start of the third shinobi war
Inuzuka Clan Head's Estate
The dim candlelight flickered against the walls of the Inuzuka's 16th Clan Head's Private Study. Archives, casting long shadows over the stacks of aged scrolls and bound records. Raiga Inuzuka sat alone at the central table, surrounded by the weight of his clan's history—documents left by generations of clan heads before him. Their words, their choices, their struggles, all recorded in ink that refused to fade.
His sharp eyes scanned the parchment before him, his fingers tapping lightly against the wooden table as he read. The old laws were clear—when Konoha was first founded, the clans had autonomy, true autonomy. They were meant to govern themselves, free to act as sovereign entities within the village. But after the war and the village being under martial law, reality had shifted.
Raiga sighed, leaning back in his chair. The strong decide the rules.
That was the truth of the wild, and it was the truth of Konoha. The Hokage was meant to be the leader of the village, not the master of the clans. But over time, through small, calculated steps, the position had become just that. The Inuzuka, once free to carve their own path, had become leashed.
It hadn't happened all at once. First, their status had been elevated—declared an elite clan. At first, it felt like a reward, recognition of their contributions. But now, Raiga could see the reality beneath it. Their position was a gift, and gifts could be taken away.
If the Inuzuka ever refused an order, they would be punished—not overtly, not in a way that could be named, but the signs would be there. Their missions would shift to more dangerous assignments, the kind with little glory and high casualties. A few whispered words in the right ears, and the clan would earn a reputation as reckless, unstable, unfit for power. Funding would dry up, connections would fray, and before long, they would be relegated back to the status of a minor clan, no different from the civilians.
That was why their so-called loyalty to the Hokage had become absolute. What started as admiration for Sarutobi had become a collar around their necks. They had to remain obedient—because if they ever lost their position, they would be the first to fall.
Raiga clenched his jaw, his nails pressing into the scroll he held. Would things have been different if the Hyuga had taken power instead?
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine it. The Hyuga had always valued the Inuzuka, had always seen them as trusted allies. Perhaps they would have rewarded that loyalty, rather than used it to control them.
But then he shook his head. No. Kenta was right.
Raiga could hear his predecessor's voice through his notes, the quiet conviction in his words.
"The Hyuga would have ruled Konoha like royalty. They don't see people as family—they see them as servants."
The Hyuga's way was one of absolute hierarchy, of strict obedience. If they were willing to brand their own kin, their own blood, just to keep them in line, what would they have done to the other clans? To the Inuzuka? To the Nara, the Yamanaka, the Akimichi?
The Hyuga would have ruled through fear.
At least Hiruzen Sarutobi had the decency to wear the mask of unity. He pretended Konoha was a family. That was why the village accepted him, why they followed him so easily. The Hyuga would have made their control explicit, and that would have destroyed Konoha before it even had the chance to grow.
Raiga exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
None of this changed the reality before him. The Inuzuka were still bound. The leash may have been invisible, but it was there, tight around their throats. If they wanted to be free, truly free, they had to grow. Their numbers had to rise, their strength had to increase. They're reputation had to be so great they couldn't be suppressed. They had to become powerful enough that the Hokage—whoever it may be—wouldn't dare dictate their fate.
And one day, if they were strong enough…
Raiga's eyes flickered with quiet resolve as he turned back to the records.
A firm knock echoed through the dimly lit study. Raiga Inuzuka didn't look up from the old scroll spread before him, his rough fingers tracing over the faded ink. He already knew who was at the door.
"Come in," he said flatly.
The door creaked open, revealing his 16 year old daughter. Tsume Inuzuka. She had grown into a striking woman—fierce, wild, and unmistakably strong. Her short, spiky brown hair framed her slit-pupil eyes, sharp and untamed like a true predator. She wore a short-sleeved shirt that left her toned midriff exposed, chainmail glinting faintly from underneath. A pair of short pants completed her outfit, giving her the freedom of movement she demanded in battle.
Tsume stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "You called for me, Father?" she asked, her voice steady, but her posture slightly tense.
Raiga finally looked up, his gaze unreadable. "Sit."
She did so, frowning slightly. "Why did you summon me?"
Raiga didn't waste time. His voice was calm, but firm. "I need you to mentally prepare yourself."
A chill ran down Tsume's spine. "…For what?"
Raiga leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Tell me. How do you feel when you walk through the village?"
Tsume hesitated. Her father wasn't one for small talk, and something about the way he asked the question made her uneasy. She exhaled, thinking back to the past weeks.
"…Tense," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "Each day, I hear new rumors. Battles breaking out near the borders. Taki declaring war on Hanzo. The Land of Tea being attacked by the Land of Sea. Claw fighting the Land of Bears for the Peacock Method. The land of Hotwater being attacked by Frost. Even the Land of Iron is having to defend its allies." She glanced at her father. "The whole world feels like it's ready to tear itself apart."
Raiga nodded, his face unreadable. "Do you think it will escalate?"
Tsume swallowed before nodding. "Yes."
Raiga sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Then I won't waste time with pleasantries." He locked eyes with his daughter, and with no hesitation, tore the bandage off.
"Konoha will probably be dragged into the war again."
Tsume stiffened, her body visibly tensing. She had been young during the last war, a genin thrown into a battlefield she had no right being on. And in that war, she had lost her twin brother.
Raiga saw the fear flicker in her eyes. He let the silence settle before speaking again, his voice softer this time.
"It's okay to be afraid."
Tsume's hands clenched into fists on her lap.
"But you need to be strong," Raiga continued. "There's a chance you could become the next clan head."
Her head snapped up, shock and fear flashing across her face. "W-What?"
Raiga didn't flinch. He had expected this reaction. "In every major battle, the Inuzuka have always fought. Our clan heads fight alongside our people. It's tradition. It's expected. And throughout the First and Second Shinobi Wars, many of them have died."
Tsume's lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Raiga's expression darkened. "The Uchiha. The Hyuga. Even in recent years, the Sarutobi. Do you know what they all have in common?"
Tsume slowly shook her head.
"They keep their clan heads off the battlefield," Raiga said bitterly. "To the outside world, it looks like a sign of strength. A sign of power. But to me? It's a sign of cowardice."
Tsume swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond.
Raiga exhaled through his nose and straightened his back. "That's why today, I've decided to prepare you." His sharp eyes locked onto hers. "I'm going to teach you the true history of our clan."
Tsume remained silent, but deep inside, she felt the weight of what was to come.
Three Days Later – Hokage Council Chamber
The air in the Hokage's council chamber was thick enough to cut with a kunai. Hiruzen Sarutobi sat at the head of the table, his expression grave, the ever-present pipe in his hand unlit for once. Around him sat his advisors – Homura Mitokado, Koharu Utatane, and Danzo Shimura – alongside the heads of Konoha's major clans. Maps detailing the Land of Fire and its surrounding nations were spread across the table, dotted with ominous red markers.
"The reports are consistent and deeply troubling," Hiruzen began, his voice resonating with the seriousness of the situation. "Skirmishes are erupting along multiple borders, not just our own. Iwagakure is pressing harder against Kusagakure, likely emboldened by their past 'successes' and testing the waters. Kirigakure continues its aggressive expansionist policies, with increased naval activity reported near the Land of Hot Water, potentially threatening our trade routes."
Koharu chimed in, her tone sharp. "And Hanzo's forces in Amegakure are now fully engaged with Takigakure. While this keeps Ame occupied, the conflict could easily spill over if either side seeks external allies. We cannot afford to be drawn into that quagmire again."
Homura adjusted his glasses. "The Land of Tea is under siege by forces from the Land of Sea, a blatant resource grab. The minor nations are in chaos. The Land of Bears and the Land of Claw are locked in a brutal conflict over the Hoshigakure's Peacock Method training grounds. Frost ninjas are making incursions into the Land of Hot Water. Even the Land of Iron, usually staunchly neutral, has been forced to mobilize to protect its allied territories from opportunistic bandits and rogue ninja groups."
Danzo, who had remained silent, finally spoke, his voice a low rasp. "This is not mere coincidence. The balance of power is shifting. The end of the Second War left too many unresolved grievances, too many weakened nations ripe for exploitation. This is the prelude to a larger conflict, Hiruzen. A Third Great Shinobi War is inevitable."
A grim silence fell upon the council. Every clan head present understood the implications. Resources would be stretched, shinobi would be deployed, and lives would be lost. The peace they had so painstakingly maintained was crumbling.
"We must reinforce our own borders immediately," Fugaku Uchiha stated, his voice firm. "The Uchiha Police Force can increase patrols within the village, but our shinobi are needed on the front lines."
Raiga Inuzuka, his face set like stone, added, "The Inuzuka are prepared. Our trackers can monitor enemy movements, and our warriors will fight where they are needed."
Hiruzen nodded slowly. "Your clans will be called upon, as will all of Konoha's strength. For now, we increase our vigilance. Gather intelligence. Prepare for mobilization. But we will not strike first. Konoha will not be the spark that ignites this inferno." His gaze swept the room. "But make no mistake, if war comes to our doorstep, we will meet it with the full fury of the Hidden Leaf."
The meeting continued, strategies debated, resources allocated, the weight of an impending global conflict settling upon their shoulders.
Meanwhile, in Konoha – Toru's Errand
The cacophony of the council chamber was a world away from the quiet, rhythmic clang of hammer on steel that Toru (Thorfin) sought. Five years. Five years he had endured the brutal crucible of Root, ever since he was a boy of six. Now, at eleven, he was a seasoned operative, a ghost in Konoha's shadows, his childhood stolen, his emotions blunted to a dull edge of pragmatic survival. Most Root members lost all semblance of time, their lives a blur of training, conditioning, and missions. But Toru, with the anchored memories of a past life, always knew. He counted the days, the seasons, the years.
Danzo, in his own inscrutable way, occasionally provided Root operatives with stipends. It wasn't much, barely enough for cheap alcohol for those who sought oblivion, or a few worn books for the rare few who still craved knowledge, or, more practically, replacement weapons and gear. It was another form of control, a small taste of normalcy that only highlighted its absence. Only full-fledged, proven members were ever granted permission to leave the subterranean confines of Root and walk the village streets as "civilians," a privilege Toru had recently, and silently, earned after the Kazekage mission.
He had little interest in drink or fleeting distractions. His purpose today was singular. He entered a well-known weaponsmith's shop in a quieter district of Konoha, the scent of coal smoke and cooling metal filling his nostrils.
The smith, a burly man with soot-stained hands, looked up. "Can I help you, young man?"
Toru placed two items on the counter. The first was the Viking dagger Taro had gifted him with his life, its intricate carvings a stark contrast to Konoha's utilitarian designs. The second was a crudely wrapped bundle. Unveiling it, he revealed the shattered remnants of another, older dagger – the one he used to kill the third kazekage with.
"I want these reforged," Toru stated, his voice flat, devoid of the emotion the items held for him. "Into twin daggers. Similar style to this one," he gestured to Taro's gift. "But stronger. I have payment, and I want this metal incorporated." He pushed forward a small pouch of ryo and a chunk of what looked like dull, grey ore. "Chakra-conductive metal. Infuse it into the new blades."
The smith examined the daggers, then the ore. "This old one… it's ancient. And this one is finely crafted. To melt them down… it's unusual. And chakra metal infusion is costly."
"I have enough," Toru replied, his gaze unwavering. He needed weapons that felt right, an extension of his true self, the warrior he had been. These Konoha kunai and standard-issue tanto felt alien, clumsy. He needed the balance, the feel of the twin daggers he had once wielded with deadly proficiency.
After settling the commission and payment, Toru stepped back out into the Konoha streets. It was his first time truly walking through the village without the guise of a mission, without the immediate threat of death or the suffocating presence of other Root operatives.
He observed the bustling marketplace, the children laughing and chasing each other, the couples strolling hand-in-hand, the aroma of street food from vendors. Shinobi in their flak jackets moved with purpose, some heading to training grounds, others returning from patrols, their faces etched with varying degrees of weariness or camaraderie. The Uchiha Police Force maintained a visible, stern presence.
It was… a village. Alive. Breathing.
Toru felt nothing.
No nostalgia for a childhood he barely had in this life. No longing for connection. No anger at the normalcy denied to him. Just a profound, chilling indifference. These people, their lives, their laughter, their concerns – they were abstract concepts, as distant and irrelevant as the stars. His world was Root, its cold stone, its brutal truths, its singular purpose dictated by Danzo. This sunlit world of Konoha was merely the stage upon which Root's shadow plays were performed.
He was a Viking soul trapped in the body of a child soldier, his past life's savage independence clashing with his current life's absolute subjugation. Yet, even that internal conflict was muted, buried under layers of conditioning and the pragmatic need to survive.
He walked on, a ghost among the living, his new daggers already a phantom weight in his hands, an echo of a past he could never reclaim, and a tool for a future he could not yet envision beyond the next order, the next kill. Konoha was a place he operated in, not a place he belonged. And that, Toru (Thorfin) thought with a finality that settled deep in his bones, suited him just fine. He had no clan to return to; they had abandoned him to Danzo. He had no family. He had only the mission, and the echoes of steel.