NNT --3:45PM -- The Land of Snow – Summit of all Nations
A week had passed by since the pulse nearly tore the world apart with fear. That tremor—Oh god, calling it a tremor was like calling a tsunami a splash. It had been felt through every chakra using organisms on the planet, left everyone feeling like their souls had been put through a rollercoaster.
In Konoha, old Hiruzen hadn't slept more than two hours at a stretch since it happened. His hands shook when he thought no one was looking, and the lines on his face had deepened into canyons.
Jiraiya had stopped his usual perverted research entirely—that's how everyone knew things were really fucked. And Minato? The Yellow Flash himself had taken to pacing the halls like a caged animal, his usually perfect hair disheveled, his eyes haunted by whatever he'd seen out there in Rōran With Kushina trying to calm him to no avail, even the Nine tails in her has been eerily dormant.
They'd pushed for this summit like their lives depended on it. Because they probably did.
Now, high up in the Land of Snow where the air was thin enough to cut lungs and the cold could freeze spit before it hit the ground, the ancient samurai hall stood like a monument to better times. Its wooden doors—thick as coffin lids and twice as ominous—groaned open to admit the most dangerous collection of people the world had ever seen in one place.
The courtyard looked like or rather was a gathering of vultures. Black-clad figures moved between the snow-covered stones, their breath forming clouds that hung in the air like the ghosts of dead conversations. Each step echoed with the weight of nations, the crunch of snow underfoot sounding like breaking bones.
Rasa from Sunagakure stood near the eastern wall, his red pupilless eyes burning like coals in a snowman's face. The cold had turned his usual tan into something gray and corpse-like, but he didn't seem to notice. His golden sand still swirled around him in nervous patterns, leaving dark streaks in the white snow like dried blood.
Yagura from Kirigakure was barely visible through the mist that clung to him like a burial shroud. When the wind shifted, you could catch glimpses of his face—young, too young for the weight he carried, but with eyes that had seen too much killing. The mist around him wasn't just water vapor; it carried the scent of the ocean, of salt and decay and things that had died in deep water.
Lord-A from Kumogakure looked like he wanted to punch the mountain itself. His muscles strained against his robes, electricity crackling between his fingers in frustrated bursts. Every few minutes, small bolts would arc to the metal fixtures, leaving scorch marks that smoked in the frigid air. The man was a walking storm barely contained in human flesh.
Onoki from Iwagakure floated a few inches off the ground, too proud to let his bones touch the earth like everyone else. But even he couldn't hide the tremor in his hands—and not from age. His usual smirk had been replaced by something harder, more desperate. When he looked at the other Kage, it was with the expression of a man calculating how many of them would be dead within the month.
Even Hanzo had crawled out of his rain-soaked hole in the Country of rain. The legendary salamander stood apart from the others, his breathing mask making him look like some kind of military specter. Every time he exhaled, poison-tinted vapor leaked from the edges of his mask, killing the few hardy weeds that had somehow sprouted through the snow.
Their bodyguards formed a second ring of death—jonin so elite they made regular shinobi look like academy students playing with kunai. Each one was a legend in their own right, men and women who'd painted battlefields red and walked away without looking back. Now they stood silent as tombstones, hands never straying far from their weapons, eyes constantly scanning for threats that might not even be human anymore.
Hiruzen surveyed the assembly and felt something cold settle in his stomach that had nothing to do with the weather. In all his years—through wars, assassinations, political coups, and natural disasters—he'd never seen this many killers in one place trying to be on the same side. It was like watching a pack of wolves agree to hunt together instead of eating each other. Unnatural. Desperate.
Inside the hall, the smell hit you first. Pine incense trying to mask the underlying stench of fear-sweat and metal polish. The building itself seemed to lean inward, as if the weight of what was about to be discussed was too much for even ancient timber to bear. Melting snow dripped from the rafters in a steady rhythm that sounded like a death march.
The dais at the center was carved from frosted sakura wood, pale as bone and smooth as a gravestone. Around it sat more concentrated power than had ever been gathered in one room—and all of it focused on a single, terrifying problem that none of them fully understood.
The advisors lining the walls looked like they'd rather be anywhere else. Some kept glancing at the exits, calculating how fast they could run if things went bad. Others stared at their hands, probably wondering if their villages would still exist by the time they got home. A few of the younger ones were openly praying, lips moving in silent mantras to gods that might not be listening anymore.
Hiruzen lifted the jade gavel—it felt heavier than it should, like it was made of lead instead of stone. When it struck the wood, the sound cut through the air like a blade through flesh. Silence fell so complete you could hear hearts beating.
"Friends," he began, and his voice cracked on the word. He cleared his throat, "We've all felt it. That... thing that shook our villages ninjas to their literal core . And we all felt it in our bones—this wasn't natural."
His words hung in the air like smoke. A few of the advisors shifted uncomfortably, their chairs creaking like bones.
"This wasn't some earthquake. Wasn't some celestial alignment or magnetic storm." Hiruzen's knuckles went white as he gripped the edge of the table. "This was power. Raw, alien power that doesn't belong in our power category. And it's still out there."
Minato stood slowly, and everyone could see how much effort it took. The Yellow Flash, the man who'd ended battles with his speed, looked like he'd aged ten years in the past week. His signature smile was gone, replaced by something hollow and haunted.
"At Rōran," Minato said, his voice steady but wrong somehow—like he was reading someone else's words, "I confronted HIM. The Bloody Flame Wilder Raghoul." The name came out , and several people actually flinched, Some have heard of him and some has not "He was... absorbing the Dragon Vein. Drinking it like water."
Minato's hands trembled as he continued. "I've faced the Tailed beasts, courtesy to you all here. I've stood in the path of tailed beast bombs and laughed. But this..." He looked around the room, and his eyes were the eyes of a man who'd seen his own death and somehow lived to remember it. "Every instinct I had screamed at me to run. Not fight—run. Like a child running from a house fire."
The silence that followed was deafening. When the Yellow Flash admitted to fear, what did that say about the rest of them?
Jiraiya leaned forward, his usually jovial demeanor completely absent. His demon mask hung at his hip like a dead thing, and his hands were clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. "I've traveled to places uncharted on any map. I've seen literal demons wearing human skin and desperate evil gods playing dice with mortal lives. But this chakra..." He shook his head slowly. "It's wrong. It doesn't belong in our reality. If he comes back—when he comes back—he won't just kill us. He'll unmake us. Erase us from existence like we never mattered at all."
Rasa spoke next, his voice like grinding stone. "Our sensors felt the pulse beneath the sand. It traveled through the earth faster than lightning, deeper than our deepest wells. We lost two full scouting teams trying to investigate the source." His eyes went distant, remembering. "Found one of them three days later. They were... intact, but their chakra networks had been burned out from the inside. Like someone had poured molten lava through their veins."
The Raikage's laugh was bitter as broken glass. "A shame, Yellow Flash. Here I thought Kumo had seen everything—bandits, missing-nin, the occasional demon possession. But this isn't just some rogue ninja with delusions of grandeur. This is a force of nature wearing human skin." His electricity crackled more violently, leaving scorch marks on the wooden table. "We need more than unity. We need a fucking miracle."
As the discussion continued, practical suggestions mixed with increasingly desperate proposals. Someone suggested evacuating all civilian populations to underground bunkers. Another recommended gathering every tailed beast and using them as weapons. A few of the more unhinged advisors whispered about forbidden jutsu, techniques that had been banned for good reason.
By the time the pale winter sun started its descent behind the jagged mountain peaks, painting the snow red like a battlefield, they'd hammered out an agreement born from pure desperation.
The Yukigakure Accord wasn't just a treaty—it was a pact written in blood and sealed with the knowledge that they were probably all going to die.
The Joint Task Force, Every village would contribute their best shinobi to a unified command structure. No more territorial disputes, no more clan rivalries. When the enemy came, they'd face a united front or they'd face extinction together.
Real-time communication between all villages using a combination of summoning animals, chakra-enhanced radio systems, and emergency signal fires. Every strange chakra signature, every unexplained disappearance, every bad dream that felt too real—everything would be reported and analyzed by teams of the best minds they had left.
Any civilian, any refugee, any survivor—regardless of village affiliation, clan loyalty, or past crimes—would be protected. Because when you're facing the apocalypse, old grudges become luxuries you can't afford.
Hanzo had remained silent through most of the discussion, but as they prepared to formalize the accord, he spoke for the first time. His voice came through his breathing mask like the whisper of death itself.
"You're all assuming we'll have time for evacuation protocols and unified command structures." He stood slowly, poison mist swirling around him like a living thing. "But what if he doesn't wait? What if he comes tomorrow, or tonight, or in the next five minutes? What if all our careful planning is just elaborate suicide notes?"
The question hung in the air like a blade over their necks. Because they all knew he was right. They were planning for a war they might not live to fight.
Onoki brought the gavel down one final time, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "Let no one claim self-interest as an excuse when the world is ending. The age of petty village politics and minor war dies here, today. We stand united, or we fall separately into whatever hell awaits us. The third Ninja war truly begins today"
Outside, the wind had picked up, howling through the mountain passes like the voices of the damned. Snow whipped against the windows hard enough to crack the glass, and somewhere in the distance, an avalanche rumbled like thunder. Even nature seemed to be protesting the decisions made within these walls.
Inside, the leaders nodded their agreement—some with grim determination, others with the hollow acceptance of the condemned, but all united by the terrible knowledge that this might be the last time they'd all be in the same room alive.
---
NNT --7:30AM-- Konoha Ninja Academy
Two hundred miles south of the frozen hell where the Kage were busy signing their death warrant, Konoha's Ninja Academy basked in the morning warmth. Golden sunlight streamed through the windows of empty classrooms, dust motes dancing in the air like tiny spirits. The training fields were covered in morning dew that sparkled like scattered diamonds, and birds sang in the trees as if the world wasn't balanced on the edge of a knife.
But even here, in this pocket of false peace, the tension was thick enough to cut with a kunai. The very air seemed to vibrate with fears, rumors, and the kind of desperate hope that only children could maintain in the face of overwhelming darkness.
Six eight-year-olds had arrived early for their morning training, because sleep had become something that happened to other people.
Kei bounced on his toes, but the movement was nervous energy rather than excitement. His usual boundless enthusiasm had been replaced by something more manic, more desperate. "Did you guys hear? My mom was talking to the other clan mothers last night. Said there was this massive meeting up north—all the Kage, all the clan leaders, everyone who matters gathering in the snow country!"
His breath formed clouds in the crisp air, and he kept glancing over his shoulder as if expecting something terrible to emerge from the treeline. The academy grounds felt too open suddenly, too exposed, like they were all sitting targets waiting for something to swoop down from the sky.
Taro adjusted his Shirt. "Snow country? But we've never even been outside the Fire Country. Is it really true, Kei?" His voice carried a tremor that had nothing to do with the morning chill.
Kei shifted his oversized lunch bag—he'd been eating compulsively since the tremor, as if storing food could somehow protect him from whatever was coming. "My uncle in the Fire Guard temple said the strange chakra was felt even in the Daimyo's palace. Said every warrior, every ninja, every monk from here to the Land of Lightning felt it in their bones." He paused, remembering that moment when he froze while he practiced throwing kunai a week ago . For a second, just a second, it had felt like the world was trying to shake him off like a flea.
"The adults are scared," he continued, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Really scared."
Minako hugged her jar containing Mr. Chompers closer to her chest. The little beetle had been acting strange lately, spending more time hiding under his rock than usual. Animals could sense things humans couldn't, and that thought made her stomach twist with anxiety. "I heard sensei talking to another instructor. They mentioned something called a 'great evil'—something bigger than any war, bigger than any threat they'd faced before." She clicked her tongue nervously, a habit she'd developed since the tremor. "They sounded... really, really scared."
Aya, usually the quiet observer of the group, had been listening to more conversations than she probably should have. Adults forgot that children could hear, could understand, could piece together fragments of overheard terror into a complete picture of approaching doom. "Sensei mentioned a summit. Said the Kage have never met like this before, not even during the worst of the wars. Said it's un-un-p-recedented—that's the word he used. Unprecedented."
The word hung between them like a curse. Unprecedented meant uncharted territory, meant no one knew what they were doing, meant the adults were making it up as they went along and hoping for the best.
Scarf-Boy—that's what everyone called him, though his real name was Hiroshi—pulled his layers tighter around himself. The extra fabric didn't make him feel warmer, but it made him feel like he had more protection between himself and the world. "They think whatever caused that pulse might come for us next. They think..." He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "They think we might all have to fight together. Not as separate villages, but as one big army."
The courtyard fell silent except for the distant sounds of the village waking up—shopkeepers opening their stores, farmers heading to their fields, normal people going about their normal lives while children discussed the end of the world. A dog barked somewhere, the sound sharp and sudden, making all six kids jump like they'd been struck by lightning.
They looked at each other then, really looked, and saw their own fear reflected in five other pairs of eyes. They were just kids—eight years old, still academy students, still learning the most basic jutsu. But they were also shinobi in training, and shinobi faced their fears head-on.