The air inside the Senju council chamber was heavy with tradition and scrutiny. Lanterns flickered on wooden walls carved with the clan's emblem—a great tree rooted deep in earth, its branches reaching for the sky. In this room, secrets were often buried under duty, and judgment cloaked itself in wisdom.
Itama stood at the center, wrapped in a formal black robe that clung loosely to his healing frame. His ribs still ached from the sparring accident, but he kept his posture upright and his gaze steady. To show weakness before the council would only stoke the growing fires of doubt.
Before him sat the seven clan elders—veterans of the Warring States era. Weathered faces. Eyes like flint. Wisdom earned in blood. These were men and women who had once stood alongside Butsuma Senju, and now served as keepers of the clan's political will.
At their center was Elder Okami, the eldest and most revered among them. His beard was white as ash, and his fingers trembled slightly as they rested on his staff. But his mind was sharp as ever.
"You were struck by a chakra-infused blow," Okami began without preamble, "yet you reacted with delay. And more curiously... your chakra spiked in an unfamiliar manner. We sensed a pattern none of us recognize."
"I was protecting Daiki," Itama answered calmly.
"An admirable instinct," said Elder Ren, a narrow-eyed woman known for her hawk-like precision in words and judgment. "But even admirable instincts can conceal darker truths."
Another elder, Juro, leaned forward. "Tell us, Itama... During your absence, where did you go? Who tended to your wounds? How did you survive?"
"I told you," Itama said. "I was rescued. I spent time recovering. Hiding."
"Hiding from whom?" Ren pressed. "The Uchiha? Or us?"
The chamber grew quiet.
"I didn't know who to trust," Itama admitted, his voice low. "I thought I was left for dead. I wanted to survive. That was all."
Elder Daiken scoffed. "And yet you return trained. Changed. You carry yourself with techniques unknown to our medical division. You channel your chakra... differently."
Okami's staff tapped the wooden floor. "Demonstrate."
Itama blinked. "What?"
"Your chakra. The anomaly Tobirama spoke of. We would see it ourselves."
The mention of Tobirama's name made something in Itama coil inside. So he'd gone to the elders after all. Not unexpected—but disappointing.
He inhaled slowly, placing his hands together in a familiar seal. "Very well."
Green light sparked around his palms, mingling with a deep brown hue that pulsed faintly in rhythm with his breath. It wasn't quite Mokuton—not yet—but the aura was distinct, a subtle harmony between healing and earth, like life being woven from the soil itself.
Murmurs rippled across the chamber.
"This is not traditional Senju medical chakra," Ren murmured. "It has... depth. Layers. Did your rescuer teach you this?"
"He was a rogue," Itama said truthfully. "A Senju who abandoned clan wars. He taught me how to survive, how to heal, and how to deceive when needed."
Juro narrowed his eyes. "You trained under a traitor?"
"He was no traitor," Itama said firmly. "He left to escape endless bloodshed. He saved my life."
"Perhaps," Okami allowed. "But such techniques... such philosophy... they are dangerous in the wrong hands. Especially hands that now lie within our camp."
Daiken grunted. "And what of your sparring injury? Akiji's strike should have broken more than ribs. You absorbed the blow in a way not even Hashirama could explain. Some say your body momentarily hardened. Rooted."
Itama flinched. The sensation had come unbidden—his body reinforcing itself with something not entirely under his command. It hadn't been earth style. It had felt alive.
"I didn't control it," he admitted. "It was instinct."
"A dangerous instinct," Ren said.
Okami raised his hand, silencing the murmurs. "We must be cautious. Your return has shaken the clan—not only emotionally, but spiritually. You are not the boy we lost. You are something... else."
"I am still Senju," Itama said. "I am still loyal to this clan."
Juro leaned back. "Then prove it. Submit to chakra monitoring. Let our seers examine your flow regularly. Share your training openly. Let us ensure you are not a threat."
Itama's jaw tightened. "You want to chain me."
"We want to protect the Senju," Okami said. "Including you, if you still count yourself among us."
The room fell quiet.
Outside, wind rustled the high pines. The weight of generations pressed down on Itama's shoulders—not from expectation, but from suspicion.
He nodded slowly. "I will comply."
Okami gave a single solemn nod. "Very well. You are dismissed."
---
As Itama exited the chamber, he found Hashirama waiting just beyond the threshold. His brother's eyes searched his face carefully.
"They questioned everything," Itama said quietly.
"I know," Hashirama replied. "I tried to stop it, but... there's fear. In war, fear spreads like fire. You're an ember they don't know how to hold."
"They asked me to submit to monitoring."
Hashirama looked pained. "I'll make sure it's not invasive."
"You don't have to protect me."
"I want to."
They stood in silence a moment longer before Itama turned to go.
Tobirama stood in the distance, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable.
The interrogation was over—but the true trial had only begun.
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