Naruto: The Hima clan

Three Weeks Later

Shimura Camp

The Shimura war camp was a grim cluster of tents, the atmosphere heavy with fatigue and frustration. Inside the largest tent, Shimura General Daiki stood at a table scattered with reports and maps. His once-pristine armor was battered, and his stern face bore the marks of exhaustion.

"The latest skirmish cost us another forty men," Daiki growled, his voice cutting through the tense silence. "Forty. To a clan that shouldn't even exist. These 'Hima' fight like ghosts. Where are they getting this strength?"

His officers exchanged uneasy glances, but no one spoke.

Daiki's frustration boiled over as he slammed his fist on the table. "Speak, damn it! Someone tell me how a fledgling clan has us running in circles!"

Before anyone could respond, the tent flap was pulled aside, and General Katsuro of the Kurama clan strode in. He was a tall, imposing figure with piercing dark eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor. His crimson armor, adorned with the Kurama clan's sigil, was spotless, a stark contrast to the Shimura's weary state.

"General Katsuro," Daiki greeted, his tone clipped. "I trust you have something useful to report."

Katsuro's gaze swept over the room before settling on Daiki. "I do. My forces will be leaving tomorrow."

The tent fell into stunned silence.

Daiki's expression darkened. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me," Katsuro replied calmly. "The Kurama clan agreed to fight alongside you for three weeks. That time is up. We've fulfilled our end of the deal."

Daiki stepped closer to Katsuro, his tone sharp. "The Hima are still standing. The Yuki are preparing to join them. And you're telling me you're leaving now?"

Katsuro folded his arms. "Our agreement was clear: three weeks. We've fought your battles, Daiki. Lost our men. Bled for your cause. But the Hima clan's survival—or destruction—is not our concern. This war is your problem, not ours."

One of Daiki's officers spoke up, his voice filled with desperation. "General Katsuro, please reconsider. If you leave now, the Hima will gain the upper hand!"

Katsuro's gaze shifted to the officer, his expression unyielding. "The Kurama do not fight wars for free, nor do we fight wars that aren't ours. You knew the terms. We've kept our word."

Daiki's fists clenched at his sides. "You're abandoning us to die."

"No," Katsuro said coldly. "We've given you three weeks to deal with the Hima. If you've failed to crush them in that time, that's on you. Perhaps you should question your own strategy instead of blaming others."

The tension in the room was palpable.

Daiki took a deep breath, trying to steady his anger. "Katsuro, the Hima clan isn't just some upstart group. They've held their ground against us for weeks. If you leave now, you'll be remembered as the clan that ran from a fight."

Katsuro's lips twitched into a faint smirk. "Let them remember what they will. My concern is for my clan, not your pride."

The tent was silent for a moment before Katsuro turned toward the exit. "Good luck, General Daiki. You'll need it."

As Katsuro stepped out into the night, Daiki slammed his hand against the table, sending papers scattering.

"We're on our own," he muttered bitterly. Turning to his officers, he barked, "Prepare the troops. The Hima have made fools of us for the last time."

......…

The sky was filled with hues of deep orange and red, the sun hanging low as if mourning the losses below. Rows of headstones stretched across the battlefield, silent reminders of the lives lost too soon. The earth beneath them, freshly turned, carried the scent of war and sacrifice.

Iroh sat cross-legged in front of a single headstone, a steaming cup of tea cradled in his hands. The name carved into the stone was etched deep in his heart:

Hima Arata

A Brave Flame That Burned Too Bright

A flame-red camellia lay at the base of the headstone, vibrant even in the somber surroundings. Iroh gazed at the name for what felt like hours, the tea cooling in his hands as memories of the young man flooded his mind.

"You always had such a sharp tongue," Iroh began, his voice quiet but steady. "Always ready with a comeback. Always eager to prove me wrong. Said my tea tasted like ash and regret." He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You weren't entirely wrong."

He took a small sip, the faint bitterness grounding him. The silence stretched, heavy and reverent, until Iroh spoke again.

"You know," he said, leaning back slightly, "there's a story I never told you. Not because I didn't want to, but because I never thought I'd need to."

He let the words hang in the air for a moment, the breeze rustling the leaves in quiet encouragement.

"A long time ago, when I was younger, I came across a boy," Iroh began. "He was sitting on the side of a dirt road, covered in mud, clothes torn, barely a scrap of life left in him. He didn't ask for help—didn't even look at me. Just sat there, staring at the ground like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world."

Iroh paused, his eyes distant as he relived the moment.

"I had some rice in my pack," he continued, "and a pot of tea. I sat down beside him, didn't say a word, just started cooking. The smell must've gotten to him, because eventually, he looked up. His eyes—stars, I tell you, even in all that misery. I handed him a bowl, and for the first time, he smiled. Just a little, but it was there."

He chuckled, the sound tinged with both warmth and sorrow. "He followed me after that. Everywhere I went, he was there, always a step behind. Didn't take long for me to realize he wasn't just following. He'd decided he was mine—and I was his."

Iroh's grip on the tea cup tightened slightly. "I taught him how to fight, how to live. How to laugh. He had this fire in him, brighter than anything I'd ever seen. He wasn't just surviving—he was thriving."

The wind picked up slightly, rustling the camellia at the grave's base. Iroh's voice grew quieter.

"That boy grew into a man," he said. "A man who could stand tall, who could face the world with strength and courage. A man who believed in something greater than himself."

He set the cup of tea down beside the headstone, his gaze locked on the name carved into the stone.

"And at the end of it all," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "that man saved me. Gave me purpose. Gave me hope. Gave me everything."

Iroh leaned forward, resting his hand against the cold stone. "And you know what, Arata?" he said, his voice trembling but resolute. "That man… was you."

The breeze swept through the graveyard, carrying the faint scent of smoke and something sweet, almost floral. Iroh sat in silence for a moment longer, letting the weight of his words settle.

"I miss you, kid," he said finally, standing slowly. "But I'll keep going. For you. For all of them. I'll make sure your fire never goes out."

He picked up the tea cup, poured the remainder at the base of the headstone, and turned to leave. But as he walked away, he glanced back one last time, a faint smile on his lips.

"And don't worry," he added, his voice carrying on the wind. "Next time, I'll add sugar to the tea. Just the way you liked it."

With that, Iroh walked away, the flames of resolve burning brighter than ever in his chest.

.......

The Hima war camp was alive with the hum of activity. Fires crackled as soldiers sharpened weapons and adjusted armor. The air was heavy with tension, knowing that tomorrow would bring the ultimate confrontation. Inside the largest tent, Akio, Iroh, Kenji, and the Hima generals gathered for the final war council.

A detailed map of the battlefield was spread across the table. Unlike previous skirmishes and tactical ambushes, this plan was straightforward and bold.

Akio stood at the head of the table, his commanding presence undeniable. His voice cut through the air like steel. "No more hiding. No more guerilla tactics. Tomorrow, we face the Shimura forces head-on. We'll end this war here and now."

Kenji, standing with his arms crossed, nodded approvingly. "About time. My men are tired of skirmishing—they want a proper fight."

Iroh, standing to Akio's right, interjected calmly. "A proper fight doesn't mean rushing in blindly. The Shimura forces may still outnumber us, but their morale is fraying. They've been stretched thin after weeks of conflict and are desperate for a decisive victory. We'll use that against them."

Akio tapped a spot on the map. "They'll position their forces here, on the flatlands near the southern ridge. The terrain gives them an advantage for their numbers. But it also gives us a chance to create a focal point for the battle."

Kenji leaned in, studying the map. "What's the strategy, then? Hit them hard at their center?"

Iroh shook his head. "No. That's exactly what they'll expect. The Shimura are disciplined, but their allies—the Sarutobi and wandering ninja—are less so. We'll bait their flanks into overcommitting, creating openings for our main force to cut through their center."

Akio continued, "I'll lead the main charge with our strongest fighters. We'll hold their attention and absorb their initial assault. While they're focused on us, Kenji will take his elite squad and strike their right flank."

Kenji smirked, tapping his katana. "Just point me in the right direction."

Iroh glanced at him, his expression serious. "You'll have to be fast. The Shimura general is no fool. If he sees his flank collapsing, he'll adjust quickly. Your job isn't just to hit them—it's to keep their forces in chaos long enough for our center to break through."

Kenji's grin faded into a determined nod. "Understood. We'll buy you the time you need."

One of the younger generals spoke up hesitantly. "And the left flank? If their Sarutobi reinforcements press us there, we could be overwhelmed."

Iroh gestured to the map. "We've stationed our best long-range fighters on the ridge here. They'll provide covering fire and prevent the Sarutobi from advancing too quickly. It won't be easy, but they've been trained for this."

Kenji tilted his head. "And Yamamoto? What's the status on his battle with the Kaguya?"

Akio's voice grew firm. "Reports say he's on the verge of victory. Once he's finished, he and the Yuki will join us. But we can't rely on that. This battle must be winnable without reinforcements."

The tent fell silent as the gravity of the situation sank in.

Kenji broke the silence with a sharp laugh. "Well, it's not like we've ever had it easy. If we're going down, let's go down swinging."

Akio smiled faintly. "We're not going down, Kenji. We've come too far for that."

He straightened, addressing everyone in the tent. "Tomorrow, we fight for the future of the Hima clan. This war has tested us in ways we never imagined. But we've endured. We've outsmarted and outlasted our enemies at every turn. Now, we show them our strength."

The generals nodded, their resolve hardening. Iroh spoke softly but with conviction. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, everything changes."

As the leaders began to leave, Kenji lingered near Akio. He glanced at the clan leader, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "You know this isn't just about the Shimura anymore, right? If we win tomorrow, the Hima will be on the map. Everyone will know our name."

Akio met his gaze, his eyes steady. "That's the point. It's time the world saw what we're capable of."

Kenji grinned. "Then let's give them a show."

The two men exchanged a firm nod before Kenji turned and strode out of the tent, his fiery hair catching the lantern light.

...…

The Hima army stood in formation on the edge of the battlefield. The morning mist clung to the ground, obscuring the distant figures of the Shimura forces assembling on the horizon.

Akio stood silently his eyes scanning the terrain , his armor gleaming in the pale light. Behind him, the Hima soldiers waited in disciplined silence, their eyes fixed on their leader.

Iroh walked up beside him, his voice calm despite the tension in the air. "It's time."

Akio raised his hands high, his voice carrying over the field like thunder. "Hima clan! Today, we fight not just for survival, but for victory! For honor! For the future!"

A roar erupted from the ranks, the sound shaking the very ground beneath them.

Kenji, positioned with his elite squad on the right flank, grinned as he tightened his grip on his katana. "Let's see if these Shimura dogs are ready for us."

The horns of the Shimura army blared, and their forces began to march.

Akio's voice rang out again, filled with unyielding resolve. "Hima clan—charge!"

The final battle had begun.