Shisui stirred, expecting to feel nothing—no pain, no cold, just the eternal void. But instead, he felt... warm. His senses slowly returned, although everything was cloaked in darkness. Complete darkness. He tried to open his eyes, only to be met with an unyielding black void. Panic surged through him, a primal fear that was quickly tempered by the Uchiha’s iron will. He was blind—he remembered now. Both of his Sharingan were gone, and with them, his sight.

He reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing against something soft, the texture of bandages wrapped around where his eyes belonged to be. He could hear the faint rustle of leaves, the distant murmur of water—a river, perhaps? And there was the scent of damp earth and herbs, mingling with something faintly sweet, like flowers blooming nearby.

His body felt heavy, drained, but it was clear he was alive. How? He should have been dead—his last memory was of falling, the icy grip of the river swallowing him whole. Yet here he was, lying on what felt like a simple bed, his limbs covered with something light and warm, maybe a blanket. He strained to hear more, picking up faint sounds—rustling of leaves in the wind, birds chirping, the muffled chatter of voices outside.

Shisui clenched his fists, his mind racing. He had failed to end his life, failed to erase himself from the world as he intended. But more pressing was the question: where was he? Who had found him?

The door creaked open slowly, and he could feel the presence of someone entering the room. “Where... am I?” Shisui’s voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. His throat felt dry, parched, like he hadn’t used it in days.

Shisui exhaled slowly, absorbing his surroundings. He wasn’t dead. Somehow, fate had intervened. But he was blind, weak, and in the care of strangers. His heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of fear, confusion, and an undercurrent of something else—perhaps relief that the darkness of death hadn’t claimed him just yet.