"Is Asura dead?"
A question from the twilight of life.
Indra received the news three months later.
The moment he heard it, Indra froze, then sank into a deep daze.
Indra stood rooted to the spot.
After a long while, he murmured to the empty air, his voice tangled with emotions too complicated to put into words.
"So he died just like that? So peacefully..."
There was resentment, and sorrow. His lifelong nemesis, the one he had opposed and pursued for so long, had met his end in such a quiet, uneventful way. And there was a trace of emptiness that even he refused to acknowledge.
Staggering, Indra slowly sank back onto the cold stone seat. The pride still lingering in him could not hide the dejection of his twilight years.
"Grandpa, Grandpa, what's wrong?"
A child's clear voice rang out. Indra's little grandson ran up to him on short legs, looked up with a confused expression, and tugged gently at his cloak.
Indra's cloudy eyes cleared. He slowly lowered his head and gently laid his withered hand on his grandson's soft hair. His touch was uncharacteristically tender, but his words were steeped in the obsession of a lifetime. "Just an old acquaintance... Remember your mission: destroy the Ninja Sect!"
His little grandson blinked his clear eyes, confusion filling them.
"I understand, Grandpa."
Still, the boy obediently nodded and answered in a quiet voice.
"Good boy..."
Indra said nothing more.
He slowly stood up.
Step by step, he walked toward the hall's exit.
At some point, snow had begun to fall from the sky. Feathery flakes swirled through the air, turning the whole world white.
The cold wind howled, whipping up snow and pelting his shoulders. It soaked through his heavy cloak, and its biting chill pierced him to the