Several nights later.
Deep in the wilderness of the Land of Fire, moonlight washed over a barren ridge. Winter crept in early this year. The wind cut across the open ground, cold and unrelenting.
Shimura Danzō stood alone, cane planted firmly at his side.
So the snake finally reached out.
Since Orochimaru's experiments had come to light and he'd abandoned the village, there had been no contact. No messages. No traces. That silence alone made this summons suspicious.
Which meant it mattered.
Danzō knew he was being used. He came anyway. His body was failing. Research on the Sharingan and the First Hokage's cells had stalled. Time was no longer a resource he could afford to waste.
The moon slipped behind a drifting cloud.
At the foot of the ridge, a tall figure emerged.
Orochimaru.
Danzō narrowed his eye, studying him as he approached. Orochimaru wasted no time.
"I want the Sharingan you possess," he said.
So direct.
As Orochimaru drew closer, Danzō caught the change. The man before him no longer carried the measured patience of a schemer. There was strain beneath the surface. Obsession sharpened into something feral.
Interesting.
"And how," Danzō asked calmly, "do you know I have them?"
Orochimaru smiled thinly. "Spare me. You and the old man hide things well from others. Not from me."
Danzō nodded once. "Very well. I agree."
Orochimaru's eyes flickered. "That was fast. Then tell me the price."
"There is no charity between us," Danzō said. He unwound the bandages from his arm.
The flesh beneath had hardened, pale and woody, the corruption creeping steadily upward.
"I need an arm," he said. "One that can bear the Sharingan without rejecting it."
Orochimaru examined it briefly. "Possible," he said. "But I'll need samples. Ten pairs."
"Twenty," Danzō replied. "Some will be used for the transplant."
Orochimaru laughed softly. "You really are running out of time."
"Enough," Danzō said. "This place is unsuitable for future meetings. Give me a means to contact you."
Orochimaru extended his sleeve. A white snake slid free, coiling silently.
Danzō accepted it, inspected it, then sealed it into a scroll. The scroll vanished in a brief pulse of chakra.
"I'll send what you need," Danzō said.
His body dissolved into smoke.
A clone.
Orochimaru clicked his tongue. "Still cautious."
Then his expression darkened.
"…Uchiha Itachi."
The name carried venom.
Uchiha District. Clan Head Residence.
Sasuke sat at his desk, brush poised over paper.
He wrote the date, then stopped.
Konoha Year 56. December 9.
Five months.
The thought surfaced uninvited, then passed. He closed his eyes, breathed once, and returned to the page.
He began listing dates. Anchors.
Graduation.First assignment.The Wave mission.The Chūnin Exams.
Each line was written carefully, without flourish. Not prophecy. Preparation.
When he finished, Sasuke set the brush down and stared at the ink until it dried.
Then he stood, extinguished the lamp, and returned to training.