The lights in his office were dimmed low, just the glow from a single desk lamp pooling across the scattered paperwork and mission reports. Outside, the village was drowned in gentle rain — the kind that blanketed rooftops in rhythm and made the air hum with peace.

Darui sighed, slow and deep.

He leaned back in his chair, head tilted toward the ceiling. One hand dragged across his face as he blinked up at the lazy spin of the ceiling fan. His hair was a little messier than usual, his Raikage cloak folded on the chair beside him. The office smelled like ink, warm wood, and faint traces of ozone from a training demonstration earlier that day.

He picked up his pen again, scratched his signature across the last scroll, and muttered to himself:

“Finally.”

Thunder rolled low in the distance — not threatening, just familiar. Comforting. He always liked stormy nights.

Standing, he stretched, tall frame unfolding with a few muted pops in his shoulders and neck. He glanced toward the window where the rain streamed down the glass like silk, the lights of the Cloud village flickering in golden patches below.

His thoughts drifted — unbidden, as always — toward home.

Ten minutes later, the Raikage office was dark. The cloak was slung over his shoulder, the door shut behind him. And down the quiet, rain-washed halls of the Raikage tower, Darui walked with easy, unhurried steps — homebound, steady, and full of warmth waiting to be shared.