Raiden POV:
I opened my eyes to the familiar wooden floor of our family compound. My head throbbed with a dull ache as fragments of memories swirled through my mind—the party, the fight, that horrible nightmare. Everything after that was just... gone.
"Mom?" I called out, my voice echoing through the empty room. "Uncle Iroh?"
"Anyone."
No answer came back.
I pushed myself up, wincing as my muscles protested. The silence was unnerving. Our home was never quiet—there were always servants moving about, guards patrolling, the distant sounds of Uncle Iroh brewing tea or Mom working in her study.
"Anyone?" I tried again, louder this time. "Hello?"
Nothing but my own voice bouncing back from the empty rooms.
I stepped into the hallway from my empty bedroom. The polished wooden floors gleamed under the soft light filtering through the paper screens, but something felt... wrong. The air was too still, too heavy.
"Shirayami?" I whispered, hoping my fox companion might appear. Even she remained absent.
As I wandered through the corridors, memories of last night flashed through my mind. The bullies surrounding Momo. The heroes attacking me without reason. That crushing darkness in my nightmare, swallowing everything I loved. Then the rage—that burning, all-consuming rage that had overtaken me.
Had I done something terrible? Was that why everyone was gone?
I slid open another door, then another, finding only empty rooms. My footsteps quickened as I moved toward the garden. Maybe they were outside. Maybe everything was normal, and I was just confused.
I pushed open the final door leading to our central garden and froze.
The sky above was split in two—impossibly, unnaturally divided. On the left, brilliant daylight blazed, the sun hanging perfectly overhead in a cloudless blue expanse. On the right, darkness reigned, but not the gentle darkness of night. This was deeper, more absolute, illuminated only by a massive crimson moon that dominated the sky. It wasn't a normal moon—it glowed blood-red with three black tomoe marks rotating slowly across its surface.
The garden itself seemed caught between these two worlds, half bathed in golden sunlight, half in crimson moonlight, creating bizarre shadows that moved when I wasn't looking directly at them.
"Where am I?" I asked aloud, my voice small against the vastness of the impossible sky above me.
The garden remained silent, but the crimson moon seemed to pulse slightly, as if acknowledging my question. The three tomoe spun faster, and I felt a strange pull toward them, like they were calling to me.
This wasn't my home. At least, not the home I knew. The garden I'd walked through a thousand times now felt alien and distorted, caught between realms that shouldn't coexist. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to make sense of the impossible sky above me—sunlight and blood moon existing side by side, defying everything I understood about reality.
I closed my eyes, focusing my thoughts. Was I in a genjutsu? Some kind of elaborate trap? The familiar weight of chakra stirred within me as I attempted to center myself, searching for any signs of manipulation or external influence that might explain this bizarre dimensional split.
My concentration shattered when a gruff, impatient voice cut through the unnatural silence. "Hey brat," someone called out, the words echoing strangely in this half-light, half-dark space. The voice carried an odd mixture of annoyance and amusement, as though the speaker found my confusion entertaining.
I turned toward the voice, instinctively dropping into a defensive stance. Two tall men approached from the border where sunlight met moonlight, their forms shifting between shadow and light with each step.
"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice steadier than I felt.
The first man, lean and muscular with spiky black hair, wore traditional robes emblazoned with a symbol that made my heart skip—the red and white fan of the Uchiha clan. My clan. His eyes held a knowing intensity that seemed to look through me rather than at me.
The second man stood slightly taller, broad-shouldered with tan skin that spoke of countless hours under the sun. His long black hair was tied in a low ponytail that swayed gently as he walked. On his robes, another familiar crest—the Senju symbol. But what truly caught my attention was the small white form cradled in his arms.
"Shirayami!" I called out.
My fox companion looked up at me with her red eyes, but made no move to leave the man's arms. She seemed perfectly content as he absently stroked her fur.
"She likes me," the Senju man said with a smile that transformed his serious face. "Animals usually do."
"You didn't answer my question," I pressed, refusing to be distracted. "Who are you? What is this place?"
The Uchiha man crossed his arms. "You've got spirit, I'll give you that. But you're slow on the uptake for someone with those eyes."
I frowned, confused. "My eyes?"
"Your Sharingan awakened," the Senju man explained, his voice gentler than his companion's. "Three tomoe, all at once. Quite remarkable for one so young."
"And quite dangerous," the Uchiha added. "Which is why we're here."
"We?" I echoed.
The Uchiha man smirked. "Your ancestors, kid. I'm Madara Uchiha."
The Senju man gave a slight bow, still cradling Shirayami. "And I am Hashirama Senju. We've been waiting for you, Raiden."
I stared at them, disbelief washing over me. These couldn't be... but the chakra radiating from them was unlike anything I'd ever felt—powerful, overwhelming, and undeniably real.
"This is impossible," I whispered.
Madara laughed, harsh and short. "Bratt, you're standing under a sky that's half day, half night, with a Sharingan moon overhead. 'Impossible' left the building a while ago."
I swallowed hard, trying to process what was happening. Legendary figures from shinobi history—my ancestors—standing before me in a world where day and night existed simultaneously.
"What's going on?" I finally asked, my voice steadier than I expected. "Where exactly are we?"
Madara and Hashirama exchanged a glance, something unspoken passing between them.
"We're inside your soul, Bratt," Madara said bluntly. "Or your inner world, if you prefer prettier terms."
"My... soul?" I looked around at the impossible landscape with new understanding. The garden that was familiar yet wrong, the split sky, the crimson Sharingan moon—all manifestations of my own spiritual essence.
Hashirama nodded, still gently stroking Shirayami. "When your Sharingan awakened—all three tomoe at once—it created a surge of power your physical body couldn't contain."
"Especially with that Tail Beast chakra mixing in," Madara added, eyeing Shirayami with something between respect and wariness. "The combination was too much for a child's body to handle. You collapsed."
I remembered the pain, the rage, the overwhelming flood of power that had coursed through me during the fight. "So I'm unconscious? Or..." A darker thought crossed my mind. "Am I dead?"
Hashirama laughed, the sound warm and reassuring. "No, no. Your body is healing. Your mother is seeing to that. But your consciousness retreated here, to this space between realms."
"Think of it as a defense mechanism," Madara explained, gesturing to the divided sky. "Your mind created this sanctuary while your body recovers. The sun represents your Senju heritage—life, growth, healing. The moon represents your Uchiha blood—power, darkness, vision."
I stared at the crimson moon with its slowly rotating tomoe. "My Sharingan..."
"Awakened through trauma and rage," Madara confirmed, his voice softening slightly. "Not the ideal way, but few Uchiha have ever had a gentle awakenings."
"The strain was immense," Hashirama added. "Your chakra network is still developing, and suddenly it was channeling both dōjutsu power and tailed beast energy. Your body simply couldn't keep up."
"Fortunately, you didn't burst like an overloaded water balloon," Madara added with his characteristic dry humor, his lips quirking upward in that subtle, sardonic way of his. "Though it was a close thing. The chakra pressure in your system was building to catastrophic levels—like trying to force a raging river through a garden hose. Most children would have been torn apart from the inside out when exposed to that combination of powers. Your Uchiha, Senju, and Uzumaki resilience is the only reason you're still intact, physically speaking."
I looked between them, these legendary figures who were somehow part of me. "So why are you here? In my... soul?"
Madara's lips curved into a slight smirk. "To train you, of course. Your power is exceptional, but without control, it will destroy you."
"And those you care about," Hashirama added quietly.
I felt a chill run through me at Hashirama's words. The memory of blue flames engulfing my hands, the crushing pressure that had made heroes falter, Momo's terrified expression—it all came rushing back.
"Did I... hurt anyone?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Madara crossed his arms. "You disabled three pro heroes and frightened a ballroom full of civilians. Not bad for your first real fight."
"Madara," Hashirama chided gently before turning to me. "You didn't seriously harm anyone, Raiden. Though not for lack of trying at the end."
I sank to my knees on the strange half-lit grass. "I lost control. I felt so angry, so... powerlessness… Lost"
"The curse of our bloodline," Madara said, his voice uncharacteristically solemn. "The Uchiha feel emotions more intensely than others. Our love runs deeper, and so does our hatred. It's what makes the Sharingan so powerful—and so dangerous."
"Is that what happened to you?" I asked, looking up at him.
Something flickered across Madara's face—pain, perhaps, or regret. For a moment, he seemed almost human rather than the legendary monster from the history books and dirays I have read in the libary.
"Yes," he admitted quietly. "And that's why we're here. So you don't repeat our mistakes."
Hashirama, sensing the sad atmosphere, suddenly brightened. "Well! No use dwelling on past mistakes when we have a young prodigy to train!" He beamed at me with that infectious smile that somehow made the sun side of my inner world glow a little brighter. "I must say, your chakra control is quite impressive for someone your age. Your mother has taught you well!"
His attempt to lighten the mood made me feel a bit better, but Madara gave Hashirama the stink eye, his expression souring like he'd bitten into something particularly unpleasant.
Hashirama laughed, the sound booming across my divided inner world. "Come on, Madara! If I were to leave you alone, you'd be brooding and moping all day, killing the mood. Someone has to keep things lively!"
"I do not brood or mope, you laughing buffoon," Madara snapped, but there was something almost fond in his irritation, like this was a dance they'd performed countless times before.
Hashirama chuckled at that, glancing over to see me smiling at their interaction. These weren't just legendary figures from history books—they were people with personalities that clashed and complemented each other in equal measure. Somehow, watching their familiar bickering made this impossible situation feel less overwhelming.
"Now you feel a bit better, Raiden?" Hashirama asked, still absently stroking Shirayami's fur. The fox had curled into a tight ball in his arms, all ten tails wrapped around herself as she dozed peacefully.
"Yes," I replied with a small smile. The weight on my chest had lightened somewhat. "Thank you."
Hashirama smiled back, warm and genuine. "Good! That's what family is for, after all."
Family. The word resonated strangely in this place between realms. These men were my ancestors, parts of me in some mystical, spiritual sense. Their blood—their power—flowed through my veins.
"Good, you ready for some training?" Hashirama continued enthusiastically. "But be warned, it's not going to be easy, especially with Madara. He has a bit of a sadistic streak when it comes to training others." He stage-whispered this last part, eyes twinkling with mischief.
As Hashirama said that, Madara launched into a roundhouse kick aimed at the back of Hashirama's head. The First Hokage ducked smoothly, backing up a couple of feet away while still laughing to himself, somehow managing not to disturb the sleeping ten-tailed fox in his arms.
"Idiot," Madara rumbled to himself, straightening his robes with a huff.
I couldn't help but laugh at their antics. It was surreal watching these two legendary shinobi—men whose powers had shaped the very ninja world—behave like squabbling brothers. The history books never mentioned this side of them.
"So what kind of training will I be doing?" I asked, curiosity overtaking my earlier anxiety. "And how long do I have? My mother and Uncle Iroh must be worried."
"Time moves differently here," Madara explained, his expression growing serious again. "What feels like weeks to us might be only hours in the outside world."
"As for training," Hashirama added, "we'll start with helping you understand and control your Sharingan. Awaking the three tomoe all at once is unprecedented in one so young. You need to master it before it masters you."
Madara nodded in agreement. "The Sharingan is a powerful tool, but it comes with a price. Every Uchiha must learn to balance the darkness it brings—or risk being consumed by it."
"And we have to stabilize your chakra control as well. Your massive chakra reserves are far greater than most ninja your age—even before tapping into Shirayami's chakra. Now with the awakening of the Sharingan, your reserves have tripled. Having such large chakra pools makes precision control extraordinarily difficult—it's like trying to thread a needle with a raging fire hose while blindfolded in a hurricane," Hashirama explained, his voice taking on a more instructional tone as he shifted Shirayami's sleeping form slightly in his arms.
The ten-tailed fox's ears twitched in her sleep, her pure white fur gleaming even in the misty half-light of this strange realm. I stared down at my hands, trying to visualize the immense power now coursing through my chakra network—power I could barely comprehend, let alone control.
"Luckily," Hashirama continued with a reassuring smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, "Madara and I have considerable experience when it comes to unexpected bursts in chakra reserves. Both of us underwent similar transformations in our youth—though admittedly not quite as dramatic as yours. The Senju and Uchiha bloodlines flowing through you, combined with your Uzumaki heritage, have created something truly remarkable."
I swallowed hard, "I'm ready to learn," I declared firmly, feeling a strange mix of determination and trepidation wash over me. The weight of their words about the Sharingan's darkness resonated deeply—I'd already felt hints of that consuming rage, that terrifying moment when I nearly lost myself to bloodlust and fury. I never wanted to experience that lack of control again.
"Good," they both said at the same time, their voices overlapping in perfect unison. They exchanged brief glances, Madara's lips twitching slightly in what might have been the ghost of a smile while Hashirama's expression brightened noticeably. Despite their constant bickering, there was clearly a profound connection between these two shinobi—a bond forged through decades of rivalry, friendship, and shared history that transcended even death.
Hashirama clapped his hands together enthusiastically, the sound echoing through the misty training ground. "Then let's not waste any more time! The sooner we begin, the more we can accomplish while you're here with us."
Madara crossed his arms, his piercing gaze studying me with analytical intensity. "Remember this, boy—the Sharingan responds to intense emotion. Its greatest strength is also its greatest weakness. You must learn to channel your feelings without being ruled by them."
My training with Madara and Hashirama was intense, especially with Madara.
Madara didn't waste time with gentle introductions. The moment I agreed to begin training, he launched a barrage of small fireballs at me—not lethal, but certainly painful if they connected. I barely managed to dodge the first few before one caught my shoulder, sending a sharp sting through my body.
"Your reflexes are decent, but your perception is lacking," he critiqued, his Sharingan gleaming. "This eyes see everything, but only if you know how to use them."
For what felt like weeks, we focused on awakening the true potential of my newly formed three-tomoe Sharingan. The training was brutal but effective. Madara would attack from multiple angles, forcing me to track increasingly complex patterns of movement. Hashirama would create wooden clones that would transform and shift unpredictably, teaching me to identify the subtle tells that preceded each change.
"The Sharingan doesn't just see movement," Madara explained during one particularly grueling session. "It reads intention. A flicker of an eyelid, the subtle shift of weight from one foot to another—these tiny signals reveal what your opponent will do before they even know it themselves."
I was amazed at how quickly my perception evolved. What had once been a blur of motion now appeared almost in slow motion, each movement distinct and clear. By the end of the first month in my inner world, I could track both Madara and Hashirama simultaneously as they circled me, identifying exactly which attacks they would launch based solely on the minute tensions in their muscles.
"Now for the copying," Hashirama announced one day, demonstrating a complex series of hand seals that created a small wooden dome. "Watch carefully."
The true power of the Sharingan revealed itself here. As I observed his technique, I didn't just see the hand seals—I understood them. The flow of chakra, the timing, the intent behind each movement imprinted itself in my mind like a blueprint. When I attempted the jutsu myself, my hands moved with perfect replication of Hashirama's sequence.
Nothing happened.
"You've copied the form perfectly," Hashirama laughed at my confused expression, "but your chakra control at the moment is not great. we will work on that later. But at least you understand the Sharingan copy ability."
Over time, I learned to copy dozens of techniques—taijutsu forms, weapon stances, and ninjutsu that matched my natural affinities. Each one was stored perfectly in my memory after a single viewing.
"Your chakra control is improving, but still problematic," Madara noted during our third month. "Your reserves are massive—Uchiha, Senju, Uzumaki, and Shirayami's influence combined. It's like trying to perform calligraphy with a waterfall."
The chakra control exercises were the most frustrating. Creating a perfect leaf balancing on the tip of a kunai using only chakra. Forming chakra threads thin enough to manipulate a single grain of sand. Maintaining precisely thirty-seven identical shadow clones, each with exactly the same amount of chakra.
"As you grow, so will your reserves," Hashirama warned. "This is training you'll continue for life."
Sometimes Shirayami would join our sessions, her tails swishing as she observed. Occasionally, she'd offer cryptic advice or demonstrate how to blend her chakra with mine to work more efficiently.
"Time moves differently here," Madara reminded me after what felt like our hundredth sparring session. "But soon you'll need to return. Remember what you've learned—not just the techniques, but the discipline. The Sharingan responds to emotion, but an Uchiha must never be ruled by it."
The training sessions grew more intense as my time in the soul realm neared its end. During a rare moment of rest, I sat beside Shirayami, watching the divided sky with its eternal sun and blood-red moon.
"It's almost time for me to return, isn't it?" I asked, feeling a strange reluctance. Despite the brutal training, I'd grown attached to my ancestors.
Madara approached, his imposing figure casting a long shadow. "You've progressed well. Better than I expected for one so young."
"Will I... will I see you both again?" I asked, looking between him and Hashirama.
They exchanged a glance, and Hashirama's lips curved into that warm, reassuring smile I'd come to know well. "We will always be with you, Raiden."
"What does that mean?" I frowned. "Like, in spirit? Or something else?"
Madara smirked, tapping his temple. "Your Sharingan connects you to the Uchiha legacy. We are part of you now."
Before I could press further, Hashirama knelt beside me, his expression turning serious. "There's something you should know before you wake. When you awakened your Three-Tomoe Sharingan so suddenly, you placed tremendous strain on your eyes."
"What does that mean?" A flutter of anxiety rose in my chest.
"You'll be blind for a time," he said gently. "Perhaps three months. The pathways need to heal."
"Blind?" The word felt heavy on my tongue.
"Don't look so alarmed," Hashirama chuckled. "Your Senju and Uzumaki bloodlines give you remarkable healing abilities. Your eyes will recover completely."
"And in the meantime," Madara added, "you'll learn to sense the world without relying on your eyes. A valuable skill for any shinobi."
I nodded slowly, processing this information. "I understand."
The landscape around us began to shimmer, the divided sky rippling like disturbed water.
"It seems our time is up," Hashirama said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Remember what we've taught you. Balance is key—between your Uchiha power and your Senju compassion."
"Between darkness and light," Madara added. "Between strength and wisdom."
As the world dissolved around me, I felt Shirayami press against my side, her warmth reassuring. The last thing I saw was their faces—Madara's stern pride and Hashirama's gentle smile—before everything faded to darkness.