Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The map of the Fire Country lay open before him—blood-marked, chakra-stained, and weighted by silence.

Villages had vanished.

Clans with long histories had been reduced to whispers and smoke. Traders disappeared mid-route. Shinobi missions returned with fewer steps than they started with—if they returned at all.

Two Senju had not come home.

Even the Uzumaki, with their fortified sealing arts, had suffered losses.

Butsuma stared at the array of reports spread across his table. Scrolls inked with worry. Message birds returned with no answers. And most concerning of all—the daimyos were growing restless. They were offering enormous bounties for even a scrap of reliable information. It reeked of desperation.

The world was unraveling.

But not for everyone.

Only one clan stood untouched by this creeping plague.

The Uchiha.

He had seen the reports. Watched the battle logs. Cross-examined every informant he could afford to trust.

And the truth held firm: no Uchiha had been taken.

None lost.

And the reason was infuriatingly simple.

The Sharingan.

Their eyes caught flickers others missed. Their reflexes allowed them to avoid being consumed by whatever—whoever—was responsible for the disappearances.

And one account in particular rattled in Butsuma’s mind.

A single whisper from an informant: “Izuna Uchiha activated his Mangekyō. He saw something. Jelly-like. Fading. And seals... strange ones.”

When the Uchiha had used Doton techniques—earth-based detection jutsu—hoping to trace or anchor the strange anomaly, they found nothing. The being or force had disappeared into what seemed like thin lines—not just invisibility, but absence. Erasure.

It was unnatural.

Worse, it was unpredictable.

The Fūma clan, displaced by the chaos, and aligned with the uchiha had sought shelter with them. They are Known for their versatility and cunningness , the Fūma’s allegiance further expanded the Uchiha’s sphere of influence. The compound had been widened. Reinforced. Their walls and seals layered with vigilance.

And the Senju?

They were suffering losses, some of their aligned clans have completely vanished .

Butsuma clenched his jaw. His sons—brilliant, brave, strong—Senju Still stand strong because of his sons .
Once Hashirama rut starts , he knew they will bleed .

And Hashirama’s rut was approaching. The signs were already there: tension in his aura, restlessness in his movements, a shift in scent that even the younger clan members had started to notice.

In his rut, Hashirama would be confined, unstable. A walking natural disaster with no focus or clarity.

Tobirama was nearing his heat too .

And though he never voiced complaint, Butsuma knew the toll it took. His second son carried too much—scouting, sealing, teaching, defending. He had already collapsed twice from chakra exhaustion.

Tobirama could not be everywhere.

And Hashirama would soon be nowhere at all.

Senju had no time.

They needed a solution. Not a temporary alliance. Not a handshake over fire and ash.

They needed integration.

They needed blood.

So he called the council of elders. He laid bare every loss, every statistic, every future probability. He did not soften the numbers. He did not shield the pain.

The old ones, those who remembered their own childhoods drenched in war, listened in brittle silence.

And when Butsuma spoke his proposal, it fell into the chamber like a sword:

"We will propose a truce with the Uchiha. Not a battlefield truce. A union. A marriage bond."

A ripple of murmurs. Resistance, and then—a chilling stillness.

He continued:

" Tajima Uchiha's Youngest Son Izuna Uchiha, an omega, for my eldest son and heir Hashirama, an alpha." "And my youngest son Tobirama, also an omega, for Taijima's eldest son Madara Uchiha, their future head and strongest alpha."

It wasn’t just political. It was biological fate.

"Through blood-bonding and marking, there will be no rivalry. The heirs born from these unions will carry the blood of both Uchiha and Senju . It will be impossible to divide us. "

He looked across the hall.

"This is survival. And it is destiny."

Some elders looked to each other, old grudges flickering behind their eyes. But no one could deny the numbers. Or the silence of the scrolls from allied clans who no longer existed.

Senju and Uchiha had always stood as giants.

And now they would stand together.

Butsuma almost smiled—bitterly—as he realized the irony.

It was the blood they had spilled that now bound them.

He sealed the treaty scroll himself. Inked it with his chakra. Bound it with wax.

To Taijima Uchiha.

He added no embellishment.

Only one line under the seal:

“This is the future. If you wish to protect your sons, walk beside mine.”

Then he sent it.

And waited.

For the first time in years, Butsuma Senju prayed.

The messenger arrived just before dusk, weary, bearing a scroll sealed in crimson wax with the Senju crest. The Uchiha compound was quiet, the sky painted in shades of red, and Taijima had been preparing to write a letter of his own—to Butsuma Senju.

He hadn't expected this.

The messenger, a young shinobi with well-maintained armor and even posture, bowed low before presenting the scroll. There was something different in his demeanor. Not arrogance. Not pride. But weight. Like he carried something more than parchment.

Taijima took the scroll in silence, studying the seal. Crimson wax, unbroken. Traditional markings. Senju calligraphy. Polished.

He nodded toward the guards. "Treat him well. He is a guest. Make sure he eats and rests."

The messenger's eyes widened. Clearly, he hadn't expected such courtesy.

It was a rare gesture. And yet, as he watched the boy escorted with respect into the guest quarters, Taijima realized how much had changed.

This was not a normal time.

Back in his chambers, Taijima cracked the seal and unrolled the scroll.

A formal treaty. A proposed alliance. And—

His eyes narrowed.

Marriage.

Hashirama Senju to marry Izuna Uchiha. Tobirama Senju to marry Madara Uchiha.

A double bond. A blood vow.

He read that section once. Then twice. Then a third time.

Taijima had expected talks of cooperation. Shared information. Perhaps joint efforts for mutual protection. But this...

He sat in silence for a long while, the weight of it pressing against him.

He had been preparing to send his own letter to the Senju, after all. Not for politics. Not for blood. But for something far more pressing:

Medicine.

Most believed the Uchiha had suffered no losses. That they were immune. That their Sharingan made them untouchable.

But only the Uchiha knew the truth.

Two shinobi had nearly vanished. It was only through Izanagi—a forbidden technique that rewrote fate at the cost of one’s sight—that they had survived. And since then, Sharingan eyes had been active at all times. Every mission. Every patrol. Every watch.

It was exhausting.

It was dangerous.

Izuna’s Mangekyō had glimpsed something others could not—a translucent, jelly-like chakra, flickering in and out of vision. Seals too, twisted and foreign. But even Izuna, gifted as he was, was nearing blindness.

Madara and His nephew Hikaku too fared no better.

The price of protection was being paid in vision and longevity.

Only the Senju—only Hashirama—could potentially stop the blindness.

And now, Butsuma is asking for more than help. He is offering blood unity.

Taijima could see the reasoning. The logic. Even the foresight. If the Uchiha and Senju joined in blood, their heirs—any future leaders—would be one and the same. Peace would be absolute.

But marriage?

He rubbed his jaw and read the proposal again. His eyes lingered on the names.

Izuna. Madara.

This was no small request. These were his sons. His pride. His legacy.

The next morning, he called the council.

Elders gathered in the obsidian meeting hall. Scrolls and incense filled the air with tension. Taijima placed the scroll at the center of the table and read it aloud.

He did not hide the details. Not the desperation behind the proposal. Not the implications.

There was silence after he finished.

Then voices rose—some angry, some uncertain. The idea of sending Izuna, to the Senju was difficult for some to stomach. Others balked at the idea of Madara, their most powerful alpha, being bonded to a Senju.

But slowly, Taijima's clarity cut through.

He spoke of Izuna's eyes. Of Madara's strain. Of Hikaku's Pain and the risk to all of them.

He reminded them that even the strongest flame burns out when it stands alone against the wind.

And finally, he said:

"If this alliance saves even an Uchiha , then it is not a betrayal. It is our duty."

The room went quiet.

One by one, the elders nodded.

He returned to the guest hall where the Senju messenger waited.

The boy stood upon seeing him, respectful.

Taijima approached, scroll in hand. Sealed. Marked with the Uchiha crest.

"We accept," he said simply.

The boy’s eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. Took the scroll with reverent hands.

Taijima then added, "You will not travel alone. A guard detail will escort you to the Senju border. We do not risk peace—not now."

It was a gesture of mutual respect.

The messenger bowed. "Thank you, Lord Uchiha. This... this is the first time..."

"That our clans speak as equals? Perhaps. Let it not be the last."

The messenger was given warm food. Clean bedding. Supplies for the journey. His escort—two elite Uchiha shinobi—would accompany him under orders to guard him with their lives.

It wasn’t just about appearances.

It was about intention.

And Taijima, as he watched the party disappear down the path , He felt something shift in his chest.

For the first time in decades, the fire between the Senju and Uchiha was not one of destruction.

It was the beginning of something else.

Maybe hope.

Maybe survival.

Maybe peace.

The future was waiting.

And it had never looked more uncertain—or more necessary.

Hiroshi stood at the edge of the Uchiha border, accompanied by two shinobi from the Uchiha clan, waiting silently as the evening progressed . The Uchiha had insisted he wait until the Senju patrol arrived. Protocol, they had said. Safety.

He understood. After all, in times like these, trust was a precious, delicate thing.

Just after sunset, a trio of Senju shinobi appeared, moving quietly through the underbrush with their weapons half-drawn until they spotted Hiroshi. Their tension eased as they recognized him, and one of them nodded in silent acknowledgement.

"Let’s get you home," said the squad leader. Hiroshi bowed his head, holding the Uchiha-sealed scroll tightly in his hands, and followed them across the border. Behind him, the two Uchiha shinobi turned and vanished into the trees.

He still couldn’t fully believe he had been the one to deliver a treaty scroll to Tajima Uchiha himself. In all his previous missions—delivering scrolls to the Sarutobi, the Nara, the Uzumaki—he had never once been asked to enter the Uchiha compound.

When Butsuma-sama first handed him the sealed scroll, Hiroshi had stared for a full breath too long.

“To the Uchiha clan head?” he’d asked, hesitating.

Butsuma had merely nodded, eyes sharp. “Directly to UchihaTajima . Do not falter.”

He hadn’t. But it had taken everything he had not to shake when he first crossed the border.

Even as a child shinobi, one of the very first warnings he was ever taught echoed in his mind:

Never look an Uchiha in the eye.

Especially not if you want to keep your mind your own.

So when the Uchiha patrol had found him within ten minutes of crossing their border, Hiroshi had kept his gaze respectfully lowered, even as he introduced himself.

“A message from Senju Butsuma. For the Uchiha clan head,” he had said, lifting the scroll wrapped in the Senju emblem.

They said nothing, but they led him to the compound.

And there, the surprises began.

The Uchiha stronghold, he realized, was not so different from the Senju’s. High walls, big courtyards, big training grounds and strict guards—it was structured, dignified, refined, they were a noble clan, just like his own.

Taijima Uchiha entered like a storm contained in a man—tall, composed, but with eyes that have an everlasting fire . Hiroshi stood rigid, bowing low as he presented the scroll.

He had expected anger. Suspicion. Maybe even interrogation.

But instead, the Uchiha head nodded, received the scroll and then looked at him

“You will stay at the guest room ,” Taijima said. "Until I have given my reply."

He nodded towards the guards. "Treat him well. He is a guest. Make sure he eats and rests."

The guest room was… astonishing. Hiroshi had slept in treehouses during lightning storms, burrowed into snowbanks on missions gone wrong, and once, in the rafters of a barn to avoid a pack of wolves .He had never stayed anywhere like it before. Not even on missions that brought him close to daimyo courts.

But this—this was silk futons and lacquered floors. There was a small scroll shelf beside the bed, a place for a basin and a rack of folded robes. He stared at it all like it might vanish.

Dinner was even more surreal.

He had expected preserved rations or silent meals eaten alone.

Instead, he was seated with other Uchiha—quiet, curious, respectful. The rice was warm and fragrant, the soup rich with herbs he didn’t recognize, and the fruits… there were many fruits he’d never seen before. One looked like a ruby cut into slices, the inside honey-sweet and citrus-tangy.

An older omega woman served him extra helpings with gentle hands. She reminded him so much of his grandmother, it almost made him tear up.

“Eat, child,” she said softly. “Your bones are too light.”

He ate until he could barely move. And then slept like he hadn’t in weeks.

For a night, he didn’t feel like a shinobi. Or a messenger between bitter enemies.

He felt like a boy. Safe. Warm.

The next evening, he was summoned again.

Tajima stood with the Senju scroll open on the table beside him, now sealed with a new emblem—the Uchiha crest in black wax.

“We accept,” the Uchiha head said simply.

Hiroshi could only nod, stunned by how easily the words were said, and yet how much weight they carried.

Then, to his further shock, the clan head presented him with a bundle wrapped in dark cloth.

“Armor,” one of the guards said. “Uchiha-forged. For your service.”

He nearly dropped it from surprise.

Uchiha armor was the most prized among shinobi—strong, flexible, rare. Even daimyos offered fortunes for a single chestplate. The Uchiha made them in small numbers, usually only for their Own and a very few for trade with noble lords.

He had just been given one.

Then the old woman appeared again, pressing a satchel into his hands.

“For the road,” she said. “And for the boy who smiled while eating my pickled plums.”

Inside were wrapped foods, pickled plums , soft cakes—and even a few of those rare fruits.

He bowed to her deeply, stammering out thanks.

Even as he prepared to return, he noticed something that made him pause: other messengers arriving.

One wore the robes of the wind country. Another had the sigil of the Kurama clan. And then—he blinked—a Hyūga.

A Hyūga messenger had just entered the compound.

So many clans were moving.

Something bigger was happening.

When the Senju patrol came for him at the river, Hiroshi turned to the Uchiha guards and bowed.

“Thank you. For everything.”

The guards simply nodded before fading into the trees like smoke.

By nightfall, Hiroshi arrived at the Senju compound.

He hadn’t meant to travel so late, but the order was clear—once the Uchiha gave their answer, he was to return immediately.

The patrol announced him, and he was escorted directly to the main hall.

Butsuma was already there—waiting. Awake. Unmoving.

He had not slept.

Hiroshi knelt and presented the scroll.

“The Uchiha have accepted,” he said, smiling for the first time since the mission began.

Butsuma’s eyes widened And for a moment, Butsuma didn’t move. Then his hand shot forward, breaking the black wax seal with practiced urgency, eyes darting across the elegant Uchiha script. He read the message once. Then twice. Then a third time

His eyes scanned the scroll. Then again.

And again.

He read the line twice aloud:

“The Uchiha accept the proposed bond between our clans. We shall meet at the Naka River to finalize terms.”

They accepted,” he whispered. “They actually… accepted.”

His shoulders slowly relaxed. He leaned back, exhaling a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding.

The kind of breath a man takes when he’s been holding up a mountain—and finally sets it down.

“…Good, Great job Hiroshi ” he said smiling at him .

It was all he said.

But Hiroshi saw the way his shoulders relaxed.

The way he blinked as if trying to clear the war from his eyes.

Something had changed.

And a young messenger, once terrified of Uchiha eyes, had become the first witness to a moment that would change history.

Chapter Text

The scroll still lay open on the table.

The seal broken, the ink still fresh.

And Butsuma Senju, for the first time in years, was still.

Not from indecision.

But From calculation.

The Uchiha had accepted.

They had agreed to the terms. Agreed to the marriage bonds. Agreed to meet.

And they would meet tomorrow morning.

Which meant—for the Senju—the night was already over.

Butsuma stood, rolled the scroll tightly, and without waiting for protocol, barked for the Council of Elders to be summoned.

They came quickly, most of them pulled from sleep in their night yukatas. Hair still tousled. Feet still bare. The older ones looked annoyed at first, stiff in the joints and slow to settle on their cushions—but when they saw Butsuma standing at the head of the table, scroll in hand, they grew still.

And when he spoke—

"They have agreed. The Uchiha will meet us at tomorrow morning"

It was as if the weight of the clan’s long ache cracked open at once.

They had all lost someone to Uchiha steel. Brothers. Lovers. Friends. They also had killed many Uchiha themselves. And yet, here they were, nodding. Eyes dry but wide. Because they had also read the reports.

Several Uzumaki had vanished from the Whirlpool lands. A scouting team formed from the Nara, Yamanaka, and Akimichi—three clans bound by intellect and loyalty—had disappeared with no trace, no chakra signature, nothing but silence.

And the worst whispers: the Aburame hive—reduced. Hyūga branch members—gone without trace.

Even beyond the Fire border, clans in the Mist and Lightning regions had sent out distress—only to fall silent. Clans were being erased, not killed. Erased.

Something was devouring the shinobi world.

Only the Uchiha had not lost ground.

Only the Uchiha had remained untouched.

And now, Two ancient giants of the shinobi world—the Senju and the Uchiha—about to join not in bloodshed, but in bloodline.

It was unthinkable.

It was inevitable.

The silence that followed wasn’t shock.

It was relief.

Whispers rippled like wind through bamboo.

“Well done.”
“Finally "
“The Forest blesses this night.”

And then the discussions began.

Urgent. Serious. Deep-rooted in tradition and survival.

The elders began to speak. At first—cautiously. Then with growing clarity.

This was no time for sentiment. No time for old wounds. This was future .

So the elders spoke. Of what must be.They spoke of terms—because they must. Because peace, even now, must be carved like stone, carefully.

Marking and chakra bonding were non-negotiable. No mere name-sharing, no political handshake. This must be spiritual, biological. Irreversible.The union would not be symbolic—it would be absolute.

The heirs to be born would bear the names of their parent clans: Hashirama’s and Izuna’s children would be Senju.

Madara’s and Tobirama’s, Uchiha. A mirrored agreement. Balance, in all things.

The bonds must bind more than skin. Their heirs must learn from both clans. They must be born of both bloodlines and philosophies.

Children of both lines would train in both compounds. Learn from both schools. They would be one blood, in every sense.

Joint patrols. Shared watch posts. Combined teams. Emergency code channels. A strategy that could outlive any one man.

No more walls between us. If we bleed together, we guard together.”

Butsuma raised a hand. “And the seals placed on the patrol routes must be accessible by both clans. No hidden wards. No locked jutsu.”

Slow nods followed.

The discussion moved like wildfire , touching traditions to honor: a wedding within the season. How the ceremonies would be witnessed, recorded, and ratified by shrinekeepers.

No one asked to sleep. No one complained of fatigue.

The contingent was selected by Butsuma himself, flanked by three of the most trusted elders. Another 5 high ranking senju . And—his sons.

Hashirama.
Tobirama.

The future.

And the contingent that will arrive at the river must display everything that is Senju—strength, grace, discipline. The meeting itself was not just diplomatic .

It was symbolic.

And by the time the sky began to bruise into indigo, Scrolls had been written and stamped. Positions chosen and the final scroll was sealed.

Butsuma gave the orders:

“Wake Hashirama and Tobirama. Tell them to wear full ceremonial yukata. Tell them—we go to meet the Uchiha.”

A knock came. Tobirama opened the door to find a guard standing stiffly.

“Lord Tobirama,You are to prepare. Ceremonial yukata. You will accompany Lord Butsuma to meet the Uchiha.”

He blinked.

The Uchiha?

There had been no mention. No whispers. And he was his father’s closest advisor. He sat beside him in strategy meetings, drafted patrol rotations, evaluated clan reports—how could something this monumental have slipped by him?

He turned swiftly and went to his father’s quarters.

Empty.

But his chakra wasn’t far. Tobirama reached out with his senses and felt it—his father was still in the council room. Alongside the elders. Dozens of signatures, calm and strong. There was no tension. No worry. Only a... peace.

Anticipation.

His heart thudded. What was going on?

He waited in his father’s chamber, pacing once, twice, but time was vanishing. If they were expected to leave soon—and with full ceremonial dress—he couldn’t afford to wait.

He moved to his wardrobe.

As he pulled on his clan’s indigo yukata —threaded with silver, the Senju crest blazing on the back—he stared at himself in the mirror. Calm. Controlled. But beneath that, something stirred. Something sharp.
Whatever it was, he would find out at the Naka River.

And something told him—it would change everything.

Hashirama on the other hand was already awake when the guards came to inform him

“The Uchiha?” he’d asked, lifting an eyebrow.

The guard nodded.

Hashirama’s heart leapt.

When the message arrived, he had grinned like spring had bloomed inside his chest.

“A meeting with the Uchiha,” he whispered to himself. “Madara…”

It had to be that. It had to be this. After all these years of blood and war and silence, they were finally going to meet—properly. Diplomatically. Not across a battlefield.

And if the Uchiha had agreed to a meeting… maybe he would see him.

Madara.

His friend. His rival. His echo.

He adjusted his robes, cinched the belt, and reached for the hair tie. His hands were steady. But inside, his heart was already at the river.

Maybe this is the moment he’ve waited all his life.

And across the border Tajima Uchiha have not slept.

The boy was supposed to leave in the morning.

Taijima had told him as much—firmly.

But Hiroshi, the Senju messenger, had headed over to his compound the moment the scroll was given .

And now—there was no time left.

Taijima stood in his study and stared at the pile of unread scrolls on his desk.

This night was over before it began.

He summoned the elders immediately.

The elders arrived swiftly, some still tying the belts of their night yukata, hair undone and sleep lining their faces. But one look at Taijima told them what they needed to know , their expressions guardedand wary. Most of them had lost kin to the Senju—many had blood ties buried in war.

But the situation had grown dire. Too dire for old hatred.

And the discussion began as soon as the elders gathered

“First,” he said, “medicine.The Senju medical corps, especially Hashirama, would be required to examine key members.”

“Two of our shinobi Naka and Enji used Izanagi They were alive only by sacrificing their sight and rewriting death. They are half blind and their nervous systems completely frayed.They would need specialized healing, and only the Senju had the techniques to attempt restoration. ”

Elders shifted in their seats. One exhaled slowly.

“Izuna ,Madara and Hikaku all have their Mangekyu Sharingan But Izuna’s eyes continue to deteriorate. Hikaku’s perception is faltering. Even Madara’s vision has begun to flicker under strain.”

Silence.

Then nods.

A heavy acknowledgment.

The Sharingan was powerful. But it had limits. And they had reached them.

“Hashirama’s chakra,” Taijima continued, “is known to mend. If he is to become kin, let him begin by saving what remains of ours.”

The old warriors looked down. And agreed.

Next non negotiable was that “Izuna will remain Uchiha. In name. In spirit. In every form. There is no debate.”

And there wasn’t.

Because some things—like blood—were not up for negotiation.

The discussion flowed like old riverbeds—deep, winding, worn into muscle memory.

They debated rituals.

Discussed marking.

Which ceremonies would be held .

What rites must be merged.

What could never be touched.

Each clause , conditions and non -negotiable terms was debated in full.

And as the night bled towards morning, they continued .

The scroll of terms took shape—word by word, stroke by stroke.And when the final seal was pressed on the term scroll they would bring to Naka River, the sun had risen and there is only a few hours for the Meeting .

And Taijima stepped outside for the first time in hours.

Only to be greeted by more messengers.

He went to his study , Scrolls had piled while he was inside the council room—stacked in layers of wax, cord, and urgency. Formal treaties, scribbled pleas, half-dried blood signatures. Offers of alliance, of land—some even offering their clan’s heirs, their secrets, their last standing fighters.

One from the eastern border: three civilians missing.

Another from a clan he hadn’t heard from in decades—requesting land in Uchiha territory.

More from the south—written in dialects older than the valley itself.

And then—the message from the Hyūga.

Two shinobi, vanished mid-patrol. No signs of struggle. No bodies. No residual chakra.

Entire clans were being pulled off the board. Quietly. Cleanly.

The requests came in fast ink and shaky hands.

And Taijima knew exactly why.

They all wanted shelter behind the only clan that had not been touched.

But none of them knew the price.

Only the Uchiha knew that.

Only the Uchiha had seen what lay beyond, what kind of chakra erased a man from memory and map alike. Only the Uchiha had activated Izanagi, and paid for survival with sight.

And now, with the Senju alliance looming—they would not have to stand alone.

He turned from the desk, already done with decisions. He will reply to every scroll once he returns from the meeting with the Senjus

There was only one thing left to do.

He summoned the guards.

“Send word to Izuna and Madara. They are to wear ceremonial robes. We meet the Senju at the Naka River within the hour.”

The guards bowed.

Izuna had still been asleep.

He barely heard the first knock.

The second one woke him.

“Inu? What—”

The guard’s voice was quiet, but clear through the door.

“Lord Taijima requests your presence. Ceremonial attire for the Senju meeting.”

“…What?” Izuna sat up, hair falling into his eyes. “Senju?”

“Yes. Ceremonial robes, You are expected within the hour.”

Izuna blinked. Then blinked again. “You're serious.”

But the footsteps were already fading.

He sat there for a long moment, heartbeat ticking slower than his thoughts.

A meeting with the Senju.

Madara had been awake before dawn.

It was old habit—his body remembered battles even if his calendar had none scheduled.

He was sipping cold tea when the guard arrived.

“ You are summoned by the clan head. The Senju will be met at Naka River. Ceremonial Robes.”

There was a beat of silence.

“…Senju?”

“Yes, . Izuna and Hikaku have been summoned as well.”

Hikaku had been in the courtyard, blade in hand, moving through forms.

He heard the footsteps first.

He turned, slightly breathless, as the guard bowed.

“You are summoned by Lord Taijima for meeting with the senju at Naka River.”

“…The Senju?”

A nod.

He didn’t ask again.

He sheathed his blade. Wiped his hands. Said nothing.

But inside, his thoughts beat like war drums.

And at Gate of the Uchiha Compound

They assembled in silence. Three Elders and five high ranking Uchihas and guards

Taijima stood at the front—still regal despite the fatigue lining his eyes.

Madara stood to his right.
Izuna, to his left.
Hikaku behind him.

The moved towards the historical meeting with the Senjus

By the ninth hour, both delegations had arrived.

The Senju came first—an organized procession led by Butsuma, flanked by several of the clan’s elders and elite shinobi. Hashirama walked beside him in his formal yukata, embroidered with the green-and-gold crest of the Senju. Behind them trailed Tobirama, equally dignified, though his indigo yukata held cooler hues, matching the unshakable chill in his demeanor.

Moments later, the Uchiha contingent appeared on the opposite riverbank. Taijima stood tall at the front, with Madara to his right and Izuna on his left . Hikaku and the Uchiha elders followed closely behind, dressed in their deep black and crimson robes, the Uchiha fan glowing like embers in the sunlight.

This is the first time in their history these two clans had stood across from each other without bloodshed.

But the tension had not faded. Not fully.

Tobirama’s eyes immediately found Izuna’s—and the air between them seemed to harden. Cold. Sharp. Their first encounter had been here, on these very banks, when both had intervened with their fathers to stop the budding friendship between their elder brothers. Since then, they had clashed across countless battlefields. Neither had forgotten.

Now in same river they first met , they are standing as men, not boys.

But the hostility still burned beneath the surface.

Izuna narrowed his eyes. Tobirama’s jaw clenched.

Across the distance, Butsuma looked at Izuna for the first time in years. He had tried to kill that boy when Hashirama was friends with madara . Watched Madara and Hashirama breaking their friendship because of that .

Taijima, too, glanced toward Tobirama—the child he tried to kill at the very same river . That boy now wore the full weight of the Senju behind his shoulders.

An elder from the Senju side cleared his throat, stepping forward, breaking the silence.

Butsuma inclined his head.

“Hashirama,” he said quietly. “Construct something. We won’t have this conversation on dirt and wind.”

Without a word, Hashirama stepped forward, kneeling at the river’s edge. His hands formed a series of seals, steady and slow. The ground trembled softly.

From the riverbank, wood began to rise—planks and beams interlocking, smooth and elegant. In moments, a structure formed: a wide, open-sided house with polished floors, shaded by a high roof. Seating arrangements appeared, low tables and cushions bought by each group were carefully spaced for two delegations to sit facing each other.

Taijima watched without interruption. When it was done, he gave a slight nod of approval.

The two clans stepped inside.

The air beneath the wooden canopy was still and watchful.

When all were seated, Butsuma began.

“We thank you for agreeing to this meeting,” he said.

Taijima gave a small nod. “The world gives us little choice.”

Butsuma didn’t argue.

He looked to the Uchiha elders, then back to Taijima. “As stated, we propose a bond. But not a simple one. This is to be a double bond.”

He paused.

“Hashirama will bond with your youngest son Izuna. And Madara—” Butsuma’s gaze shifted slightly— “will bond with my son Tobirama.”

The words dropped into the silence like a stone into water.

A ripple of emotion passed through the Uchiha line.

Taijima’s expression did not change. He simply turned his head slightly, glancing at his sons.

Madara blinked. Once. Then again.

Izuna sat frozen, mouth parting slightly in shock.

Tobirama, across from him, stiffened as though struck. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak. His red eyes flickered—confusion, disbelief, calculation.

Even Hashirama looked startled. He glanced at Madara, who was still processing, his mind already racing.

But it was the Uchiha clan head who spoke next.

“We accept.”

Clear. Unhesitating.

Gasps moved through both sides.

Izuna stared at his father. “Otosan—”

Taijima raised a hand. “We accept the terms for negotiation. Nothing more, nothing less. Let us discuss.”

What followed was hours of intense deliberation. The clans spoke of every detail—of medicine, protection, governance, and legacy.

Taijima requested the immediate assistance of Senju medical experts, especially Hashirama, to examine the Uchiha who had used Izanagi and also for Izuna, Hikaku, and Madara himself. The long-term effects on their vision and chakra systems could not be ignored.

Butsuma agreed, with the condition that chakra bonding and marking were to be non-negotiable. Both clans would share joint patrols. Patrol lists would be exchanged weekly to ensure transparency and trust.

As discussions continued, Taijima clarified: “Izuna will remain an Uchiha, bonded or not. His name will not change.”

Butsuma nodded once. “As will Tobirama remain Senju. Our children will carry the names of the clan they are bonded into. Children from Hashirama and Izuna’s bond will be Senju. Madara and Tobirama’s children will be Uchiha.”

The elders murmured in agreement.

And by that time their lunch arrived from each of their compounds .

And for the first time both clans were eating together , Everyone was enjoying other compounds food , Hikaku saw that both Senju & Uchiha clans elders even conversing with each other , Taijima and Butsuma were talking as well . Hashirama and Madara though silent was eating too , The only ones who were not eating and silent were Izuna and Tobirama .

After their lunch , their discussions continued

The logistics came into question. Patrolling the forests between their compounds, maintaining safety during this fragile period… the planning became dense.

It was Hashirama who finally raised his voice. “Why not build something new?”

All eyes turned.

He looked at Madara. “You remember our dream. Of a village. One where clans live not apart, but together.”

Madara’s lips parted, then slowly curled into the ghost of a smile. “Yes. I remember.”

Hashirama turned back to the gathered clans. “We scout for land. Build something between our territories. A village. In three months, we move together . Until then, we operate jointly—from our compounds. Joint patrols. Shared planning.”

After a moment of stunned silence, Butsuma nodded.

Taijima followed. “Agreed.”

More nods echoed. Elders murmured. For the first time in decades, consensus was being born from strategy, not spite.

Finally, as the afternoon bled into evening, Butsuma stood.

“Then we announce the bond. In two weeks’ time, the wedding ceremonies will be held. Marking. Vows. Bonding.”

Taijima rose as well. “And in three months, we begin again. Together.”

Tobirama said nothing. Nor did Izuna. The two sat in stoic silence, storm-eyed and unspeaking.

But Hashirama and Madara exchanged a look—and beneath it, hope.

And history, once again, shifted course.

Chapter Text

Izuna was seething.

The moment the declarations ended—when the Senju delegation had given their final bows, the scrolls exchanged and the Uchiha contingent offered their farewells to the Senju—he strode away from the riverbank without a word.

No, he stormed.

Madara followed, several paces behind, silent as the shadow of a hawk.His face unreadable, though Hikaku had seen the flicker of shock earlier. He knew his older cousin too well—Madara’s calm now wasn’t peace. It was the kind that hid a storm.

Hikaku, walked with the rest of the Uchiha contingent, He watched his baby cousin disappear ahead of them and felt a tightness in his chest. He could not fault Izuna.

Not today.

And definitely Not after this.

Behind him, the voices of their clan elders and Taijima himself rolled in quiet discussion—marriages, ceremonial requirements, merging customs, the logistics of hosting Senju guests. Their tone was measured, careful, almost relieved. But Hikaku’s mind was nowhere near their words.

It was with Izuna.

His baby cousin.

To Hikaku, Izuna was still the boy who had once trailed after him in the courtyards, hair too long and temper too short. The same boy who used to sneak persimmons from the kitchen and hide behind Hikaku’s legs when scolded.The boy who used to sulk if his kunai throws were not perfect. The boy who once whispered to him, with fire in his eyes, that he would destroy every Senju he saw.

Now, in the span of a single day, his baby cousin had been named Senju Matriarch.And … in two weeks, he will be Senju Matriarch.

In two weeks, he would be married to Hashirama Senju.
In two weeks, he would leave the Uchiha compound to live under the Senju roof, to sleep in their walls, to walk their halls as if he belonged.
A bond like this wasn’t political. It was forever. Chakra-deep. Irreversible.

Hikaku still could not believe what had happened. Not in his wildest dreams—or his darkest nightmares—had he imagined this day.

Hikaku’s mind wouldn’t stop replaying it.
The moment.

When Butsuma Senju first spoke the words “double bonding,” the world had tilted. And when Taijima, his uncle, had said with that calm, unshakable voice, “We accept,” Hikaku’s breath had caught in his throat.

He would never forget the faces in that moment.

Hikaku had felt his stomach drop.
He had turned, instinctively, to see his cousin’s face.

Izuna—white as ash.
Mouth parting. Eyes wide, like he’d been struck in the heart , raw and shocked .

Madara, rigid, lips pressed tight, a flash of disbelief cracking the armor of his usual control.
Hashirama flinching , surprised look softening his usual warmth. , but Tobirama… Tobirama’s eyes had gone cold and sharp, a blade sheathed in shock.

None of them had known.
None of them.

There had been no talks. No quiet warnings. No hint that a lifetime of war could shift in a single breath.
And yet—here they were.

The first meeting in their clans’ bloody history that wasn’t held across a battlefield.The Uchiha and Senju had sat across not as predators, not as prey, but as… something else

And for what?

Not peace alone.
Not strategy.

But marriage.
Bonding.
Chakra and bloodline entwined.

And now they are Partners in survival. And that fragile partnership had been sealed not with handshakes, but with the futures of their youngest sons.

Double bonding.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or grieve.

Hikaku exhaled slowly as they walked, the forest path winding toward the Uchiha compound.
His uncle and the elders speaking about gift exchanges and ceremonial visits. He heard fragments—about sending offerings to Tobirama, the future Uchiha Matriarch, and preparing the presentation for Izuna as the Senju Matriarch .

The words felt foreign in his ears. Izuna. Matriarch.

Their conversation was a river of plans.

But Hikaku wasn’t in that river.
He was watching Izuna.

Hikaku’s heart felt heavy in his chest. As He watched Izuna’s shoulders squared like armor, his fists still trembling with rage he refused to show his father.Izuna, walking alone ahead of them—furious, betrayed, trapped.

He thought of the words again. The ones that had truly changed everything.
“Stand with your future husband and alpha.”

He had watched Izuna freeze. Then—hesitate. Then walk, stiff-legged, across the open floor to the Senju side. Hashirama’s hand had been there, waiting. Izuna had taken it like one might take a weapon—because he had to, not because he wanted to.

Butsuma’s voice, deep and certain:
“From this day forward, Uchiha Izuna shall be the Matriarch of the Senju Clan.”

The way every Senju elder and guard had bowed—dozens of heads lowering in unison—was a sight Hikaku would never forget. And Izuna… his baby cousin… had stood frozen , his hand clutched in Hashirama’s, as if the world had tilted beneath his feet.

Then Tajima mirrored the words for Tobirama.
“From this day forward, Senju Tobirama shall be the Matriarch of the Uchiha Clan.”

And the Uchiha bowed.

Two boys. Two warriors. Two omegas.

Neither had shed a tear, but Hikaku had felt it— a shared understanding between the two omegas, as if they recognized the same chain snapping closed around their necks.a quiet, unspeakable grief settling between them like a bridge of glass.

They were enemies yesterday. They would be kin tomorrow. And in their shock, in their stillness, they had mirrored each other perfectly.

The image refused to leave Hikaku’s mind, even as the compound walls came into view.

The compound was alive with murmurs.

Elders, officers, and even the younger shinobi filled the corridors and courtyards, speaking in low voices about the marriage bonds, the village plan, the patrol rotations, and the ceremonial rites. It was as if the Uchiha had been struck by lightning and woken up in a new world overnight.

Izuna didn’t hear any of it.

The moment they stepped past the gates, he walked straight to his room and slid the door shut with a violent crack. The wood shivered in its frame.

Hikaku paused, torn, but the sharp sting in his chest told him this was not the moment to follow.
He walked towards the hall that led to the family wing. He stopped first at Kagami’s room.

Little Kagami slept peacefully, small chest rising and falling beneath a soft blanket. Hikaku crouched beside him, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. For a moment, the world outside—the treaties, the bonds, the impossible future—ceased to exist.

He whispered, “Sleep well, my son,” and left quietly.

He straightened, went to the bathhouse, and scrubbed the day from his skin. He sank into the heat, letting the water rinse the river from his skin, but it could not rinse the heaviness from his heart. The hot water eased his muscles but not his heart. The bathhouse steam wrapped around him like a fragile comfort. When he emerged and dressed, he went straight to Izuna’s rooms.

The sound reached him first.

Crash.

Then another.

Hikaku slid the door open and froze.

The room was chaos.
Vases shattered. Scrolls torn. Bedding askew. Izuna stood in the middle of it all, hair loose around his face, chest heaving, tears streaking his flushed cheeks. His hands trembled with rage.

“Izuna—”

“Don’t!” Izuna’s voice cracked. “Don’t you dare say anything!”

Hikaku’s heart ached. He had seen his cousin furious in battle, sharp as a blade. He had never seen him like this—angry and breaking at the same time.

“Senju Matriarch!” he spat, voice cracking between fury and grief. “Chakra bonding—forever! They’ve traded me like some prize! Do they think I’m just an omega to hand away?!”

Hikaku opened his mouth to speak, but the words died. He couldn’t fault him. Not when he knew the weight of chakra bonding. Once it was done, Izuna would be tied to Hashirama for life. Irreversible. Eternal. A bond deeper than blood.

Another vase hit the wall.

The door slid open again. Taijima stepped inside. His gaze took in the wreckage, the trembling of his youngest son, the silent misery in Hikaku’s eyes.

“Call Madara,” he told Hikaku.

His voice was calm, and that calm was worse than shouting.

Hikaku hesitated only a moment before obeying. He found Madara in the outer hall, hair still damp from his bath, staring into the distance as if the world was far away.

“Your father wants you,” Hikaku said quietly. “Now.”

Madara followed without a word.

By the time they returned, the room smelled of wet earth and broken porcelain. Taijima’s presence filled it, heavy and immovable. He gestured for the door to be closed.

When the door closed, it was the four of them—Taijima, Madara, Izuna, and Hikaku standing at the edge. The air was thick, almost humming with tension.

“Enough,” he said at last, voice even but firm. “Izuna, stop this.”

Izuna whirled on him, teeth bared. “Stop?! I’m an omega, aren’t I? Is that it? You’ve traded me like a scroll, like a sword you no longer want? Senju Matriarch. Chakra-bonded. Forever. I’ll be tied to Hashirama Senju until I die!” ! My chakra—my life—is not mine anymore!”

Madara stood at Hikaku’s side, silent, his expression a mask, though Hikaku saw the storm in his eyes.

Taijima didn’t flinch. “And what would you have me do? Let our clan die? Blindness is creeping on your brother. Hikaku’s vision falters under strain. And you—how much do you truly see at night now?”

Izuna’s mouth opened. Closed. He said nothing.

“Two of our own invoked Izanagi,” Taijima continued, voice heavy as stone. “They live only because they sacrificed their sight. They will never fight again.

Entire clans outside these walls are vanishing in silence, erased without battle. The Aburame. The Hyūga. Even the Uzumaki are losing people without a trace. Do you want us to be next?”

The world is shifting—and survival demands this bond. Your life, your brother’s life, Hikaku’s life… The life of every child that sleeps in this compound.”....they come first.”

Izuna’s hands trembled, rage bleeding into helplessness.

“Think of Kagami , He needs his uncle alive. He needs a clan alive.”Taijima said, softer now but still unyielding. “Think of the future you will protect with this bond.”

Hikaku saw Izuna’s jaw tremble. The mention of Kagami always pierced through the armor.

Taijima’s gaze moved between his sons. “Both bonds will be done the same day. Chakra bonding. Irreversible. This is how we survive.”

Hikaku’s chest tightened as his eyes flicked to Izuna , as his mind flickered to all the offers Izuna had turned down—the Fire Daimyō’s heir, nobles from Fire and Lightning , wind alike, all entranced by his beauty .Izuna had refused them all, stubborn , proud and untouchable. He was the most sought-after omega of his generation, the beauty of the Uchiha. And he had chosen freedom, always

And now… he would be Senju Matriarch.

Among the Uchiha, omega and alpha meant little—strength defined status. But chakra bonding meant forever. And this bond would uproot him from the home he loved.

And now, he was to be bound to a Senju.

Taijima’s voice broke through Hikaku’s thoughts. “Hashirama is the only man alive who can stand as your brother’s equal—or even stronger—than your brother. His medicinal chakra is unmatched. This bond will protect us all.”

Silence followed, thick as the night air.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of Izuna’s uneven breathing. His tears fell silently, dripping onto the tatami.

Finally, he whispered, “I… need time.”

Taijima inclined his head once. “Then take it. But first, you will bathe. And you will eat. I will send food to your room.”

Izuna nodded faintly, shoulders still trembling.

Hikaku lingered for a heartbeat, wanting to stay, to shield him like he had when they were children—but he knew Izuna needed space more than comfort tonight.

As they stepped out into the hall, Taijima’s voice was quiet but firm. “Come. We join the feast. And the next two weeks will leave no room for rest. It will will be the busiest of our lives .”

The aroma of roasted meat and sweet rice drifted through the corridors as they walked toward the great hall. Laughter and clinking cups met them, the pulse of a clan alive—but Hikaku’s heart stayed behind, in a shattered room with his baby cousin, whose world had just broken open.

His baby cousin.
The Senju Matriarch.

Tobirama had vanished the instant the last farewell was spoken, his form flickering into the trees with the cold speed of hiraishin. One flicker of hiraishin and he was gone, He had not spoken a word to his brother. Not a word. Not a glance.
.

Hashirama walked beside their father, and for the first time in years, he was quiet.

Eerily quiet.

For once in his life, he had nothing to say. His mind was a blur of faces—Tobirama’s sharp-eyed silence, Izuna’s ash-pale shock, Madara’s iron mask cracking at the edges. He could still feel the weight of Izuna’s hand in his own: warm, trembling, unwilling.

Butsuma and the Senju elders spoke in low, pleased tones, their footsteps crunching on the forest path. They were almost jubilant.

“It is done,” one of the senior advisers said, voice rich with satisfaction.
“The Uchiha agreed to chakra bonding. The wedding set in two weeks.”
“And the mainline!” another murmured. “Uchiha blood joining Senju . For the first time in history Uchiha mainline is marrying outside that too with us ”

Butsuma inclined his head once, not smiling, but his eyes were sharp with victory. “Everything we wanted,” he said. “And more.”

Hashirama only half-heard them. His thoughts swirled, heavier than the autumn air. He had dreamed of this—of a village, a lasting peace—but he had never imagined it would come like this. Through forcing chains onto two young omegas who had once sworn to kill each other
.

He thought of Izuna’s face again, the flash of naked grief and fury in his eyes.

He thought of Tobirama, his little brother, cold as steel and silent as a blade sheathed too deep.

And he thought of Madara—his friend, his rival—staring back across the clearing like a man balancing on the edge of a precipice.

The forest gave way to the wide fields leading to the Senju compound. Lanterns were already being hung from the gatehouse, and the smell of firewood and roasted boar drifted on the air. Word had reached home before they did—servants and shinobi alike moved with the rhythm of celebration. Preparations for a feast were already underway.

The Senju compound was alive with excitement.

For the elders, this was triumph.
For the household, it was the birth of an era.

“The Uchiha will come in three days,” an elder said as they walked towards the compound . “We must prepare the compound for their formal gift offering. Tobirama is to receive his presentations as Uchiha Matriarch.”

“And in return,” another replied, “we go to the Uchiha in one week with our own gifts for Izuna—Senju Matriarch . They spoke of offerings, of ceremonial robes, of the symbolic passing of weapons and scrolls. Of the rare gifts reserved for a Matriarch—the second head of the clan.” He paused, letting the title linger like incense. “Matriarch of the Senju. This title had never been granted to anyone before. Not even among the Senju.”

“It shows our sincerity,” Butsuma said firmly. “The Uchiha must see that we honor this bond as our own blood.”

Hashirama walked in silence, the words drifting around him like distant wind. He could already see the path of the next fourteen days: visits, feasts, endless ceremonies, and then the wedding. By the end of it, his life would no longer be his own.

The gates of the Senju compound closed behind them, and the elders’ excitement swelled. Plans for the feast mixed with talk of decorations, guards, joint patrols, and the village project. Two clans that had bathed in each other’s blood would now share watchtowers.

Butsuma excused himself before the feast began. He walked to his private study, lit by a single lamp. For the first time since the meeting, he allowed himself a small exhale—a quiet satisfaction, heavy with the knowledge of what he had secured.

He pulled a fresh scroll across the low writing desk. His hand moved with practiced precision, brush gliding in steady, beautiful strokes.

To the Esteemed Clan Head and Elders of the Uzumaki Clan,

The Senju clan hereby announce The marriage contract between Hashirama Senju and Lady Mito Uzumaki null & void. Circumstances have called for a different path, one that binds the Senju and Uchiha in unity and survival.

His brush did not waver.

The second part of the letter was an announcement—formal, deliberate, unshakable.

We are also pleased to announce that Uchiha Izuna shall wed Hashirama Senju and be named Matriarch of the Senju Clan.Senju Tobirama shall wed Madara Uchiha and be named Matriarch of the Uchiha Clan.
Both unions shall be sealed with eternal chakra bonds and life markings.

This bond joins our clans not only in family but in future. In two weeks’ time, the ceremonies shall be held, and our two clans will take the first step toward a shared home—a village built by Senju and Uchiha together.

We respectfully request the Uzumaki Clan’s blessing for these unions and this new path.

With honor,
Butsuma Senju
Head of the Senju Clan

Butsuma let the ink dry, then sealed the scroll .He sealed the scroll with the Senju crest in deep vermillion and tied it with a white cord for purity.

He summoned a trusted messenger and handed it over.

“Deliver this to the Uzumaki at dawn,” he ordered. “Not tonight. The forest is dangerous in the dark. At first light, go.”

The messenger bowed deeply and left.

Butsuma finally rose and made his way to the bathhouse. Steam rose around him, hot and heavy, but it could not ease the sharp edge of his thoughts. He had forced the future into motion tonight, and there was no turning back.

The feast was alive with clinking cups, warm voices, and the hum of a clan basking in triumph.

The Senju were overjoyed. Their heir would be bound to the Uchiha. A Matriarch from their greatest rivals would walk these halls. The village would rise from this bond.

But Hashirama sat at the far end, silent as a stone in the river, mind still caught at the riverbank—
in the tremor of Izuna’s hand,
in the weight of a bond neither of them had chosen,
in the unspoken truth that their lives had been sealed in ink and chakra tonight.

Chapter Text

The celebration roared outside. Laughter, clinking cups, the low hum of voice , Lanternlights flickered faintly at the edges of the shoji, warm and golden,Voices called out blessings, toasts, promises of a new age. Somewhere, someone was singing.

Tobirama heard none of it..

He sat hunched on the tatami, knees drawn to his chest, his hair hanging loose around his face. His eyes burned raw, the lids swollen from hours of tears, the skin beneath them flushed in blotches. He hadn’t meant to cry—hadn’t even realized he was until the hiraishin dropped him here and the silence cracked open inside him.
.
The sound of the feast was a muffled, faraway ocean, crashing against walls that could not keep it out.

He had not been prepared

He kept replaying. The moment. The words.

“Chakra bonding.”

He hadn’t understood, not at first. His father’s voice had been calm, deliberate, the same tone he used when discussing routine patrols or battle strategy. And then the Uchiha had agreed—just like that. As if he had been traded for a weapon, a scroll, a piece of land.

The rest of the meeting blurred into nothing. He hadn’t heard the talk of rites or oaths, hadn’t registered the murmur of astonishment from both sides. He had only seen Izuna—ashen, rigid, eyes wide with the same sick disbelief clawing through his own chest. Madara’s chakra had flared, sharp and spiking, Hashirama’s trembling like a candle in wind. None of them had known.

Then his father had said it.

“Stand with your future husband and alpha.”

For one heartbeat, Tobirama had simply stood there, numb. And then he had moved because there was no other choice. Orders were orders. Even when they were chains.

Madara’s hand had been warm, steady. The Uchiha had bowed to him. Bowed. A hall full of their greatest enemies lowering their heads to him—an honor laced with the taste of poison.

Uchiha Matriarch.

The title had rung in his ears like a blade striking stone.

The moment the farewells ended, he had hiraishined away—didn’t wait for Hashirama, didn’t look at his father. Just gone.

Now he sat alone, the lamps unlit. Tears streaked his face unchecked, salt burning the corners of his mouth. His body shook—not from cold, but from the force of holding in the sounds that wanted to tear out of his throat.

He had been the Senju’s sharpest blade, the mind behind their victories, the advisor who doubled the profit . He had built his worth with every plan, every mission, every sacrifice. But it hadn’t mattered. Not at the end.

At the end of the day, he was still an omega. A tool.. A bargaining piece. A seal on a treaty.

And in his father’s eyes, that was all he had ever been.
Something to be given, used, bound.

The thought made something inside him twist until he could hardly breathe.

Pathetic. That’s what he felt.

That word had wormed itself into him like a poison.

Pathetic for feeling.
Pathetic for crying.
Pathetic for letting them see him as anything but steel.

His hands were clenched so tight around his knees that his nails cut into skin, but it wasn’t enough to keep the sobs from shaking him. He bit them back until his jaw ached, but they came anyway—quiet, ragged, tearing at the back of his throat.

He hated this. Hated himself.

All his years of service, of strategy, of fighting beside his clan as their blade and their shield—none of it mattered now. Not when his body, his bloodline, his omega status could be used to forge a bond. That was all the worth they saw.

And the worst part—the part that hollowed him out entirely—was that he could not even say no.

A son obeys. A soldier obeys. A Senju obeys.

Even when it chains him to the enemy.

Outside, the voices swelled in cheer. He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes until the darkness flared red and hot, until the noise blurred into a low, meaningless hum.

He wished he could disappear entirely.

That was when the floorboard creaked.

The scent of warm rice and roasted fish drifted in with the faintest whisper of movement. A shadow shifted across the doorway.

“Tobirama?”

His father’s voice—low, careful.

Tobirama lifted his head just enough to see Butsuma step inside, a lacquered tray balanced in his hands. The lamplight caught on the gleam of the food—perfect, steaming, untouched.

Butsuma paused, taking in his son’s face. The red-rimmed eyes, the damp lashes, the taut set of his mouth that failed to hide the wreck beneath.

For a heartbeat, neither spoke.

Then Tobirama’s voice cracked, raw and hoarse.

“Why?”

Butsuma’s voice was steady, but the heaviness in it pressed against the darkened room.

“The clans are vanishing.”

Tobirama swallowed hard. He knew. How could he not? Every whispered rumor, every patrol report had told the story.
“few of the Senju have completely gone Tobi...vanished ,” he said, his eyes fixed on his son. “some of our allied clans and villages completely vanished . Too many names, too many faces.... simply gone

Tobirama listened in silence, the faint glow from the doorway outlining the sharp line of his father’s jaw. Butsuma continued.
“The truth is, we’re standing now only because of your brother. Without Hashirama’s Chakra and strength, we would have broken long ago.”

Tobirama’s hands curled in his lap, but before he could speak, Butsuma lifted a hand—a quiet command to hold his tongue.

“His rut approaches,” Butsuma went on, voice low. “It will be difficult. And while I have no doubt you can hold this clan together, you need to understand—before we reach that point, the Senju may not even exist as they do now.”

The words landed like stones in Tobirama’s chest. He knew the numbers, the dwindling lines on the scrolls of allied clans who have asked them for help , but hearing it from his father—stripped of strategy and reduced to raw truth—cut deeper than he expected.

His throat tightened. “Father…”

Before he could say more, Butsuma’s calloused hand came to rest on his shoulder.
“I believe in you,” he said simply.

That was enough to break him. Tobirama leaned forward, pressing his face into his father’s chest, and the tears came hot and fast. Itama’s name escaped in a small, choked sound before his arms wrapped around Butsuma, holding on with a child’s desperation.

Butsuma’s large hand moved in slow, deliberate passes over his son’s back. No speeches, no grand reassurances—just the steady presence of a man who understood loss better than most.

“Eat,” Butsuma urged softly, pulling back to set the tray closer.

“This is the only day you will be free before everything begins. In three days, Uchiha will come to the compound to present their gifts. Your role as Uchiha Matriarch begins then. Then the double wedding in two weeks.”

Tobirama’s lips trembled as he nodded, tears blurring his vision.

He stood, looking down at his son. “I’ll leave you to rest now. Eat well, Tobirama. You need your strength.”
Butsuma’s gaze was firm.

Tobirama took the chopsticks hesitantly, still trembling, but obeyed.

The door closed quietly behind Butsuma, leaving Tobirama alone with the bitter taste of fate and the ghost of Izuna’s face flickering in his mind—his rival, his counterpart, soon to be Senju Matriarch, just as he will be the Uchiha Matriarch

The next morning, the Senju compound was alive with movement. Preparations for the wedding consumed every corridor, courtyard, and hall was alive with activity. Servants hurried with trays of tea for the elders, officials barked orders , seamstresses knelt over bolts of silk, and officials discussed ceremonial protocol in hushed yet urgent tones. The Uchiha were expected in only two days, and their arrival would demand perfection.Nothing—absolutely nothing—could go wrong.

Nothing could be left to chance. Not when the guests would be watching the Senju as much as celebrating with them.

Even the air felt heavy with anticipation.

Tobirama stood still while a tailor measured the fall of his shoulders, the width of his wrists, the sweep of his back. A new formal kimono was being prepared for the wedding, deep inlays of gold thread to match his standing as the soon-to-be Uchiha Matriarch. He kept his gaze forward, though his sharp ears caught the quiet gossip nearby—two omegas and betas giggling as they wondered aloud about the treasures the Uchiha would shower upon their new matriarch.

Matriarch.
The word sat strangely in his chest, an unfamiliar weight he could not set down.

Hashirama, not far away, was also being fitted, though his demeanor was far more lighthearted. He teased the tailor, earning a scolding for shifting mid-measurement. Still, even his usually unshakable cheer was tempered by the mounting tension of the days ahead.

The preparations blurred the days together.Three days passed in a heartbeat, filled with fittings, rehearsals, gifts prepared, floors polished, gardens trimmed, and formalities rehearsed until even the youngest Senju could recite them by heart. No one was idle. Not even for a moment.

And then—
The day arrived.

The Uchiha arrived.

The Uchiha came in full ceremonial splendor, and the Senju found themselves staring

The Uchiha procession moved in perfect formation, their banners a river of crimson and black. At the forefront, Taijima Uchiha rode in full ceremonial attire—each layered robe immaculate, the embroidery so fine it seemed to drink in the light. Behind him, elders, officials, and elite guards moved with unshakable dignity.

Butsuma stepped forward to receive them, flanked by Senju elders. Hashirama and Tobirama followed in their ceremonial finery. Even Tobirama, ever composed, felt the weight of the moment press against his ribs.

And then the presentation began .

One by one, the Uchiha presented offerings to Tobirama. …

Fine jewelry of purest gold and silver. Rubies deep as flame, jades cool as river stone. Exotic fruits that even the well-traveled among the Senju had never seen before. Armour so finely crafted it was both art and weapon. Rolls of silk so soft they slipped like water through the fingers. And finally, the most symbolic gift of all—a ceremonial garment bearing the Uchiha crest, to be worn after the bonding and marking, signifying his place as one of them.

When the last gift was laid before him, The announcement was made formally: Senju Tobirama , to be Uchiha Matriarch.

The Senju elders, even those who had known the arrangement, could not hide their surprise. The lavishness was beyond what they had expected .

When the Uchihas finished, the entire entourage bowed deeply before Tobirama.
.

Tobirama bowed low, accepting the title and the gifts.

The generosity did not stop with him. Gifts were presented to the immediate Senju family as well—unexpected, and in truth, humbling.

Even Butsuma, a man not easily moved was beyond impressed,He felt a sharp spark of something—perhaps admiration,and also the the first stirrings of competition. If the Senju were to match this, they would need to surpass not just the Uchiha’s wealth, but the statement they had made today.

With a measured smile, Butsuma personally escorted the Uchiha elders to their quarters, already considering how the Senju would answer this display.

The celebration stretched long into the night .

And or the first time , the Senju hall was filled with the sound of Uchiha voices mingling with their own .

Long tables were lined with steaming dishes — rich stews, roasted game, delicate sweets — the air warm with the scent of spice and smoke.
Music floated between the laughter and talk, a hum of unity that had been unthinkable only moons ago, while servants moved silently to refill cups and platters.

Taijima sat beside Butsuma, their voices low as they discussed wedding preparations and the chakra bonding that would follow. In a brief pause, Taijima’s gaze slid toward Tobirama. Seated quietly beside his father, the younger Senju held himself with a composed stillness, a kind of quiet acceptance Taijima knew well. It was the same look Izuna had worn when he fully accepted — a silent acknowledgment of the path ahead.

Earlier, the Senju had given the Uchiha a tour of their lands — the compounds, training yards, and gardens. Taijima had walked those paths with an unspoken awareness: they were the first Uchiha in history to set foot here , That too not as rivals or invaders, but as guests bound by a future alliance. The Senju homes and Uchiha dwellings shared a strange symmetry — sturdy walls, open courtyards, flowering trees — as if the clans had always been reflections of one another, separated only by years of conflict.

As the dinner drew toward its end, Taijima turned to Hashirama.
“Walk with me,” he said simply.

Butsuma gave a small nod, and Hashirama rose, following Taijima into the cool night air. The gardens were quiet save for the distant hum of music and conversation from the hall.

“I will speak plainly,” Taijima began, his tone even but heavy with intent. “ My Izuna,” may be short-tempered, but he is the most loyal....Always love him. ...Always care for him. You will never find a more steadfast heart.”
Hashirama met his gaze and answered without hesitation. “I promise.”

Taijima’s eyes narrowed slightly, in the weight of what needed to be said next.

"Because of his Beauty... nature ...and… the way the world sees him, Izuna has drawn offers before. Nobles, daimyos, heirs to power — many have tried to claim him. It would not surprise me if some still do. You must be aware of this, and be careful. It is not only him who could be targeted… but the Senju name as well.”

Hashirama’s hands tightened slightly at his sides, but he inclined his head again. “Understood.”

They spoke a little longer, trading words about Izuna and Madara, each sentence a bridge slowly closing the gap between them. By the time they returned to the hall, Hashirama felt a relief he hadn’t known since their Naka river meeting. Whatever the future held he now knows that his brother would be in safe hands.

The Uchiha departed the next morning, but not before Taijima sought out Tobirama. In the quiet of the younger man’s chamber, he asked what he would need in his new quarters within the Uchiha compound. Tobirama answered evenly — speaking of the tools, scrolls, and arrangements that would suit him. Taijima listened, committing every word to memory.

Already, the Uchiha tailor had taken the measurements of both Senju brothers, preparing the formal garments for the wedding.

Even though the Uchiha delegation departed, the air within the Senju compound did not slow. The Senju compound did not quiet. If anything, the preparations for the double wedding deepened — fabrics arriving from the tailors, trays of lacquerware being polished to a mirror’s sheen, couriers moving between storerooms and kitchens.

That evening, a dust-weary messenger returned from Uzushio. Butsuma received the scroll personally, unsealing it with care. The Uzumaki wrote that they understood the decision, offered their congratulations to both couples, and confirmed they would attend. They looked forward to strengthened cooperation between their clans.

But the messenger, Hanimi, had more to say. His voice was low, unsettled.
“On the return… something struck me from behind. I couldn’t see it — it was like being caught by the air itself. My body locked. I couldn’t move. If an Uchiha patrol hadn’t been nearby, I…” He stopped, swallowing.

Butsuma’s jaw tightened. Relief that Hanimi stood alive was tempered with the cold thought of what could have been. He was not going to lose another Senju. Not to this — whatever it was.

The talk in the compound that night was split between speculation on the attack and the gifts Tobirama had received from the Uchiha. Everywhere he went, Tobirama caught the edge of whispered gossip. Some envied him. Some called him lucky. None spoke to his face.

Tomorrow, Senju would travel to the Uchiha compound to present their own gifts to Izuna — gifts that must surpass what the Uchiha had given.

At first light, the Senju departed in full strength, wagons laden with treasures. By the time they reached Uchiha lands, Taijima was waiting at the gates with Izuna, Madara, Hikaku, and the Uchiha elders and guards.

The presentation began.
Fine jewelry, Emeralds and Jades, silks dyed in rare hues, masterwork armors engraved with the Senju crest, fruits from distant shores, and a ceremonial garment of exquisite weave for Izuna to wear after the bonding and marking. When the last gift was laid before him, the Senju bowed in unison. Izuna bowed in return, his composure as flawless as the line of his shoulders.

They also bought gifts to immidete family including some game related puzzles and animal dolls for little Kagami , who was the happiest .

The Senju had come to impress, and they had. Just as the Senju had been awed by the Uchiha’s offerings, now the Uchiha found themselves struck by the Senju’s display. Taijima himself led them to their quarters.

Word spread quickly among the Senju contingent that Uchiha Izuna was beautiful, that he is most probably the most beautiful Omega they have ever seen . That even the elders, hardened by decades of politics and war, found themselves remarking on it again and again.

At some point, Taijima sent Madara to speak privately with Butsuma, granting them space. Madara seemed uncertain how to begin, but Butsuma took the lead, speaking of his omega son — of Tobirama’s keen mind, his discipline, his unmatched skill. He told Madara to always love and cherish him.

“I will,” Madara answered without hesitation.

He asked if Butsuma needed anything.

Butsuma shook his head. “Not now. We will see each other at dinner.”

The Senju were given a full tour of the Uchiha compound. The similarities between their homes were uncanny — the layout of gardens, the architecture of halls. It was as if the two clans had unknowingly been building reflections of each other.

That night, the celebration lasted until midnight. Wine and foreign liquors flowed freely; music and laughter filled the air. Butsuma and Taijima discussed final matters of preparation. A week remained until the wedding, and one thing Butsuma quietly admitted is that the Uchiha brewed finer drink than the Senju.

In the morning, before departure, Butsuma inspected the expanded and renovated quarters that would soon house Tobirama and Madara. He asked Izuna what he wished for his own rooms in the Senju compound. Izuna spoke with calm precision — his preferences for light, space, and certain furnishings. Butsuma nodded, storing each request. Watching him, Butsuma thought, He will be the finest Senju matriarch our clan has ever known.

By afternoon, the Senju set out for home. Tailors had taken final measurements for Izuna and Madara’s attire. Among the parting gifts was a bottle of the Uchiha’s rare foreign liquor.

On the road back, Butsuma found himself reflecting. The Senju traded with nearly every clan and village in the Fire Country, as well as Uzushio and also to few foreign villages . But the Uchiha , they reached beyond the borders, to the Lightning, Wind, and Water countries, their dealings with Fire Country clans far fewer., Eventhough Both Senju and Uchiha are the Noble clans of the Fire country .

Behind him, the elders were still talking — not of alliances, not of strategies — but of Izuna, and the impossible beauty that had left half the Senju unable to look away.