The Land of Fire stretched wide and verdant, but in the heart of it all, Konoha was a shadow of its former self. Over a year and some months had passed since Kushina Uzumaki's devastating attack, and the village had clawed its way back from the brink with the support of the Fire Daimyo. Funds flowed like rivers from the capital- chests of ryo, caravans of timber and stone, and legions of skilled craftsmen who worked day and night under the watchful eyes of Konoha's remaining shinobi.
The once-ruined streets now bore the skeletons of new buildings, their wooden frames rising defiantly against the sky. The Hokage Tower, rebuilt taller and sturdier, stood as a symbol of resilience.
Yet, for all the progress, the scars remained: craters filled with fresh earth, memorials etched with names of the lost, and a palpable tension that hung in the air like smoke from a dying fire.
Inside the Hokage Tower, Jiraiya sat slumped over a desk, buried in scrolls and reports. The Fourth Hokage, once known for his carefree grin and wandering spirit, now looked like a man haunted by ghosts. Deep bags shadowed his eyes, his wild white hair was unkempt, and his broad shoulders sagged under the weight of leadership.
He rubbed his temples, fingers pressing hard as if to squeeze out the stress that gnawed at him relentlessly. "Damn it all," he muttered to himself, his voice a gravelly whisper in the empty room.
The Uchiha clan had become a thorn in his side. Ever since Fugaku Uchiha had his Mangekyō Sharingan stolen by Kushina, the clan had spiraled into a frenzy of rage and demands for vengeance. They paraded through the tower daily, their red eyes burning with fury, calling for blood- Kushina's blood, the Uzumaki's blood, anyone's blood that might quench their thirst for retribution.
Jiraiya leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as memories of heated council meetings flooded his mind. "What do you expect me to do?" he'd snapped at one particularly vocal Uchiha elder just yesterday. "March our ragged forces to Akagakure and die on their doorstep? We're barely holding Konoha together as it is!"
The elder had sneered, his three-tomoe Sharingan spinning. "The Fourth Hokage cowers while our clan bleeds honor. Fugaku's eyes were our pride- stolen like trinkets! If you won't act, we'll hunt her ourselves."
Jiraiya had slammed his fist on the table then, chakra flaring in a brief, uncontrolled burst. "You'll do no such thing! That's suicide, and you know it. Kushina wiped out half our village single-handedly. You think a handful of Uchiha can take her and the Nine-Tails? You're not avenging Fugaku- you're dooming what's left of your clan!"
But words fell on deaf ears. The Uchiha were obsessed, their pride a double-edged blade that cut deeper with every passing day.
Jiraiya understood their pain- hell, he felt it too. The village had lost so much: civilians, genin, even legends like Sakumo Hatake weren't unscathed. But charging headlong into destruction? That was simply madness.
What were they even trying to achieve? Extinction? He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. Tobirama-sensei had warned about the Uchiha's "curse of hatred," and now Jiraiya saw it firsthand, a fire that consumed everything in its path.
He yearned, desperately, for the days when he was free. When he was just Jiraiya, the Toad Sage who was a little too perverted, wrote terrible novels, and trained promising brats like Minato. When his biggest problem was Tsunade throwing a punch at him for peeking. Life had been simpler then.
Now, everything felt so... troublesome. Shikaku Nara's favorite word echoed in his mind, and Jiraiya couldn't help but chuckle weakly. If only he could pass this burden to someone else.
Suddenly, a familiar spatial pull tugged at his core- the reverse-summoning jutsu from Mount Myoboku. It was urgent, a sensation he hadn't felt in around a year.
Jiraiya straightened, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. He signaled with a quick hand seal, and an ANBU agent flickered into the room, masked and silent.
"Tell Lord Fugaku I'll be gone for a little while," Jiraiya instructed, his voice steady despite the exhaustion.
"Yes, Lord Hokage," the ANBU replied, vanishing in a flicker.
Jiraiya accepted the pull, his body dematerializing as the world shifted around him.
----
He materialized in a lush, ethereal landscape that always took his breath away. Towering trees with leaves of vibrant green stretched toward a sky painted in soft pastels, their branches heavy with the weight of ancient wisdom.
Rivers shimmered like a dream, winding through moss-covered rocks and cascading over waterfalls that sparkled with an otherworldly glow. The air hummed with natural energy, thick and invigorating, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers and damp earth.
Everything here felt more vivid, more alive, than the natural world of men. Even the soil under his feet hummed faintly, resonating with the energy of nature.
This was Mount Myoboku, one of the Three Great Sage Regions. A mysterious, unexplored realm known for its sage toads who wielded chakra in ways humans could only aspire to. Hidden from the shinobi world, it was a sanctuary only the toads- and he himself- knew about.
"Is that you, Little Jiraiya?" a familiar voice croaked from ahead.
Jiraiya smiled despite himself, stepping forward through the undergrowth. "Ma, Pa- it's been too long."
Shima, a peculiar-looking elder toad with purple 'hair,' if you can call it that, and a kindly demeanor, hopped closer. Beside her stood Fukasaku, his gray hair and goatee giving him a scholarly air, his aged voice carrying the weight of wisdom.
"Indeed... at least a year," Fukasaku replied, his tone laced with gentle reproach. "We've missed you, boy."
Jiraiya rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Sorry. The village keeps me chained down. So much work."
Shima's expression softened into sadness. "It was so regretful, what happened to Konoha. We're sorry, Jiraiya. The loss of life... it's heartbreaking."
Jiraiya's smile faded, the weight of his duties crashing back over him like a wave. "Yeah... it was. But the Will of Fire never dies. Konoha will rise from the ashes, stronger than before." He forced optimism into his words, though his eyes betrayed the exhaustion. "We've rebuilt a lot already. The Daimyo's support has been a lifeline."
Shima nodded. "That's the spirit. But remember, even the strongest flames need fuel. Don't burn yourself out, child."
Fukasaku glanced toward the shrine-like building behind them, its architecture blending seamlessly with the natural surroundings- vines creeping up stone walls, toad statues guarding the entrance. "The Great Toad Sage wanted to speak with you. He said it was urgent."
Jiraiya's brow furrowed. The Great Sage rarely summoned him directly, usually only for prophecies or dire warnings.
"Best hurry. You know how he drifts in and out of sleep these days." Shima chimed in.
He nodded. "Lead the way, Pa."
As he started walking the familiar stone path, he let his thoughts drift. He remembered being a foolish young shinobi, chosen as one of Hiruzen Sarutobi's students. Back then, he had struggled to find his place. Orochimaru was brilliant, a prodigy who mastered techniques with a glance. Tsunade, too, carried both power and lineage, a Senju blessed with talent. Compared to them, Jiraiya was… average.
He had no Kekkei Genkai, and no secret clan techniques. His ninjutsu was a little above average, his genjutsu laughable, and his taijutsu modest. All he had was stubbornness and bravado, but those alone couldn't silence the gnawing doubt inside him. Why had Sensei chosen him? What value did he bring?
The memory was still clear: the day he stumbled upon a summoning scroll in his youth. Foolish curiosity had led him to sign his name, and before he knew it, he was whisked away- standing exactly where he was now, on this sacred mountain.
The toads had changed his life. They gave him power, guidance, and a purpose. Here, he had learned Senjutsu and many other techniques unique to them. It was this that allowed him to stand among legends as one of the Sannin. Without the sages, he would've been just another shinobi, lost in Orochimaru and Tsunade's shadow.
In many ways, he owed his identity to this place.
They arrived at the shrine, its interior dimly lit by glowing orbs of natural energy. The Great Toad Sage rested on a massive throne, his light red skin sagging with age, eyelids drooping as if perpetually on the verge of sleep. Around his neck hung an orb inscribed with the kanji for "Oil."
"Great Lord Elder," Jiraiya bowed deeply, his voice filled with respect.
The Sage stirred, his voice a slow, rumbling croak. "Ah... Jiraiya, is that you?"
"Yes, Great Sage."
The elder toad looked confused for a moment. "What brings you here?"
Jiraiya suppressed a smile- the Sage's senility was legendary. "Shima and Fukasaku said you wanted to speak with me."
The Sage blinked, confused for a moment. Then recognition dawned. "Ah, yes, yes… I remember now. A prophecy came to me."
Jiraiya tensed.
The old toad's voice was low, distant, yet heavy with meaning. "I saw… a child. A child who would shape the world. They would either become its salvation… or its ruin."
Jiraiya let out a breath. "You've told me that one before, Great Sage. The Child of Prophecy."
"Ah, yes, yes, you're right... Now, what was it... Yes! I received a new prophecy." The Sage's eyes cleared slightly, his tone gaining gravity. "The future has changed. The child is not the same as before. This one bore red hair… and fox ears. I fear something has interfered with fate itself."
Jiraiya froze, his heart pounding. The Child of Prophecy- the one he'd dedicated his life to finding, the savior who would bring peace or destruction- changed? "What... what do you mean, Great Sage? How can that be?"
The Sage shook his head slowly. "I can't see it clearly. Only a sea of red- so much red. And the end... I foresaw the end of Mount Myoboku, and the Shinobi World as we know it. Whatever you do, you must stop this."
Jiraiya's blood ran cold. "The end of Mount Myoboku? Who- who could do such a thing?"
The Sage's voice faded, his eyelids drooping again. "I cannot say... only red... so much red..."
Jiraiya went pale, his mind racing to the only clan defined by red: the Uzumaki and their hair. Their leader, Kushina, the Nine-Tails' Jinchūriki. But how was she related to the Child of Prophecy... what did that mean for the world? Vengeance, or Destruction? And he couldn't think of a reason why she would target the toads. But, he thought of Konoha's ruins, the lives lost, and his vow to protect his village.
Clenching his fists, Jiraiya bowed once more. "I understand, Great Sage. I'll do whatever it takes."
As he left the shrine, the weight of the prophecy settled on him- another burden among the many he carried already. The toads had made him who he was; he owed them everything. Kushina had to be stopped- no matter the cost. This, he vowed, as the vibrant forests of Mount Myoboku blurred around him on his return to Konoha.