It's a starry and lonely night, with not a cloud in the sky and only a rare wind stirring Gaara's hair.

The guy in the black robe was standing on a slope, looking out at the desert and the village of his homeland visible in the distance. He doesn't regret it, there's only hatred in his heart, but he can't help but silently reason... It seemed like the whole world had gone silent, even Shukaku's voice in his head had stopped, Gaara even wanted to say something sarcastic, like, "is there finally nothing to say?". But he was silent.

It seemed like now was really the moment when he was completely alone. Renounced by all. And only the scar on his forehead reminds him why he's still here...