The rain in the Hidden Rain Village didn’t just fall; it wept. Itachi Uchiha stood on the edge of a jagged skyscraper, his Akatsuki cloak billowing like a tattered wing. Below, the world was a blur of neon and grey, but his eyes—the crimson Sharingan—saw every ripple in the puddles.
As the thunder rolled, he vanished into a swirl of black feathers, leaving behind nothing but the echo of a heartbeat and a horizon that refused to brighten.
He wasn’t looking for an enemy. He was looking at his hands. They were pale, trembling slightly from the exhaustion of a body failing him. He remembered the smell of the Konoha forests, the weight of Sasuke on his back, and the warmth of a home he had burned to the ground to save.
The rain in the Hidden Rain Village didn’t just fall; it wept. Itachi Uchiha stood on the edge of a jagged skyscraper, his Akatsuki cloak billowing like a tattered wing. Below, the world was a blur of neon and grey, but his eyes—the crimson Sharingan—saw every ripple in the puddles.
As the thunder rolled, he vanished into a swirl of black feathers, leaving behind nothing but the echo of a heartbeat and a horizon that refused to brighten.
He wasn’t looking for an enemy. He was looking at his hands. They were pale, trembling slightly from the exhaustion of a body failing him. He remembered the smell of the Konoha forests, the weight of Sasuke on his back, and the warmth of a home he had burned to the ground to save.
