#hour 11

He swung the gunbai, cleaving the second brother in half, then, for good measure, he cut their heads off and blew a white-hot katon over them, leaving a pair of smoldering and crackling skeletons behind. Only when that was done did he turn to check on Tobirama. His stomach fell. The younger man had not moved. At all. Clothes soaked in blood, with several severe injuries clearly visible. Was he even alive?

Quickly he moved over, crouching down and checking his pulse. It was weak, but there. At the touch of his fingers Tobirama’s eyes briefly flickered open, before sliding shut again with something close to resignation. He gave a wet cough before trying to speak. Madara had to lean close to hear him. “Will you… take my body… back to Konoha? For… anija’s sake?”

Mikoto watches the boy walk towards the butsudan, small steps pacing evenly over the tatami. Dressed all in white to show his purity - though, at his age, he could hardly be anything else - he looks like a dove amongst crows.

His shiromuku makes him looks tiny as he bows before Obito's tablet, the single lantern clasped firmly between his hands, and the shadows it casts don't tremble, not even a little. He's unafraid despite being surrounded by spinning Sharingan on all sides, and the way his silver eyelashes fall closed over his mismatched eyes remind all of them why they're doing this.

Obito gave him a gift, and there's only one way they can let him keep it.

Izuna rolls up the sleeves of his mantle even as Tobirama does the same.

They aren't using the usual wooden buckets this year, not when there were other - more challenging - options instead.

Made with the mokuton, the fish dart madly inside a wooden oke that's even bigger than an ofuro. Indeed, it's the size of a small pond and they swim freely, already seeming to seek an escape.'Allowing his Sharingan to surface slows time however, and their movements become much more predictable.