His eyes opened.The sky was blue, the sun at its peak. He didn't move right away.As if he were already old—or already wise.Madara had been reborn.
Around him, wheat fields.A path in the distance.A village on the horizon.Silence.Almost a dream.Or an illusion.
That was his first thought.He closed his eyes briefly, searching for signs of a genjutsu. A seal. A trap.Or worse: the invisible chains of the Infinite Tsukuyomi.
But no. Nothing.Everything was real.And so was he.
The sun struck his red armor. His body responded. His mind was clear.He was alive.Death hadn't claimed him.
A new world."This isn't my world.""But the pain is the same."
For a moment, he thought of Hashirama.Of the village.Of that distant time when hope still had a shape.
But this was not Konoha.There were no Senju here. No Uchiha.Nothing to defend. Nothing to build."Man remains the same."
His second instinct was simple:Test his strength.
He activated his Sharingan.The world slowed.Air currents became readable. Birds, frozen mid-flight.He saw the houses on the horizon, the sun's heat shimmering over the wheat.
Yes.His eyes still worked.His vision pierced matter.
He placed a hand on the ground.A root burst forth.Mokuton was here too.
"Even here... it still follows me."
A fleeting thought of Hashirama. A barely visible smile.
He closed his eyes.Let his chakra flow, slowly, as if to scan the nature of his being.It was smooth. Stable. Whole.Neither disturbed nor suppressed.He was no puppet. No illusion.
"I am whole.Neither living nor dead.I am what the world refuses."
A simple truth.Calm.Unchanging.
He drew his blade slowly, silently.It barely whispered—like the air itself held its breath.
He stepped back, planted his feet in the soft earth.Each motion followed the last like a trained heartbeat: arm extended, wrist fluid, hips pivoting.The blade sliced the invisible.
Perfect cuts.Useless.Existing only for their own sake.
He wasn't fighting.He was remembering.
It was a dance without music.An art for the dead.
And in each movement, in every restrained breath,Madara struck no enemy—He found himself.
When the blade returned to its sheath, the world seemed to exhale again.
In front of him, chimneys smoked.A village.
Perhaps a starting point.Perhaps nothing.
He had no dreams.No purpose.But if he had been given life again, then he would walk.Observe.Understand.
Black hair in the wind, he began to move.Madara Uchiha had returned.
He had no clan.No name.But like a sage at the summit of an unknown world,he would force that world to meet his gaze—and discover, once more,that even here...man had not changed.
Yo, it's the author here!Here's the first chapter of this fanfiction. Arc 1 will properly begin this Monday, so get ready!If you're enjoying the vibe so far, feel free to drop a comment or a like — it costs nothing and means a lot.See you Monday, same time!