Chapter 556: An Enemy Running Out of Breath (Patreon)

Kenway Keep — Shared Office — Philadelphia

The walk back from the Colosseum was considerably quieter than the walk toward it.

Reuben had recovered most of his normal posture by the time they entered Kenway Keep, although a darkening bruise along his forearm made every movement of his left hand slightly more deliberate.

Thulani carried Excalibur across one shoulder while rolling the other whenever he thought nobody was watching, trying to loosen the deep soreness left behind from repeatedly discovering that Kassandra could still meet his strength whenever she chose.

Oldgate simply looked battered.

His enormous frame made bruising less obvious beneath clothing, but one side of his neck had begun stiffening, and the slight change in his stride suggested that Kassandra's use of his own momentum against him had produced exactly the sort of discomfort Jonathan had predicted.

Avery was quieter than all three.

The ex-pirate captain had entered the Colosseum knowing Kassandra was supposed to be powerful.

He had left understanding that the word was inadequate.

Caroline, Jonathan, and Shakoka separated from them before reaching the private wing. Caroline returned to the Celestial work she had abandoned, Jonathan resumed management of the household as though he had not recently attempted to put a hidden blade through Kassandra's defenses, and Shakoka departed after confirming that he would meet the education clerk Jonathan assigned to help with Deganawida's University of Pennmere application the following morning.

That left the four men carrying reports.

Kassandra was already inside the shared office by the time they arrived.

The Staff of Hermes rested beside her desk once again. She could just make it disappear for the time being, but somehow, she wanted to see it today.

She had removed the outermost portion of her Vanguard coat after the spar, though the fitted black-and-gold uniform beneath remained immaculate enough that someone who had not witnessed the last hour might have assumed she had spent the evening working through paperwork instead of dismantling seven enhanced fighters.

Reuben found that irritating, but he wisely kept the observation to himself.

Kassandra looked up when they entered. "Sit."

Nobody objected.

Reuben and Thulani took the two chairs nearest the desk while Oldgate and Avery pulled another pair from the side of the room. Their reports, folded maps, fleet tallies, and handwritten observations soon spread across the large central surface.

"Alright," Kassandra rested her forearms lightly against the desk. "Now I want the part you originally came here to tell me."

"I'll go first," Reuben opened the first report. "The south is collapsing faster than we expected."

Kassandra's expression sharpened.

"Spanish?"

"Primarily, although the French aren't doing much better."

He unfolded a naval chart depicting the Greater Antilles and surrounding sea lanes.

Pins and markings covered sections around Cuba, Hispaniola, Puerto Rico, Jamaica, and the approaches toward the Florida Straits.

"We're still encountering enemy vessels regularly, but they're behaving differently."

"How?"

"They're poorly supplied," Reuben leaned forward. "Very poorly supplied."

Kassandra glanced toward the report.

Thulani nodded from beside him. "That isn't limited to the south."

Reuben continued, "The clearest example was a Spanish frigate we intercepted three days ago southeast of Cuba. She should have carried enough preserved food, powder reserves, spare sailcloth, water, medical supplies, and shot to operate independently for weeks."

He tapped one notation.

"She didn't."

"How much did she have?"

"Enough provisions for something closer to a schooner."

Kassandra's eyes narrowed.

A frigate required far more men, meaning it had to had more water, more food, more powder, more maintenance supplies.

Supplying it as though it were a smaller vessel did not merely make the ship uncomfortable.

It destroyed endurance.

"How long had they been sailing?"

"Eleven days."

"And they were already rationing?"

"Severely."

"Hm," Oldgate leaned forward. "It wasn't an isolated case, Lady Kassandra."

He opened his own report.

"My fleet encountered two French warships operating under what appeared to be coordinated orders. One had sufficient powder but almost no replacement rigging. The other carried more spare rope than it could sensibly use, but its medical stores were almost empty."

Avery placed another page beside his.

"We boarded a Spanish supply brig after she surrendered. Her manifest claimed she carried dried meat, flour, powder, and musket shot for three separate warships."

His expression became faintly incredulous even after having time to think about it.

"She was carrying barrels of lamp oil, spare uniforms, two crates of officer's wine, and enough flour to feed one ship for perhaps four days."

Kassandra stared at him. "Was the manifest false?"

"That was my first thought," Avery shook his head. "The captain was as confused as we were. He had sealed requisition documents from the port authority."

Reuben slid another piece of paper toward Kassandra. "We keep seeing that."

She then began to read the contents.

Spanish requisition orders, French convoy instructions, captured quartermaster logs, supply lists.

Several things did not align.

The wrong ships received the wrong provisions.

Powder arrived at ports that did not urgently require it.

Medical supplies disappeared between warehouses and squadrons.

Repair materials were routed north when damaged ships waited south.

Orders contradicted previous orders.

Convoys departed without the escorts supposedly assigned to them.

Some vessels waited for replacement supplies that had apparently already been dispatched elsewhere.

Kassandra's attention slowed because this was no longer normal wartime incompetence. "Someone is disrupting their logistics."

Reuben nodded. "That would be my conclusion."

"Spanish corruption?"

"Some of it, perhaps."

Thulani drew another map across the desk. "But the French are experiencing the same thing."

Kassandra looked toward him.

His report focused farther north.

French Atlantic shipping.

Approaches toward Newfoundland.

Nova Scotia.

The Gulf of St. Lawrence.

Isle Saint Jean.

"Several French commands have begun blaming Spanish liaison officers for missed provisions and conflicting convoy orders," Thulani explained. "At the same time, intercepted Spanish correspondence accuses French officers of diverting resources toward their own formations."

'Interesting...' Kassandra slowly leaned back. 'Very interesting...'

Thulani continued, "Neither seems to completely trust the other anymore."

Avery nodded.

"We've heard the same farther south. Spanish officers say French commanders are preserving their own forces while allowing Spain to absorb losses."

Oldgate added, "French crews say Spain is using them as hired protection without providing what was promised."

Kassandra's fingers tapped lightly against the desk.

Somewhere, unseen by everyone in that room, a Wood Clone wearing faces belonging alternately to French and Spanish military personnel had spent the previous two days doing exactly what Alaric ordered.

Supply schedules had changed.

Military dispatches had disappeared.

Ammunition had reached the wrong units.

Orders had arrived wearing legitimate seals and familiar signatures.

Bridges supporting military logistics had suffered failures blamed upon the opposite ally.

No civilians had been targeted.

No hospitals had been touched.

Nothing had been done often enough in the same manner to reveal a single infiltrator.

The result had already begun spreading beyond the individual acts themselves.

Suspicion.

Once that entered an alliance, it multiplied without further assistance.

Kassandra did not know any of this, so she merely looked at the evidence. "Morale?"

Reuben's expression changed.

"Terrible."

"How terrible?"

"We've had ships surrender while still capable of fighting, so... very terrible."

Kassandra's eyebrows rose.

"Spanish?"

"Spanish and French," Reuben leaned back. "It isn't cowardice. Some of these crews are experienced."

His finger moved over the chart.

"They're tired. They're hungry. Their captains don't trust the next supply order. Men hear rumors that another squadron was left without food or that France has abandoned a Spanish formation or Spain redirected French powder somewhere else."

Thulani folded his hands.

"When people stop trusting the system behind them, the battle begins before we arrive."

Kassandra nodded.

That principle was older than every nation currently fighting this war.

An army could endure losses.

A navy could survive damaged ships.

What destroyed fighting spirit more reliably was the belief that sacrifice no longer served a functioning plan.

"Any mutinies?"

"Minor ones," Oldgate answered. "Nothing large enough yet to collapse a fleet, but there have been incidents."

"Desertion?"

"There is an obvious increase of that."

"Officers losing control?"

"Yes."

Kassandra looked toward Avery. "And Europe?"

Avery understood immediately.

"Still dangerous."

That was important enough to prevent optimism from becoming stupidity.

He opened a larger Atlantic chart.

"France and Spain have not exhausted their European fleets. They can still organize new expeditions, especially if they accept the expense."

Oldgate nodded.

"Their ability to project naval force across the Atlantic is damaged, not dead."

Kassandra appreciated the distinction.

"How much could they send?"

"Enough to matter," Oldgate rested one thick finger against the eastern edge of the map. "But not enough to frighten me."

Avery gave him a sidelong look before continuing the assessment more precisely.

"Our separate fleets can meet what Spain or France is presently capable of sending from Europe without requiring Reuben or Thulani to remain tied to every sea lane."

Kassandra looked between them. "You're confident?"

"Yes." Avery answered first.

Oldgate followed. "So am I."

Neither man treated the statement lightly.

Kassandra's eyes moved back toward the Caribbean.

Reuben had clearly been waiting.

He leaned forward.

"Lady Kassandra, I think we've reached the point where simply sinking their ships is wasting the advantage."

Thulani turned toward him.

Kassandra's expression sharpened. "Go on..."

"Cuba," Reuben's finger touched Cuba. "We take it."

Silence settled briefly.

Then he moved his finger eastward.

"Puerto Rico."

Another movement.

"Santo Domingo."

Then Saint-Domingue.

Then Jamaica.

Kassandra's gaze followed.

Reuben continued, "Cuba is the obvious prize. Ports, position, control of the approaches between the Gulf, Caribbean, and Atlantic. If we hold Cuba properly, Spanish movement through the region becomes miserable."

His finger moved to Jamaica.

"Jamaica gives us another central operating base and denies Britain or any hostile intermediary a convenient point from which to complicate matters."

He moved toward Hispaniola.

"Saint-Domingue and Santo Domingo divide Hispaniola politically, but militarily the island matters as one geographic position. Holding both removes an enormous French and Spanish foothold."

Finally, Puerto Rico.

"And Puerto Rico extends the chain eastward."

Kassandra studied the map. "You're proposing occupation."

"Annexation if Penn and Alaric decide to keep them."

Reuben did not pretend the military could decide the final political form.

"But from the fleet's perspective, yes. Take the ports, secure the fortifications, establish Pennmerian administration where resistance collapses, and stop giving the enemy time to repair."

Kassandra's eyes remained on the map. "How much opposition?"

"Less than there would have been six months ago."

"That is not a number."

Reuben nodded... he expected that. "Cuba would require the largest concentration. Puerto Rico is weaker. Hispaniola depends heavily upon how quickly Spanish and French forces realize they're both losing ground simultaneously."

"And Jamaica?"

"Manageable."

Kassandra looked toward Thulani. "You agree?"

"With the Caribbean assessment, yes," Thulani moved his own chart closer. "But I would not stop there."

His hand went north.

"Newfoundland."

Kassandra's attention followed.

"Nova Scotia."

Another point.

"Isle Saint Jean."

He looked toward her.

"The French northern position is vulnerable for the same reasons. Supplies are inconsistent, naval support is being pulled between too many priorities, and their commanders are increasingly uncertain whether promised reinforcements will actually arrive."

Kassandra examined the coastline.

Pennmere already dominated North America economically and politically to an extent none of the old colonial powers had imagined possible.

These remaining Atlantic positions were becoming less like distant European possessions and more like exposed islands sitting beside a continental giant.

"Newfoundland gives us fisheries, ports, Atlantic staging, and control over routes approaching the Gulf of St. Lawrence," Thulani continued. "Nova Scotia removes another major French foothold near our northeastern approaches. Isle Saint Jean is smaller, but leaving it outside our control after taking everything around it would be foolish."

Kassandra nodded slowly. "What do you need?"

"Less than I expected a month ago."

That interested her.

Thulani explained, "Pennmerian conventional forces can perform most occupation and garrison duties after initial resistance is broken. Vanguard does not need to remain distributed across every captured port."

There was the larger question.

Kassandra folded her hands. "How many operatives can we safely move inland?"

The four men became more serious.

The land war against Spain, now reinforced by actual French units, had been expanding.

Pennmere's armies were performing well, but they were also dying.

Kassandra had no intention of allowing Vanguard to remain concentrated at sea merely because the sea had historically been where the organization excelled.

Reuben answered first. "If Oldgate and Avery maintain their fleets independently, we can pull a substantial number from direct naval assignment."

"How substantial?"

He gave an estimate.

Thulani added his own northern figures.

Oldgate adjusted them based upon port security.

Avery challenged one assumption about convoy escorts.

For several minutes the office became entirely professional.

Kassandra asked about reserve forces, counter-Isu requirements, emergency response times, harbor security, piracy, enemy raiding capacity, and how quickly Vanguard ships could consolidate if an unexpected European fleet crossed the Atlantic.

The answers gradually created a clear picture.

Yes.

They could redeploy. While not everyone, and not recklessly... but enough to matter.

Enough enhanced operatives could move into the continental land theater to destroy artillery positions, break command centers, collapse fortified routes, secure bridges, shatter encirclements, and save ordinary Pennmerian soldiers from having to solve every battlefield problem with bodies.

Kassandra leaned back, and for the first time since the reports began, she smiled. "This is good news."

The four men relaxed by nearly imperceptible degrees.

Kassandra looked down at the collection of maps.

Enemy naval strength declining.

French-Spanish cooperation deteriorating.

Provisions reaching the wrong ships.

Morale collapsing.

Oldgate and Avery capable of defending the Atlantic approaches.

Opportunity in the Caribbean.

Opportunity in the north.

Vanguard manpower potentially available for the land war.

It was better than the picture she had expected.

She looked toward Reuben. "I want your Caribbean proposal written formally tomorrow."

The Shadow Raven nodded. "Yes, Lady Kassandra."

"Objectives, required fleet strength, expected garrison needs, civilian administration problems, and what you expect resistance to look like after the ports fall."

"Yes."

She turned toward Thulani.

"Same for Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, and Isle Saint Jean."

Thulani inclined his head.

"Of course."

"Oldgate. Avery."

Both straightened.

"I want a joint Atlantic defense assessment. Assume Reuben and Thulani are both temporarily committed elsewhere and tell me what reaches Pennmere if France and Spain send the strongest fleet you consider realistic."

"You'll have it." Oldgate nodded.

Avery followed. "By tomorrow evening."

Kassandra's eyes narrowed. "Tomorrow afternoon."

Avery paused... then nodded. "Tomorrow afternoon."

Kassandra smiled faintly. "Good."

She finally looked at all four men rather than their reports.

"You've been at sea for weeks, returned, allowed me to throw you around the Colosseum, and then sat through another military meeting."

Reuben's mouth moved slightly.

Kassandra continued before anyone could volunteer for more work. "Go rest."

Nobody argued as all four stood.

Reuben brought his fist to his chest first.

Thulani followed.

Oldgate and Avery mirrored them.

The Vanguard salute was brief, practiced, and respectful.

"Lady Kassandra," Thulani said.

Kassandra inclined her head.

"At ease."

They turned and left, the heavy office door closing behind them.

With that, silence returned.

Kassandra remained seated for several seconds before pulling a clean sheet of paper from the desk.

Her pen moved.

Southern Naval Theater - Enemy Logistics Degradation

French-Spanish Morale Collapse

Proposed Caribbean Seizures

Cuba

Jamaica

Saint-Domingue

Santo Domingo

Puerto Rico

Then another section.

Northern Expansion Opportunity

Newfoundland

Nova Scotia

Isle Saint Jean

She added the projected Vanguard redeployment numbers beneath them, along with a note that Oldgate and Avery judged themselves capable of holding the Atlantic approach against realistic reinforcements from Europe.

Kassandra paused before her smile returned.

William would immediately begin asking about governors, taxation, courts, port administration, civilian protection, property law, and how much this was all going to cost.

Alaric would probably stare at the map for several seconds before finding some way to make the proposal even larger.

Kassandra dipped the pen again.

"Agapi mou and Penn will like this…"

The words left her quietly.

Then she resumed writing.

.

Kenway Compound — Medical Room — Konohagakure

.

Light hurt....

That was Izuna's first coherent thought.

His eyelids had moved only a fraction before brightness flooded through neural pathways that had spent two days receiving nothing.

He stopped.

Alaric saw the reaction immediately. "Slowly, Izuna."

Hearing this, Izuna obeyed.

His eyes opened another fraction.

The room existed first as light without structure.

White.

Green.

Dark shapes.

Movement.

His pupils contracted.

Alaric's fingers hovered near the seal above his forehead while microscopic threads of medical chakra adjusted retinal sensitivity and reduced the sudden flood of visual information.

"Don't force focus," Alaric instructed. "Let your brain remember how."

Izuna breathed slowly.

Blurred shapes began acquiring edges.

The ceiling appeared first.

Then the light above him.

Then a dark shape to his left.

His eyes moved.

The shape became a person.

Long hair.

Red armor absent now, replaced by the simpler clothes Madara had been wearing around the compound.

A familiar face older than the one Izuna remembered, marked by everything time and obsession had placed upon it, yet still unmistakable.

Izuna stopped breathing, and Madara did too.

For two days, Izuna had known his brother through voice, chakra, footsteps, proximity, and memory.

Now he saw him... he actually saw him.

Madara Uchiha stood beside the medical bed.

Alive.

Not the young man Izuna had last seen before death.

Not the brother whose future Izuna had once tried to secure by giving him his eyes.

Older, harder, and changed... yet still Madara.

Izuna's lips parted. "Nii-san…"

Madara's expression barely moved.

That made the small changes more obvious.

His Rinnegan softened by a degree so slight that anyone unfamiliar with him might have missed it.

"Izuna."

The younger brother stared.

His eyes moved across Madara's face as though trying to reconcile decades of remembered features with the man standing before him now.

"You look old."

Hearing this, Haku lowered his gaze while Alaric pressed his lips together.

Madara's expression became flat. "I was dead longer than you."

Izuna's mouth curved. "You still look old."

Because of this, some tension left the room.

Madara's gaze remained on his brother.

For all the wars he had fought and everything he had done afterward, this was a moment he had never allowed himself to imagine realistically.

Izuna was alive, and Izuna could see.

And the first thing his brother chose to do with restored sight was insult his age.

It felt painfully familiar.

Alaric allowed them several minutes.

He continued monitoring Izuna's visual cortex and ocular response without inserting himself into the moment.

Haku watched the medical readings rather than the brothers.

Gradually, Izuna's vision sharpened.

The blur around Madara disappeared.

Colors stabilized.

Depth returned.

His eyes tracked Haku next... then Alaric.

For a second, Izuna simply stared at the man responsible for everything that had happened to him since waking.

"So that's what you look like."

Alaric raised a brow. "Disappointed?"

Izuna studied him. "...No."

"Good," Alaric checked the seal again. "Any double vision?"

"No."

"Pain?"

"No."

"Headache?"

"Very slight."

"Expected," Alaric held up three fingers. "How many?"

"Three."

He shifted the hand farther right. "Now?"

"Three."

He held his hand closer to Izuna.

"Still three."

Alaric smiled. "Smooth."

Madara heard the satisfaction in his voice.

Alaric genuinely appreciated his own work.

Given what Madara had watched him accomplish in less than five minutes, he found it difficult to object.

Another several minutes passed before Alaric examined Izuna's pupils and finally nodded.

"Alright."

Izuna immediately understood.

"The Sharingan."

"Yes."

Madara's attention sharpened.

Haku stepped closer as Alaric lifted one hand.

The suppression seal above Izuna's ocular network became visible.

Several fine rings of fūinjutsu emerged around his temples and brow.

"I'll release this gradually."

Izuna sat upright.

Alaric adjusted the raised bed behind him so that he could remain supported while upright.

"Don't jump directly into the Mangekyō."

Izuna looked toward him.

"I know how to activate a Sharingan."

"I know," Alaric's expression became more serious. "These aren't your original eyes, and their chakra structure has never been active inside you before today. Treat them like new muscles."

Madara nodded faintly in agreement.

Izuna accepted the warning.

Alaric touched the outer seal, and one ring dissolved.

Izuna felt it instantly.

Chakra that had been circling around the ocular network gained another route.

His breathing slowed.

He directed a controlled thread upward.

The eyes responded.

Black pupils sharpened.

Red spread across both irises.

A single tomoe appeared.

Then a second, then the third...

Madara's Rinnegan watched every transition.

The chakra was clean.

There were no instability nor any signs of rejection.

Izuna's three-tomoe Sharingan focused upon the room.

His expression changed immediately.

The world had become painfully detailed compared with the ordinary vision he had only just regained.

He could see microscopic muscle movements in Alaric's hands.

Haku's breathing.

The minute movement of Madara's clothing caused by chakra pressure.

He smiled faintly.

"There you are."

Madara understood what he meant.

The Uchiha world had returned.

Alaric examined the chakra flow. "Stable."

Izuna looked toward him. "May I?"

Alaric considered the readings, then nodded. "Slowly..."

Izuna closed his eyes once.

When they reopened, chakra surged more deeply.

The three tomoe began rotating.

Madara's posture changed.

The pattern moved.

Not into Izuna's original Mangekyō.

Something new formed.

Black shapes expanded around the pupil before interlocking into a complex design unlike any Uchiha pattern Madara had seen during his lifetime.

Yet what struck him more deeply was not the appearance.

It was the stability.

There was none of the destructive strain that normally accompanied ordinary Mangekyō activation.

The chakra pathways completed themselves into a permanent integrated pattern, the transplanted ocular chakra merging with Izuna's own awakened Uchiha network until the distinction between donor eyes and host disappeared.

Madara's Rinnegan narrowed.

"Eternal..."

Haku looked toward him.

Izuna felt it too.

No burning, degradation, and no familiar pressure behind the eyes that warned an Uchiha that every use carried a price.

Alaric's smile widened. "Huh... look at that."

Madara moved closer.

The unfamiliar pattern rotated once.

"This is an Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan."

Izuna looked toward his brother. "How?"

Madara did not answer immediately.

He was examining the chakra architecture.

Historically, Eternal Mangekyō emerged when one Mangekyō-bearing Uchiha integrated the eyes of another closely compatible Uchiha, most reliably between close blood relatives. The resulting ocular system surpassed the deterioration of the ordinary Mangekyō.

Izuna had once given Madara exactly that evolution.

Now the impossible had occurred in reverse through eyes whose origin Madara could not trace at all.

He looked toward Alaric. "You expected this?"

'Of course, I bought it from the system after all...' Alaric made a small motion with one hand. "I expected the possibility."

"That is not the same thing."

"No, it's not..." Alaric stepped closer and examined Izuna's eyes with the Rinne-Sharingan.

The newly formed Eternal Mangekyō carried a pattern he had never seen before.

More importantly, the chakra had fully accepted Izuna.

The System-generated biological structure had given the body a pristine foundation.

Izuna's original Mangekyō history provided an already awakened ocular chakra network.

Alaric's compatibility seals had integrated everything without allowing the donor structure to dominate.

The result had stabilized itself into something higher.

"Nice..."

Madara looked toward him.

Alaric smiled. "Very nice..."

Izuna lifted one hand toward his face. "I don't feel strain."

"You shouldn't," Alaric examined the optic pathways. "Your ocular chakra isn't fighting the transplant anymore. It has rewritten the network around you."

Madara continued studying the pattern. "Do you know what it does?"

"Nope," Alaric looked toward him and shrugged.

Madara stared.

Haku remained perfectly composed.

Izuna slowly lowered his hand.

Alaric continued before the silence became accusation.

"Having the eyes doesn't automatically put a list of techniques in my head."

He looked toward Izuna.

"We test them."

Madara's gaze returned to his brother. "Carefully."

Alaric glanced toward him.

That word coming from Madara Uchiha almost made him smile. But well... he resisted, mostly.

Izuna focused upon the room.

The pattern rotated subtly.

Nothing obvious happened.

No black flames.

No spatial distortion.

No immediate genjutsu discharge.

Madara stepped into his field of vision deliberately. "Do not force it."

Izuna nodded and concentrated again.

This time, Madara watched the chakra move differently between the two eyes.

Separate pathways.

Separate functions.

A faint change in space occurred around Izuna's right eye before disappearing too quickly to identify.

The left created a different response... something that made Madara's Rinnegan briefly register a disturbance in the flow of chakra around Izuna's own body rather than the environment.

Madara's expression sharpened. "Again."

Izuna attempted it.

The effects flickered.

'Interesting,' Alaric watched. 'Very interesting...'

But the full exploration could wait.

Izuna had been alive only a few days and seeing for less than half an hour.

Alaric raised a hand. "Enough."

Izuna looked toward him.

"The eyes are stable."

"I'd rather not discover your abilities by giving you a migraine ten minutes after restoring your vision." Alaric's tone made the decision final without becoming harsh. "I also don't want you to accidentally destroy some parts of my house or whatever with your experimentations."

Hearing this, Madara nodded his head in agreement.

Izuna reluctantly allowed the Eternal Mangekyō pattern to recede.

Three tomoe returned, then ordinary dark eyes.

Alaric performed one last scan, and when he saw that everything looked perfect, he smiled. 'I'm so amazing...'

Haku looked at him. "Sensei."

"Yes?"

"Good work."

Alaric stretched both arms above his head. "I know, duh..."

His shoulders shifted until something quietly popped.

Then he yawned.

The sudden normality looked almost absurd after what had just happened.

"Alright," He glanced toward Haku. "I'm going to the Hokage Tower for a bit."

Haku inclined his head.

"Do you want me to accompany you?"

"Nah," Alaric considered it. "Just stay here for now."

His eyes moved toward Izuna.

"Keep an eye on his chakra response. Nothing complicated. If his vision blurs, the eyes begin hurting, or anything feels wrong, call me."

"Yes, Sensei."

Izuna raised a brow. "You are assigning your disciple to watch me."

"Haku is one of the best medical shinobi in the village."

Haku's expression remained calm.

Alaric added, "And unlike me, he may actually stay in the same building for longer than twenty minutes."

Izuna could not dispute the practical advantage.

Alaric turned toward Madara.

The older Uchiha was still looking at his brother.

Not the eyes... Izuna.

Alaric's expression became more thoughtful.

"Madara."

Madara shifted his gaze toward him.

Alaric rested one hand inside his pocket.

"I've been meaning to ask."

Madara waited.

"The Five Villages are mobilizing because they think you're about to end civilization."

No reaction.

"You've abandoned Infinite Tsukuyomi."

Madara's eyes remained steady.

"The Ten-Tails isn't yours anymore."

Still nothing.

"Izuna's alive."

That mattered.

Madara glanced briefly toward his brother.

Alaric continued.

"And you agreed to work with me for five years."

He tilted his head.

"So what are you actually going to do now?"

Silence settled over the medical room.

Haku watched from beside the bed.

Izuna turned toward Madara, his newly restored eyes studying his brother properly for the first time.

Madara had spent most of his life moving toward something.

Victory over the Senju.

Protection of Izuna.

Konoha.

Then rejection of Konoha.

Infinite Tsukuyomi.

A world without loss.

Every version of his future had been organized around an objective so enormous that the rest of existence became secondary.

Now the plan was gone.

The Ten-Tails was gone.

Black Zetsu's lies were exposed.

Izuna was alive.

For perhaps the first time since childhood, Madara Uchiha stood in a future he had never planned.

His gaze remained on Izuna for several seconds.

Then he looked back toward Alaric.

"I…"