The chamber of the Konoha Council was suffocating with tension. Paper lanterns flickered against the walls, their light stretching shadows across the wooden floor. The air smelled of candle wax and smoke, yet the weight pressing down on the room was not from the flames.
It was from silence.
Every elder and clan head sat stiffly, the Hokage himself at the head, robes hanging like an unspoken burden.
"We cannot ignore what happened on the border," one of the elders snapped, his voice sharp with frustration. "An entire squad gone, our enemies emboldened, and the boy—the storm-bearer—snatched away. This is no mere accident. This is negligence."
Murmurs rose like wind rattling paper.
Another elder leaned forward. "We have no proof he even survived the encounter. Perhaps it is best to let this… Ryuzen matter fall away quietly. Konoha cannot afford to draw attention to a liability."
A chill crossed Minato Namikaze's skin. He kept his head bowed slightly, but inside his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. A liability? Ryuzen had stood against forces that would have broken even veteran shinobi, and yet the council spoke as though the boy were disposable.
Sakumo Hatake's hand flexed on the table beside him, white knuckles betraying his calm facade.
The Hokage's voice finally broke through the arguments. "Enough." Sarutobi's eyes, weary and lined with the weight of decades, swept across the chamber. "Speculation does not serve us. What matters is truth. And truth is this—Ryuzen was taken by a unit calling itself the Obsidian Division. They are not accounted for in our records, yet they fight with precision and loyalty. Whether they are ally or rival remains to be seen."
"Remains to be seen?" another councilor barked. "They abducted a weapon of Konoha. That is treason!"
"They protected him," Sakumo countered, his voice low but sharp as his blade. "Without them, he would already be dead. Do not twist survival into treachery."
A storm of voices broke out again. Minato let them wash over him, expression calm, but in his chest, resolve hardened like tempered steel. He would not let Ryuzen fade into politics and whispers. He would not let the boy vanish into shadows.
He would find him.
A Quiet Resolve
Later, beneath the pale glow of Konoha's moon, Minato stood on the village wall. His hand brushed a carved kunai, the edges etched with complex formulae.
He had laid Flying Raijin seals across battlefields and borders for years, each one an anchor to the world's veins. But tonight, he searched for something different—not a location, but a signature.
Ryuzen's storm left echoes. Faint, scattered, but distinct. Like lightning scars burned into the fabric of chakra itself.
Minato closed his eyes and reached.
Images flickered—ruins smoldering, faint arcs of blue lightning across scorched stone, the shadows of masked figures moving like smoke. The trail was faint, but it was there.
Behind him, footsteps approached. Sakumo's voice followed. "You've already decided."
Minato opened his eyes, meeting the White Fang's steady gaze. "If I don't move, no one will. The council debates, but every moment we waste, the trail grows colder."
Sakumo's jaw tightened. "You're walking into unknown territory, Minato. This Obsidian Division… they don't fight like mercenaries. They're trained. Disciplined. Someone powerful is backing them."
"All the more reason to uncover the truth." Minato's voice was soft but unyielding. "Ryuzen isn't just a tool for war. He's one of us. If we abandon him now, what does that say about Konoha's loyalty?"
For a long moment, Sakumo said nothing. Then, at last, he exhaled. "I will go with you."
Duy's Heart
The next dawn, as Minato and Sakumo prepared near the northern gates, a figure ran up—breathless, sweat glistening on his brow. Might Duy, dressed in worn green, his eyes shining with a fire that words could not extinguish.
"You'll need me too."
Sakumo frowned. "Duy, this is not—"
But Duy cut him off, fists clenched so tightly they trembled. "Ryuzen believed in me. He looked at me like I wasn't just the fool everyone else sees. If you think I'll sit here while he's out there, taken by shadows, then you know nothing about Might Duy."
His voice cracked, but his eyes burned. "He's not just a comrade. He's proof that strength isn't measured by mockery. I won't abandon him."
Minato studied him quietly. In Duy's raw desperation, he saw honesty that could not be manufactured. The man was unrefined, unpolished, but his loyalty was iron.
Minato nodded once. "Then you're with us."
The Journey
They moved under cover of forests and rivers, slipping between patrol routes like shadows themselves. Minato's kunai flashed as he laid seal after seal, mapping a hidden web of escape and advance. Each mark hummed faintly with chakra, unseen threads only he could pluck.
Sakumo walked silently, hand never leaving the hilt of his blade. Duy pressed forward with endless energy, though his breathing grew heavier with every mile.
At dusk, they crossed into the borderlands—terrain scarred by battles past. Broken kunai lay rusting in the dirt. Charred trees clawed at the sky like blackened bones.
It was there that ambush struck.
Dozens of enemy shinobi erupted from the trees, steel glinting, jutsu already forming.
Sakumo's blade sang, cutting down the first wave before their feet even touched the earth. Duy roared, fists breaking stone shields, his strikes echoing like thunder.
And Minato—Minato vanished.
One kunai flew, then another, then another. Each glowed faintly with the seal. In less than a heartbeat, Minato was everywhere at once—appearing in a flash of light, cutting throats, striking tendons, leaving enemies crumpled before they even realized he had moved.
Whispers broke out among the attackers. "It's him—the Yellow Flash—!"
Fear cracked their formation, and within moments, the ambush dissolved into retreat.
Minato landed lightly beside his comrades, breath steady. "They weren't Obsidian," he murmured. "Too sloppy. Scouts, meant to slow us down."
Sakumo cleaned his blade with a cloth. "But someone knows we're moving."
The Trail of Shadows
Deeper they went, following faint traces of storm energy, lingering like scars on the air. The land grew quieter, as though even the wind feared to stir.
Minato crouched, fingers brushing the earth. The soil was scorched in unnatural patterns, arcs that mirrored lightning strikes.
"Here," he whispered. "He was here."
Duy dropped to one knee, pressing his palm to the ground. His lips trembled. "He fought here. Alone. And he kept fighting."
Sakumo's eyes scanned the trees. "We're not alone."
The words had barely left his mouth before figures stepped from the mist—masked shinobi, their movements precise, their chakra cloaked in strange suppression seals.
They were not the Obsidian Division. But they carried the same silence, the same shadow-born training. A splinter, perhaps. A guard to block pursuit.
Dozens of them formed a circle, steel glinting faintly in the twilight.
Minato's hand tightened around his kunai. Lightning flickered across his gaze, calm and sharp.
He took a step forward. "If you stand between us and Ryuzen… then I will break this circle myself."
The masked shinobi drew their blades in unison, the sound slicing through the forest's silence like the promise of war.
The Yellow Flash smiled faintly—sharp, calm, unafraid.
And then, the night erupted into light.
Author's Note
⚡ Minato's hunt begins. With Sakumo's steel and Duy's burning heart at his side, he steps into shadows few would dare to follow. But the Obsidian Division has left guardians of their own.