Rain struck the tiles outside the window, its patter shattering into countless little sounds.
I lay under the covers, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
My arms felt empty, and something kept clawing at my heart.
The wooden token I had given away held a faint connection to my essence.
That weak pulse of life was trembling slightly.
The rain in the distance was cold, sending a chill down my spine.
I stared at the dark roof beams and sighed.
"Old man, I hope you've learned your lesson."
I closed my eyes, letting my senses extend along the veins of the earth.
Images pieced themselves together in my mind, and the sound of water filled my ears.
Drip, drip.
Cold, acrid rainwater slid down Jiraiya's forehead.
The rain here carried the sour tang of machine oil and rust.
Jiraiya crouched in the shadow of a rusty pipe.
He wiped his face, making the puddle beneath his shoes bubble as he shifted his feet.
Several sheets of white paper drifted silently through the curtain of rain.
The paper folded in midair, twisting into a woman's figure.
"Jiraiya-sensei, you shouldn't have come here."
The woman's voice was as cold as the rain.
Jiraiya stared at the blond woman before him, his pupils contracting slightly.
"Konan? Is it really you? What happened to you?"
Konan said nothing. White paper gathered into enormous wings at her sides.
"This is God's domain. Trespassers must die."
Jiraiya spat and shouted:
"Enough of this god nonsense! Where's that brat Nagato?"
"And Yahiko! Where the hell have those two gone?"
"Is this all you learned from the ninjutsu I taught you?"
Konan looked down at him without a trace of warmth in her eyes.
"Yahiko is dead. Nagato became a god. And you are a mortal."
Jiraiya's white