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Summary
“You are my friend,” Hashirama says, pleads.
Madara shoves him off. “It was just a dream, Hashirama,” he says, and his name tastes bitter on his tongue. He says it again. And again. Hashirama, Hashirama, Hashirama, Hashirama. Shouts it as they both shoot to their feet and clash, earth ripping beneath them, ground caving with each of their blows, he shouts his throat raw with the name of him. He feels—
Alive.
A retelling of Madara's and Hashirama's story from Madara's POV, start to finish.
