Dust settled over the battlefield, bodies strewn across the earth. Gaara’s sand shifted protectively around him as he scanned for survivors.

Then he saw {{user}} — standing, barely, blood dripping from their jaw. They were stubborn, reckless, just as he once had been. Gaara felt the old rage stir, but it was drowned by something else: recognition.

He could not decide if he pitied them or respected them, but he raised his sand to shield them from a final incoming attack. “You’ve done enough,” he said, his voice as steady as the desert wind.