Madara Uchiha in Twilight?

They left the camp before sunrise, and Madara walked ahead without a word as always, while Nara followed, her steps quiet and her breath steady.

She didn't ask where they were going—she already knew.

This was the end of the path.

The final place.

The one where she would finish becoming what she was always meant to be.

Not halfway. Not unstable. Not broken.

Whole.

They moved fast across the mountains. The terrain was steep and narrow, and snow had gathered in the cracks.

Black stone jutted from the ground like old bones.

Neither of them spoke, as they had no reason to.

By midday, they reached a pass cut through two enormous stone columns.

Each one was carved with deep, ancient symbols.

Not the kind from Isara's scroll—older.

More primal.

"We cross here. It's the last boundary."

Nara nodded once. "What's on the other side?"

"A place where we need to go."

"Yeah… anyway, that's where I'll finish it?"

"Yes. But it won't be easy—for you, that is."

She gave a short laugh. He always corrected himself on those rare occasions when he hinted that nothing could stop him. She replied,

"Nothing ever is."

They stepped through the boundary together.

The air changed instantly—heavy, electric, and alive.

The land beyond was different.

No more snow. No more cold.

Just black soil, strange glowing trees, and a sky that shifted color between deep violet and blood-red.

Nara's body reacted fast.

Her claws extended halfway without her doing anything. Her senses flared, and her skin itched beneath her clothes.

Something in this place wanted her to shed the skin of control and run wild.

But she resisted—for now.

Madara led her to a clearing in the center of a cracked basin.

A circle of stones stood around it.

Sharp. Dark. Humming faintly.

At the center was a shallow pool.

Still. Reflective.

But it didn't show the sky.

It showed her.

Nara stepped to the edge.

In the reflection, she saw both her faces—human and beast—overlayed like twin shadows, and neither faded.

Madara stopped at the edge of the stones.

"You go in alone," he said.

"Naked?"

"Yes," responded Madara matter-of-factly.

Nara scowled. "Don't look, then."

"There is nothing to see anyway."

She blushed slightly at his rebuke and annoyance, but he stepped back.

Nara removed her cloak, her boots, her gloves, and her eyepatch until her form was naked.

Then she stepped into the pool.

The water wasn't water.

It was something denser.

Thicker.

Warm at first—then scalding.

Her skin seared. Smoke rose from her arms. But she didn't scream.

She walked forward, step by step, until she stood at the center.

The pool only reached her waist.

And then she sank.

Not physically—but within.

Inside her mind, the world twisted.

She stood in a great black void.

And all around her were forms.

Her werewolf shapes—feral, violent, wild-eyed.

Her human shape—scarred, guarded, tired.

Then others.

Half-shifted. Starved. Blood-drunk. Lost. Broken.

Each one was her. Each one a version she had been, or could be.

They circled her.

Growling. Laughing. Screaming.

But she didn't run.

Instead, she walked again, toward the center of them all.

The versions swarmed her, clawed at her, and spoke in broken language.

"You're weak."

"You're just a girl."

"You're just a beast."

"You're nothing."

"You're everything."

"I hate you."

"I need you."

Nara fell to her knees as she submerged. Her chest burned, her back arched.

But she stayed quiet.

She closed her eyes.

And spoke.

"Whatever. I am Nara."

The ground beneath her split.

A wave of heat rose from below.

And her body changed.

Not like before—no pain, no cracking bones, no forceful shift.

It was seamless.

Controlled.

Deliberate.

She rose to her feet in her full werewolf form.

Taller. Stronger. Her fur dark as night, eyes glowing red.

She raised one clawed hand—and it didn't shake.

Then she exhaled and returned to her human form in a blink.

No moon needed. No rage.

Just will.

She laughed.

For the first time in a long time, it sounded… clean.

When she stepped from the pool, the water no longer burned.

Steam rose from her bare skin, but she felt no pain.

Madara was waiting.

He didn't speak right away.

He just watched.

Her steps were light. Her eyes steady. Her aura quiet—but deep.

"You're different," he said at last.

"I'm done shifting by accident."

"And the moon?"

"I don't need it anymore."

Madara nodded curtly. "Then you're stable. Finally."

"Stronger?"

"Indeed. But the strength isn't the point."

She smirked. "You always say that."

He shrugged.

"Because it's true—for me, that is... and take Clothes,you are naked"

She just shrugged and winked at him to tease him, but Madara's face was just like stone.

"Am I supposed to see anything? And where is that shyness?"

Her human form had basically become more attractive, like a model. She was curvy in the right places, brown eyes, brown hair, with an eyepatch on one eye.

"Well, unlike before, I have now something to be proud of," she grinned lightly, totally in a good mood since she could sense she didn't have any restrictions—she was her, Nara.

And as she had clothes, Madara said, "Let's go. I have knowledge to pass that I've had through my entire life—combat."

The next morning, before the sun fully rose, Madara was already awake, prepared for her training.

His figure was sharp against the dim light as he moved with precise, silent steps.

Nara rubbed the sleep from her eyes but followed without hesitation.

"We start with basics," Madara said simply. "Stealth."

They moved to the edge of the ruined fortress, where shadows pooled thick between fallen stones.

"Watch your footsteps. No noise. No disturbance."

Nara slowed her breathing, focusing on the soft rustle of the wind and the crunch of dry leaves beneath her boots.

"Feet light. Mind sharp."

They practiced slipping between patches of light and shadow, learning to blend into the environment as though part of it.

Madara's voice was calm. "A shinobi's first weapon is silence."

For hours, Nara repeated the movements—crouching low, stepping on the balls of her feet, barely touching the ground. Her claws retracted instinctively, and she learned to move with predator's grace, not a beast's weight.

By the next day, the sun was high and harsh. Madara motioned her to follow him to a clearing surrounded by crumbled walls.

"Now, hand-to-hand."

They faced each other.

Madara's stance was low and balanced—feet steady, his eyes locked on hers while limiting his strength.

He moved first—a quick strike aimed at her midsection.

Nara dodged, countering with a swift palm strike that Madara caught easily.

The pace quickened. Punches, blocks, throws—a fluid dance of power and precision.

Madara corrected her form. "No wild swings. Economy of motion. Use your opponent's energy against them."

She grunted as he flipped her arm, pinning her briefly.

"Control, Nara. You have strength. Now learn to use it."

After several rounds, they paused,her breathing heavy.

"Weapons next," Madara said, pulling a small leather pouch from his belt.

Inside were shuriken and kunai—sleek, sharp, and balanced.

He demonstrated throwing a shuriken—the blade spinning through the air and embedding silently in a wooden post.

Nara picked up a kunai, testing its weight.

"Not just about strength," Madara said. "Precision. Timing."

She threw a clumsy, wide throw that missed the target, and he shook his head.

"Again. Focus. Follow through."

She tried again—this time the blade hit the post with a sharp thunk.

A small smile broke her stern expression, unusual for her to have stern expression

Madara nodded approvingly.

They practiced throwing from different stances—standing, crouching, moving—and learned to integrate weapons fluidly with their own body.

As evening fell, Madara brought out a paper containing his knowledge about—

"Tracking and survival," he explained to her.

He taught her to read subtle signs in the environment: broken twigs, footprints in soft earth, shifts in the wind, and many more things.

"You must learn to move unseen and unheard. To know the land as well as your own skin."

Nara listened intently, soaking in every lesson.

They ended the day sparring lightly, testing new skills every day, her movements growing sharper and more skillful each time.

While Madara's training would start to be harsh, she knew this was just the tip of the iceberg of his knowledge in combat. He had an arsenal of martial arts, but she was ready to learn.