The two months passed like a fleeting sigh for Kenji, an oasis amidst the impending storm that loomed over the Uchiha Clan and the Land of Fire. Each day was a delicate balance between relentless preparation for war and the forging of a bond with his son, Itori, a bond he felt as precious as it was fragile. He watched the little one in the crib, his curious and enigmatic eyes exploring the new world, oblivious to the ancestral burden he carried and the uncertain fate that hung over him. Kenji spoke to him in whispers, telling him stories of times he would never know, of a world before the war, or simply watching him sleep, absorbing every moment of this fragile peace he knew would not last.
Kenji's training was relentless, a brutal self-discipline that pushed him to the limit of his physical and mental endurance. Every dawn found him in the clan's private training ground, his body a perfectly tuned machine, perfecting his jutsus, polishing his Taijutsu to perfection, and refining his Ninjutsu to maximum power. But each use of the Mangekyo Sharingan was a somber reminder of its high cost, a bill his body paid with increasing pain. After invoking the powerful Susano'o, that gigantic manifestation of chakra that protected him and allowed him to unleash devastating blows, or weaving the complex illusions of Shadow Tsukuyomi (which distorted his enemies' perception, plunging them into temporal chaos) and Mugen Enmu (which created large-scale illusions, transforming the battlefield into a labyrinth of nightmares), his right eye, the most used and the epicenter of his ocular power, ached with a deep, persistent throbbing, as if an invisible needle was piercing it again and again. His vision blurred, sometimes for a few seconds, others for minutes, leaving his world in a hazy, gray veil. He knew it was the price of such devastating power, a point of no return that would inevitably lead him to total blindness, a curse that had plagued other Mangekyo users throughout Uchiha history.
Kenji's Reflection:
"Every time my eyes burned, as if incandescent embers had embedded themselves in my sockets, every time momentary darkness seized my vision, an icy chill ran through my soul. I did not fear death in battle; I had embraced it countless times, had seen it up close and smiled at it. It was a shinobi's destiny. But blindness... would mean uselessness for an Uchiha, especially one with the Mangekyo. I would be a burden to the clan, a disgrace; a shinobi without eyes is a ghost. My own power, the very power that had elevated me to the top, was gnawing at me, drop by drop, consuming my sight with every flash of its strength. What would become of Itori if I were incapacitated, blind, useless? Who would protect my son, the only remaining link to Nara, to the love I found in solitude, in this world of bloodthirsty wolves and power? This war was not just for the clan; it was for the hope of a future for Itori, a future that I, with my dwindling sight, was desperately fighting to secure, even if it meant losing myself in the process."
Despite the physical pain and constant worry for his uncertain future, Kenji strove to spend every free moment with Itori. He held him with a tenderness few would expect from a warrior of his caliber, sang him old Uchiha songs his own mother had taught him in more peaceful times, melodies that spoke of stars and a bright future. He showed him the few wooden toys he had acquired, carefully carved by an old villager. He wanted the child to feel his presence, his unconditional love, his paternal warmth, before departing for a place where survival was a daily lottery, where death was a constant companion. He knew these moments were invaluable, irreplaceable.
The day of departure finally arrived. The morning air was tense, charged with the expectation of battle. Thousands of Uchiha shinobi gathered in the main courtyard of the fortress, their faces tense and serious beneath the forehead protectors bearing the flaming fan emblem. Morale was a complex mixture of unwavering resolve and palpable fear, a tacit awareness of the horrors that awaited them. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, painting the sky with shades of crimson and gold, a color too familiar to the warriors of this clan, a harbinger of the blood that would soon be spilled.
Uchiha Tadao, the Patriarch, stood on a makeshift platform, his imposing figure dominating the crowd, casting a shadow of authority and determination. His voice, amplified by the chakra of his shadow abilities, resonated powerfully, filling every corner of the courtyard:
"Soldiers of the Uchiha Clan! Children of Fire and the Sharingan! We have endured countless assaults, we have shed our blood for these lands bequeathed to us by our ancestors, and we have seen our comrades fall, their lives cut short by the brutality of war. The Senju, with the help of their new Sarutobi allies, have trampled our lands, plundered our resources, and threaten our livelihood, our very existence. They have crossed a line we cannot allow! But today, the tide turns! Today, we will not retreat a single step! Today, we will strike with the fury of a thousand dragons, with the speed of lightning, and the precision of the waning moon! Our ancestors, the founders of this clan, watch us from the spirit realm. The honor of our clan, the future of our families, the hope of lasting peace—all depend on this day. Carry the Uchiha pride in your hearts and the power of the Sharingan in your eyes. For the clan! For victory!"
A thunderous roar rose from the crowd, a war cry that vibrated in the air, a promise of blood and vengeance that made the earth tremble. Fists rose, chakra surged through veins. Kenji, in his combat armor, made of hardened leather plates and light metal, with his ninja gear well-adjusted and his weapons close at hand, ascended the platform, his imposing presence silencing the shinobi with his mere appearance. His gaze, a mixture of steel and determination, swept across the ranks, pausing on some young faces, barely out of the training academy, their eyes filled with fear and fervor.
"Warriors!" Kenji began, his voice deep and resonant, full of an authority forged in countless battles, a voice that promised both protection and destruction. "I have returned from the shadows, from a mission few would have survived, to fight by your side. I have seen the ferocity of our enemies, their thirst for blood and their arrogance, and I tell you they are not invincible. I have brought down patriarchs, I have survived twenty-to-one sieges, emerging victorious. Do not underestimate the power we carry in our blood, the gift bestowed upon us. Our Sharingan is the eye that sees all, the mind that predicts all, and the spirit that never gives up, that burns with the flame of the will of fire."
He paused dramatically, his scarlet eyes gleaming with an almost supernatural intensity, causing some of the younger shinobi to shiver. "I know many of you have families awaiting your return. Children, wives, siblings. So do I. For my newborn son, Itori, for yours, for the legacy of our clan that has endured for centuries—we will fight! Not with blind recklessness, but with the cunning and ferocity that only an Uchiha can possess! Our objective is clear as day and sharp as a katana: the Echo Valleys. We will crush their resistance, dismantle their defenses, and reclaim what is ours by right of blood and conquest. March with honor! March with the certainty that the Sharingan is our unbreakable shield and our unstoppable sword!"
With those words, Kenji led the 2000 Uchiha shinobi, an imposing force ready for combat. The rising sun stained the horizon blood-red as the vast column of warriors set forth, their footsteps resounding like a war drum in the valley, a constant rhythm that promised devastation. War awaited them in the Echo Valleys, and Kenji, the lone wolf with the cost of the Mangekyo slowly but inexorably engraving itself in his eyes, led the pack toward the inevitable and bloody destiny, with the promise of dawn for his son as his only beacon in the darkness.