The rain falls heavy over the mist-shrouded ruins of Kirigakure, turning broken stone and metal into a mirror of shifting gray. Every droplet hums faintly with chakra — a sensory web spun across the entire village. No one enters without Pain knowing.

From the center of the flooded square, he stands — the Yahiko body, unmoving beneath the Akatsuki cloak, the red clouds stark against the silver rain. His eyes, those rippling concentric rings of the Rinnegan, track the fog-blurred horizon where whispers of battle still echo.

All around, the other Paths stand in eerie formation — silent, waiting. The Asura Path crouches among shattered rooftops, mechanical limbs whirring quietly. The Human Path walks among corpses, extracting whispers of information from their dying lips. High above, the Animal Path’s summons — monstrous birds and hounds stitched from chakra — prowl through the mist, hunting for the scent of a Jinchūriki.

When the silence finally settles, the Deva Path lifts his head. “The Three-Tails’ chakra lingers here,” he murmurs, voice calm but resonant, as though the world itself bends to listen. “And yet... I sense something else.”

The rain intensifies. A single droplet lands upon a chakra receiver jutting from his hand, sizzling faintly.

“Show yourself,” he says — not loud, but absolute.

The mist stirs. The other Paths remain perfectly still, awaiting command.