The Storm Approaches

"Senju Tobirama is dead," Shin said softly in an underground cavern somewhere, dressed in Uchiha's black combat attire.

The person seated atop the stone throne opened his eyes. The chakra lines connecting him to the Demonic Statue of the Outer Path snapped naturally. "You did it?"

Shin did not deny it and nodded. "That's right."

Uchiha Madara let out a long sigh, his gaze complicated. His lips moved soundlessly, but Shin could still read them through the Sharingan. The name he wanted to call was Izuna.

"Good that he's dead. He should have died long ago. If he hadn't been stirring up trouble, perhaps some things wouldn't have come to this."

Shin fell silent for a moment before saying, "There aren't many of our generation still alive."

Uchiha Madara closed his eyes again, and the chakra lines of the Demonic Statue of the Outer Path reconnected to his back. He too spoke quietly. "Yes, not many. But as long as the dream is realized, none of it matters."

This was Konoha's twenty-fifth year. Uchiha Madara was already well past forty; in the Warring States Period, he would have been old enough to be a grandfather at that age. In fact, even now, he belonged to the grandfather generation—after all, Senju Hashirama's granddaughter was already three years old.

Shin was slightly younger than the two of them, but he was no longer young either. However, he had slowed his own time, and his appearance was still not much different from what it had been over a decade ago.

Among their peers, not many still remained in Konoha. After all, when the two clans had ruled, they had relied on elders who were older than them. Those people had passed away one after another in recent years, while few of those close