PROLOGUE: The Northern Front

I stood in the fading light of my room, shadows pooling at my feet like something forlorn, without weight or tether to the world. Dust hung in the air, caught in the last slivers of sunlight, unmoving. I watched it float there, in the stillness, in the quiet that felt like it had a pulse—like it could suffocate me if I let it. I wasn't used to silence like this. It was… strange. Unnerving.

My headband lay beside me, coiled like a snake on the bed. I glanced at it, my hands moving slowly as I packed away the few things I knew I'd need. My old jumpsuit caught my eye—bright orange. Beautiful. I ran my fingers over the fabric, then set it aside.

This is war. There are things you can't fight in bright orange.

Kakashi-sensei's words still echoed in my head. I wasn't happy with the decision, but it made sense. Somehow. I picked the new clothes he offered instead: dark blue pants, an olive green flak jacket with mesh armour, and a breathable long-sleeve shirt beneath. Clothes that would blend in with shadows and undergrowth, with blood and dirt. Clothes for war. Unfamiliar clothes.

I knelt, tying off the bag. My mind, though—it wasn't here. It was with him. Sasuke. I couldn't stop thinking about him. Couldn't stop seeing him, even when I closed my eyes. The wretched bastard. He was the reason for all of this. For the war. For the invasion. For the blood. For the ruins left behind in the village we once called home. He was the one who set fire to the world, cackling as it burned. I could feel the weight of his actions pressing down on my chest. And for the first time in my life, I felt it.

Loathing.

I picked up my headband, the metal cold in my palm. I tied it tight around my forehead, felt it press into my skin. In the mirror, I stared at the reflection. The reflection stared back, but it wasn't me. It wasn't the same person who had once dreamed of becoming Hokage. Different. Indifferent.

My frown deepened as I slung the pack over my shoulder and turned toward the door. One last look at the room, at the life I was leaving behind. I didn't know when—or if—I'd come back. A sigh. I stepped out into the quiet, toward a war that raged on, waiting for no one.

The sun was sinking when I first laid eyes on the Northern Front. The sky was low, heavy with clouds that looked like tarnished steel, and the land stretched out in front of me, a patchwork of ochre and brown, quiet and still. The winds here felt different—colder, harsher. They cut right through my clothes, biting at my skin as they howled past, carrying the last traces of autumn. I could smell the wet earth, the decaying leaves, the faint scent of life retreating before the coming winter—the blood, the ash. The death.

Just a few hours ago, we'd been moving through the thick forests of the Land of Fire. Now the trees had given way to open plains, rice paddies, and rural borderlands. But even those were fading, slowly turning into a wasteland, scarred and dead. The vibrant greens had all but disappeared, replaced by burnt grey and muddy black. There were no birds here. No signs of life—just distant shapes on the horizon.

We trudged across the fields, the remains of an abandoned harvest crunching underfoot. Kakashi-sensei was up ahead, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He didn't look back at us, didn't check to see if we were keeping up.

"Think it'll be like the history books say?" Sakura asked, her voice quiet, like she didn't want to disturb the silence of the march.

Shikamaru, walking beside her, glanced over but said nothing. His face was grim, harder than usual. There was a coldness in his eyes that wasn't like him.

"I dunno," I finally said, shrugging. "Maybe it won't be that bad."

Shikamaru snorted, a derisive sound that annoyed me, but I held my peace. I couldn't find it in myself to stay angry. He'd grown abrasive ever since his father and sensei had both gone missing, and his team had disbanded.

The road started to slope as we neared the top of a hill. I could see the plains stretching out in front of us, fields dotted with a few abandoned farmhouses. In the distance, a thin line of smoke rose—maybe from a small hamlet still trying to tough it out. But beyond that, to the north, the horizon grew darker. That's where the war was waiting for us.

Kakashi stopped at the top of the hill, his one visible eye scanning the distance. He turned and looked back at us, meeting each of our gazes. I wondered what he saw when he looked at us.

"When we get there," he finally said, his voice flat and steady like the land around us, "you'll do what you've been trained to do. There's no room for hesitating—unless, of course, you want to get yourself or the rest of us killed."

We stood in a loose line, facing him. The wind tugged at Sakura's hair, strands whipping across her face, but she stood straight, her eyes fixed on him. Shikamaru shifted his weight, uncharacteristically impatient, but said nothing. His knuckles were white where he gripped his rucksack.

"In the meantime, we'll camp down there for the night," Kakashi-sensei continued. I allowed my gaze to follow his line of sight. At the end of it was a small grove, just off the main road. The shrubs there were sparse but still alive, allowing for visibility yet offering some measure of cover from prying eyes. My frown returned. Why stop now? The frontlines were less than a day's march away.

Sakura, however, simply nodded, already setting her pack down. Shikamaru muttered something under his breath about it being "a drag" but complied nonetheless, dropping to the ground with a thud.

"But Sound is just up ahead," I pointed out, confused.

Kakashi's lone visible eye flicked over to regard me. "Don't be impatient, Naruto," he said. "We'll join them in the morning."

Dawn broke cold and bitter. The horizon blurred with smoke and ash as we arrived. The rice paddies, once neatly lined and glistening with the last rains of autumn, had become a mire of mud and wreckage. Trenches dug into the earth crisscrossed the landscape, forming a jagged scar between what was left of the fields and the blackened ground beyond. Shinobi, caked in dirt and blood, watched no-man's land like hawks from the dugouts, barely acknowledging our approach.

Kakashi led the way, as always. The crack of explosions in the distance was constant, a dull roar that echoed from every direction. I saw Sakura wince every time the sound carried closer, but she didn't complain. None of us did.

The Jōnin who met us at the edge of the trenches looked older than he probably was. His flak jacket was badly damaged, his eyes red-rimmed and sunken, and a cigarette dangled from his lips, its ember barely holding on. He looked at us—the three of us standing behind Kakashi—and shook his head.

"More genin," he muttered, flicking the cigarette to the ground. "Did High Command run out of chūnin that they're sending twerps to the frontlines now?"

Kakashi said nothing, just handed him a scroll. The Jōnin glanced at it briefly, then crumpled it in his fist and threw it into the mud.

"Team Seven, report to Sector Two," he said, gesturing toward a cluster of trenches to the west barely visible through the haze. "Not that it matters much. What are they thinking, sending us more weaklings after what happened to the previous ones? You'll be lucky if you last the night."

Sakura paled at the words, though she tried to hide it by adjusting her jacket strap. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the tightness in my throat making it hard to breathe. I was angry. How could he say something like that? The Jōnin, however, didn't seem to care for my anger, nor did he bother looking at us again. He simply turned away, disappearing behind a bend in the trench.

Kakashi glanced at us over his shoulder, his single eye unreadable.

"Stick together," he ordered. "Watch each other's backs, and remember your training. You'll be fine."

As we made our way through the line, I felt the mud sucking at my boots with every step. The walls of the trench were high and jagged, reinforced by wooden beams already splintering from rain and shrapnel. At Sector Two, we found Anko-san crouched over a map, her face illuminated by the dim light of a lantern. She didn't look up when we approached. Her uniform was stained with mud, blood, and oil, her hair matted to her forehead.

"Team Seven reporting for duty," Kakashi announced, his voice flat. He hadn't even bothered with pleasantries.

The Tokubetsu Jōnin finally glanced up, her eyes narrowing as she looked us over. For a long moment, she said nothing, just stared at us with an expression that was more pity than anything else. Then, with a sigh, she pointed toward the far end of the trench, where the noise of battle was loudest.

"We're short on warm bodies," she said.

"Get them on the line."