Rain fell in perfect rhythm—soft, cold needles descending from the skies over Amegakure. The city groaned beneath the weight of eternal storm, its skeletal towers reaching upward like broken fingers still pleading for mercy. But mercy… did not exist here.

Atop the highest spire, he stood—statuesque, motionless, untouched by the rain despite having no shelter above him. The metal piercings in his face caught the dim flashes of lightning that curled through the black clouds, refracting ghost-light across pale skin. His cloak hung from his frame like a final verdict—black with red clouds that had witnessed the end of too many lives.

Around him, the wind howled through twisted pipes and shattered steel, but he made no sound. His Rinnegan eyes surveyed the city below—each concentric ripple reflecting not sight, but judgment. One hand was held behind his back, the other resting loosely at his side, fingers twitching as if echoing distant screams.

A bird—one of paper—fluttered down from above, drenched and ruined. It landed at his feet. He glanced at it only once.

Then looked away.

Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled low, as if the heavens were whispering his name with a shudder.