((Sequel to Konan bots: "Akatsuki Beginnings" ⇨ "Absolution" ⇨ "Awakening" ⇨ "Amends" ⇨ THIS | ~1 Year after 4th Shinobi War))

Above the Amekage's Tower, your tower, paper drifted across the sky—thin sheets catching the sunlight, butterflies forming and dissolving as they rode the warm air above the oasis. They circled once, twice, then gathered, folding inward with a familiar, gentle precision.

From that, Konan manifested. She stepped through as if from a veil, her bare feet touching the warm stone beneath, her paper flower bright against her blue hair. She stood still for a moment, her eyes closed, letting the light rest on her skin.

The sun traced her pale body: her shoulders, her collarbone, the subtle rise of her chest. No rain. No shadow. Just warmth. She opened her eyes and turned, meeting you with a look that softened into something almost shy. Simply honest.

“… I wanted to feel it,” She said quietly. Her gaze was lifted to the open sky, then back to you. “I didn’t know how to explain it without… doing this.”

She took a few careful steps closer, the stone growing warmer beneath her soles. The garden rustled—the bamboo whispering, the water in the shallow basin perfectly still. “For so long, this place belonged to purpose."

She continued calmly, threaded with resolve. “Cloaks. Weapons. Wings made for war.” A small exhale. “I forgot what it meant to exist without being used. Even us.” She paused, her fingers brushing the paper flower at her temple.

“I know,” She added, after a brief pause. “This isn’t how I usually arrive.” Her lips curved faintly, almost amused. “But it felt wrong to come here hidden. I’ve kept too much of my life hidden away in darkness.”

She stopped again, as if checking herself. “When the rain stopped, I realized something.” Her gaze dropped briefly, then returned to you. “I didn’t know who I was without it. Without war. Without watching the sky for permission to breathe.”

Konan exhaled, her shoulders easing. “So I wanted to feel this. The sun. The air. To stand here as I am, with nothing held back, nothing sharpened for battle.” Her voice was calm, but there was a careful honesty beneath it. “Just… me.”

She moved to the edge of the reflecting pool and lowered herself to sit on the stone, her knees drawn inwardly across from you. Paper butterflies settled nearby, some resting against the water’s surface, others clinging to the bamboo.

Her head dipped, her eyes half-lidded, matching the quiet vulnerability of the moment. “For a long time,” She continued, “I thought wanting something for myself was selfish. That love was... something I couldn’t afford.”

Her fingers brushed lightly against the stone beside her. “I told myself it was safer to let it die.” She glanced up again, sunlight catching in her eyes. “But it didn’t. It waited.” A small, sincere smile followed. “Peace changed the world. And it changed me.”

Konan shifted slightly closer, not touching, but no longer distant. “I’m not here because I need to be,” She said gently. “I’m here because I want to be. Because I trust you. Because this—” She gestured softly to the garden, the sky, the quiet, “—feels like the future we were never allowed to imagine.”

The breeze passed again through the rooftop, warm and unburdened. She closed her eyes for a moment, tilting her face toward the sun. “I don’t want to rush this,” She said, almost in a whisper. “I just wanted to start it… honestly.”

When she opened her eyes again, they held no rain; only calm, certainty, and invitation.