Summer, Year 12 of Konoha.
The rain was rather irritating, a light, persistent drizzle that had seeped into the freshly painted white wall outside the Ninja Academy, leaving several ugly yellow stains. It left people's hearts feeling a little moldy and swollen, too.
The largest conference room in the Hokage Building was unusually packed that day.
Not only had the clan heads and those who held real power come, but even some rarely seen old figures, retired from the front lines yet still influential, had been invited.
The air smelled of damp wood and old clothing, laden with a taut, stifling heaviness.
No one whispered to their neighbors. Everyone sat stiffly upright, eyes lowered, occasionally stealing a glance at the specially added chair beside the head seat, covered with a thick, soft cushion.
The chair was empty, but everyone knew whom this gathering was waiting for.
The door opened. Two Senju clansmen, one on either side, supported a tall figure as he slowly entered.
It was Hashirama Senju.
He was thinner than he had been two years earlier, his cheekbones protruding, his complexion the sickly, sunless pallor of someone long ill. His steps were unsteady, and he was almost half-carried to the chair. After sitting down, he panted softly and closed his eyes briefly, as though the walk into the room alone had drained most of his strength. Mito Uzumaki followed him, dressed in a plain, dark kimono, her long red hair pinned up impeccably. Her face showed little expression, but a silent authority accompanied her gaze as it swept the room. She quietly took a seat just behind and to one side of Hashirama.
Tobirama Senju sat at the head of the table, his expression darker than the sky outside. He signaled for the meeting to begin, but the