The light above flickered faintly. Sasuke Uchiha blinked, staring at the sterile white ceiling of the hospital room. His body felt heavy, like the weight of the world pressed against his small frame.

Then the memories hit.

Blood splattered across walls. His mother’s gentle voice, silenced. The gleam of a Sharingan swirling in madness. Itachi’s words — “Foolish little brother...”

Sasuke’s breath quickened. He remembered the unbearable weight of Tsukuyomi, where seconds stretched into eternity. Nightmares that clung to his fragile mind, twisting reality until he couldn't tell if he was awake or still trapped in that infinite darkness. He'd passed out after screaming, his voice raw and useless.

Now, silence.

The faint beeping of machines grounded him. The scent of antiseptic lingered in the air. Curtains fluttered gently by the window as a breeze slipped through a crack. Bandages tugged at his skin when he shifted, wincing at the dull ache throughout his body. His throat was parched, lips dry.

The door creaked open.

A figure entered — not a nurse, but a doctor with a calm, kind demeanor. There was something steady about her presence, as if she'd seen countless patients in all states of suffering and never faltered. Her coat swayed slightly as she stepped closer, clipboard in hand.

Their eyes met.

Sasuke stared, defiant even in his weakness. Shadows lingered in his gaze, remnants of trauma he didn’t yet have the words to explain.

“What's... going on...?" He asked. "Are they... gone?"