man with a bandaged arm was being supported by two others, a wide, tearful grin splitting his grimy face as he spoke of his newborn daughter, whom he had never held.
Presiding over this controlled tumult was Jonin Commander Isao, a man whose face was a roadmap of the conflict, etched with the lines of stress and command.
"Listen up! Form up by squads! I want the wounded in the centre, scouts on point and flanks. The war may be over, but the forests are not yet safe. Stay sharp until we cross the official village border!"
His dark eyes scanned his people, pride and a commander's inherent caution warring within him. This was the last march, the final leg. He would not let catastrophe strike now.
Within the larger formation, Team Minato moved together. Kakashi was a statue of silent vigilance. While others shed their tension, his single visible eye, dark and intense, continuously scanned the tree line. The celebration felt like a vulnerability, a collective letting-down-of-guard that his instincts screamed against.
"Would you relax, Kakashi?" Obito Uchiha chided, though his own attempt at cheer was strained. He adjusted his goggles, a nervous habit. "We won! We're going home!"
His boisterous declaration was meant to convince himself as much as anyone else. Beneath the bravado, a deep unease flickered in his eyes. The silence of the forest felt… waiting.
Rin moved with a quiet, purposeful grace. Her medical pouch was a permanent fixture on her hip, and she drifted from group to group, checking bandages, offering sips of water, and murmuring reassurances to the handful of civilians they were escorting—diplomatic aides and their families.
"We'll be safe soon," she told a trembling woman clutching a child, "Konoha's gates are the strongest in the world." She stayed close to her teammates, the solid presence of Kakashi and the frantic energy of Obito forming the familiar triangle that had kept them alive through the war.
It was Kakashi who noticed it first.
A faint, almost imperceptible mist began to coil through the towering trunks of the ancient trees. It was a pale, ghostly tendril at first, not entirely unnatural for the region, but something about it felt… wrong. The air had been clear and still moments before; this mist had no meteorological cause.
"Commander," Kakashi said, his voice low but cutting through the ambient noise.
Isao followed his gaze and gave a sharp nod to a sensory-nin nearby, a young woman with her eyes closed in concentration. Her chakra pulsed outwards, a delicate sonar. After a tense moment, she opened her eyes, a slight frown on her face.
"I… sense nothing, sir. No hostile chakra signatures. It's just… mist."
"See?" a nearby chunin laughed, clapping Kakashi on the shoulder. "The war's got you seeing ghosts in the weather, Hatake. Why would anyone attack us now?"
A few others murmured in agreement, the collective desire for peace overriding caution.
But Kakashi's frown only deepened. The mist was thickening, too quickly. It clung to the skin, cold and clammy, and began to mute the sounds of the forest, creating an eerie, suffocating blanket. The world became a monochrome of grey and green, visibility dropping by the second.
Then, the world exploded.
"FWOOM! FWOOM-BOOM!"
Without a single battle cry or warning shout, figures erupted from the thickening gloom. They wore the headbands of Kirigakure, their faces contorted not with battle lust, but with a horrific, desperate frenzy. And they were covered in explosive tags. The pale papers fluttered on their chests, arms, and legs like deadly plumage. Their screams were not of attack, but of raw, unadulterated terror, even as they charged directly into the heart of the Konoha formation.
The Konoha unit was frozen in a collective, heart-stopping moment of disbelief.
"Kiri!?" a man shrieked, his voice cracking with confusion. "What are they doing?! We're allies— STOP!"
Another simply stood, his mouth agape, his weapon hanging limp at his side. That single, fatal moment of hesitation was all it took. The first wave of suicide attackers reached them.
"KRAK-BOOM!"
The concussive blast was deafening. Dirt, blood, and splintered wood sprayed through the air. The joyous clearing became an instant charnel house.
While others faltered, Kakashi moved. His body was a blur of lightning-quick reflexes. He did not see allies; he saw living bombs. There was no hesitation in his soul.
"Shhh-ting!"
His Chidori manifested as a pure chakra-enhanced thrust. He didn't aim to disarm; he aimed to kill before the detonation sequence could complete. He moved through the mist like a reaper, his blade flashing, each precise strike followed by the sickening thud of a body falling, the explosive tags fizzling out harmlessly.
"Earth Style: Earth-Style Wall!" Obito roared, slamming his hands onto the ground. A thick barrier of earth erupted, shielding a cluster of wounded shinobi and the terrified civilians Rin had been comforting. The wall shuddered as a body slammed into it, the subsequent explosion crumpling against the solid dirt, but it held.
Rin watched, her eyes wide with a horror that went beyond the violence itself. These were Kiri shinobi. Allies. And they were killing themselves to kill Konoha. It was madness. It was a betrayal that made no sense. Whispers of panic began to ripple through the defenders. "Is this a coup?" "Are they blaming us for something?" The fuel of betrayal turned their orderly retreat into a desperate fight for survival.
"ENOUGH!" Commander Isao's voice boomed, cutting through the panic like a knife. His face was a mask of grim fury. "Defensive perimeter! Now! Protect the wounded! Do not let another wave breach our lines!" The shinobi, shamed into action by his command, began to form up, their kunai and jutsu now directed with lethal intent against their former allies.
The brief moment of order was shattered by the sensory-nin's scream. Her face was ashen, her body trembling. "Commander! Incoming! A second wave—a much larger force! It's… it's organised! They're flanking us!"
Isao's eyes swept over his unit. They were bloodied, burdened with wounded and civilians, and low on chakra. They couldn't outmanoeuvre a fresh, organised enemy.
His gaze then fell upon Kakashi, Obito, and Rin. They were young, yes, but they were fast, relatively unscathed, and they possessed a unique synergy.
They were also the students of the Yellow Flash, a name that carried its own weight. It was a terrible choice, but it was the only one.
"Team Minato!" Isao barked, striding over to them. "New orders! You are to break away from the main force immediately!"
Kakashi's eye widened. "Commander, we should not abandon the unit—"
Obito, his face smeared with dirt and sweat, stepped forward. "We can fight with everyone else! We're not running away!"
Rin's voice was soft, but firm with conviction. "Sir, leaving now… it feels like we're deserting them. It's wrong."
Isao's face was granite. "This isn't abandonment. It's survival. Your mission is to manoeuvre around the incoming Kiri force. Find an escape route for the wounded. A path, a defensible position, anything. If you can, draw some of their attention away from us. You are our best chance to get these people out of here alive. This is not a request. MOVE!"
The final word was a whip-crack of authority that brooked no argument. Behind them, another series of explosions rocked the clearing, the sounds of the main Kiri force engaging.
Obito looked back, his expression torn, his heart screaming at him to stay and fight with his comrades. Rin clutched her medical pouch, her healer's soul recoiling at the thought of leaving the wounded behind. But Kakashi, the soldier, understood. He met Isao's gaze for a final, grim second, then turned to his team.
"Keep moving," he said, his voice cold and hard, the voice of a commander. "If we stop, they all die."
With a final, agonised glance at the hellish tableau of the clearing—the flashes of light in the mist, the screams of the dying, the steadfast figure of Commander Isao turning to face the onslaught—the three of them disappeared into the forest.
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