His left eye—the eye that had once perceived the microscopic and seen through the mists of fate—had been completely drained of its luster from excessive strain, covered by a lifeless, eternal gray haze.
It had gone permanently blind.
With great difficulty, he slowly raised his head and used his only remaining functional right eye to look toward where the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, had finally vanished.
There was nothing left there but mud soaked by rain and a patch of dark red bloodstains.
Complex emotions churned and settled within that right eye—lofty respect for an elder's sacrifice, deep relief that a long-entangled nemesis had finally met his end, but more than anything, utter exhaustion after paying such an unbearable price, and a vast loneliness... one beyond his years, one no one could understand or share.
He raised his remaining flesh-and-blood left hand, though it too was covered in fine crystalline cracks and trembled constantly. His fingertips lightly touched the cold, damp crystal ground beneath his feet, as if afraid of disturbing something.
The final wisp of Three-Phase Immortal Power, so faint it was nearly imperceptible, carried an unprecedented gentleness, almost compassionate. No longer destructive and violent, it flowed from his fingertips like a mother's hand, silently merging with this scarred land.
Across the battlefield, the scattered corpses of Konoha ninja—whether torn into pieces by White Zetsu or struck by All-Killing Ash Bones until nothing remained but scraps of clothing and a little ash—were gently lifted by that tender Sage Art glow. As though cradled by invisible palms, they slowly and solemnly gathered upon a relatively clean, dry patch of high ground at the edge of the crystal crater.
There was no earth-shaking spectacle, no radiant phenomenon.
Only silent respect.
Only a final farewell.
Only... heroes, at rest.
The torrential rain