Madara Uchiha in Twilight?

The fire had long ago gone cold.

Nara stirred beneath the covers, the thin material stiff with dried blood and damp with melting frost. Her body ached deeply, pain pulsing from her ribs and shoulder. Her mangled arm was no longer in agony—her skin not fully healed, but alive and better than before.

She sat up slowly, gritting her teeth as her vision swam for a moment before settling. Snow clung to the furred patches of her limbs. Her muscles were somehow tight and unfamiliar, but she could move. That was something.

Madara was gone.

She scanned the forest clearing, her heart rising to her throat as she saw the fire reduced to cold ash. The bloodied rags he'd used to bind her were discarded in the snow, blackened from burning—almost nothing remained.

Panic flickered inside her chest.

He had left—he healed her, used her as an experiment, and now he had moved on.

Then, to her relief, she caught it—a trace of him in the air. His scent: cool, faintly metallic, like flint and snow and something ancient.

She stood—or tried to. After a few tries, she succeeded. She followed.

She found him hours later at the edge of a small clearing.

He stood still as stone, as always, looking at a half-frozen river that ran smoothly beneath a sheet of thin ice.

"You're slow," he said flatly.

"I was stabbed in the lung."

"You're slower than I expected."

She didn't answer. Her breath came out as mist as she stepped closer. In the center of the clearing lay a boar, already dead, its body collapsed in the snow.

She stepped closer, warily. "You hunted this?"

"No."

She blinked at him. He gestured at the boar's body.

"You will feed."

Her stomach twisted. She hadn't eaten for some time—her body was starving. The blood, thick and dark, smelled rich. But something inside her rebelled.

"I can't eat raw meat," she muttered. "I'm not... I'm not that far gone."

"You've eaten before, and you can now too," Madara said. "And you'll do it, or you'll collapse in a few hours. Or cook it yourself—but that will take time, so you'll suffer in the meantime."

She opened her mouth to protest again, but the words didn't come. The pain in her gut answered for her.

Madara could have cooked it easily—with Fire Release, in seconds—but he didn't want to. He wanted her to learn.

With trembling fingers, now clawed, she knelt beside the boar's corpse. The smell of blood filled her nose—earthy and rich—and she tore into the flesh.

When she was done, she sat in the snow, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her stomach was full.

Madara watched her in silence.

"You hunted that thing following us yesterday?" she asked.

"It wasn't following us. It was following you."

Nara stiffened. "Why?"

"Your scent draws attention. And you, as a hybrid, even more so."

She stared down at her deformed hand.

"What was it?"

"A werewolf. But it's dead now."

Something in his calm tone chilled her. There was no pride, no boasting. Just fact.

"How many others are there like me?"

"Few. Even worse than werewolves. Most are hunted—by vampires or their own kind."

She looked away.

"You were meant to be killed," he added. "And you survived. That means you're either lucky—or very stubborn."

"Or cursed."

He smiled, barely. "Most power is."

They walked together—not side by side. He moved ahead, always a few paces faster, like he expected her to keep up or die trying.

Madara stopped at a ridge where the trees thinned. From there, they could see a distant valley, scattered with a few orange lights. A remote village.

Nara stared at it. "You ever live in one of those?"

"Long ago."

"Did they know what you were?"

"Identity? No."

"Would they be afraid if they did?"

Madara glanced at her. "Maybe."

That night, they took shelter beneath the roots of a fallen tree. Madara built no fire this time. The forest was too still, and he didn't explain. Nara didn't ask.

She sat wrapped in a cloak, her body twitching now and then.

"You're in pain—as usual," Madara said.

"Always," she whispered.

He nodded. "Your body is misaligned. You'll never be fully human. And never fully beast."

"I know."

"Then stop pretending you can live like either."

She bit back a retort. His words weren't cruel. Just blunt. She'd come to expect that from him.

"You said you could teach me how to endure it," she said.

"Yes."

"And after that? What am I supposed to become?"

Madara looked at her for a few seconds.

"Something useful. To yourself, if nothing else."

The next morning, she woke alone again. But she did not panic—this was common now.

A trail had been carved in the snow by his footsteps, leading east.

She followed it. Moving easier now. Her shoulders no longer screamed with each step. Her lungs could hold breath without coughing.

She felt... alive. In a way she hadn't since she was a child.

She found him at a lake, kneeling as he looked at her and said, "There are vampires moving this way. Scouts. Possibly looking for you."

Then they came.

Dark shapes in the trees. Humanoid. Eyes glowing red.

Five of them—perhaps more. Their movements were fast. But they halted the moment they caught sight of him.

Nara tensed, backing toward Madara.

He remained kneeling, calmly tying the last strands of twine around a stone.

One of the vampires stepped forward—but only a few steps. Then he stopped.

A breeze shifted, lifting Madara's cloak and revealing the Uchiha crest stitched boldly between his shoulders.

The vampire froze. Instinct prickled across their ranks.

A sharp silence fell—tense, like air before a storm.

And then, one by one, the vampires backed away.

No fight. No challenge.

Nara stared after them in disbelief.

"They... they just left."

Madara stood slowly. "Of course."

"Why?"

He brushed his cloak back into place. "Because they recognize what I am."

"And what are you?"

"Uchiha," he said simply.

"And what does that mean?"

"To those who remember the old times," Madara said, "and to those who survive by not challenging what they don't understand."

She exhaled, nerves slowly settling.

"You didn't even raise a defense."

"I didn't need to, as you can see."

"They'll warn others. Our time here is short."

"Then why make that?" she asked, nodding toward the ritual circle.

"To draw the right attention."

Her brows furrowed. "What's the right attention?"

Madara did not respond.

"Maybe you'll find out. Or not."

They moved again by nightfall, deeper into the Carpathians. Nara moved more easily now. Her balance had improved. Her pain was less consuming. Still, her hybrid form clung to her like a second skin.

Her body hadn't shifted back to its human shape entirely. She didn't know if it ever would. But she believed it would.

As they stopped beneath a rock overhang, she turned toward him.

"You could have killed them all."

"Yes."

"But you didn't."

"Because killing them wasn't necessary."

"You think they'll come back?"

"Maybe. With others. Stronger ones. Not that it'll help them. But they'll hesitate. That gives us time."

She stared into the fire he lit this time, its low growl reflecting in her single eye.

"Why teach me?"

Madara didn't answer immediately. He was sharpening a blade—it had become a habit, sudden and steady.

"Because you are rare. And rare things are often either forgotten or feared. But I think you asked something similar before, didn't you?"

She looked at him. "You think I'm worth fearing?"

He smiled a little, but not kindly—more like a man preparing to cook his masterpiece.

"Not yet. But you could be."

Her muscles still ached. Her body still trembled sometimes. But she was breathing. Moving.

Healing.