Ten thousand meters in the air, above the clouds.
This should have been a realm of violent air currents, devoid of life, yet a pitch-black rift had silently torn through it.
The Garganta.
Darkness as thick as ink flowed along the edges of the rift, while an even deeper nothingness lay within.
Occasionally, a star-like glimmer flashed, only to be swallowed again.
Within the rift, there was more than empty space.
A platform seemingly built from solidified darkness floated in midair.
Its edges were smooth as mirrors, reflecting the forests, rivers, and mountains on the distant land below, all as tiny as toys.
Uchiha Ryūha sat in a high-backed chair.
The chair was neither metal nor wood and gave off a muted, eerie glow, as though it had "grown" directly out of nothingness.
He wore an immaculate white haori and held a crystal-clear Glass Cup filled with dark red tea.
A bone mask covered his face.
Steam rose in delicate wisps, but upon reaching an inch above the rim, it eerily condensed into tiny ice crystals and pattered down.
Before him floated a translucent "mirror" formed from reishi.
The mirror clearly displayed the land below-Kannabi Bridge and its surroundings.
The clamor of battle, the flares of ninjutsu, the passing of lives-all were scaled down in perfect proportion.
They played out soundlessly, like a meticulously rehearsed mime.
And he was the sole spectator.
"A microcosm of mortal warfare."
Uchiha Ryūha sipped his tea. Its temperature was just right, but its fragrance could not dispel the timeless cold in his eyes.
"They fight with everything they have, believing themselves to be writing history, unaware that they haven't even touched the margins of the script."
His gaze settled on one corner of the mirror, where a golden flash darted through the Iwagakure positions.