Itachi lay on the cold, wet ground, the rain soaking his clothes, his wounds burning like fire. The battle had taken everything out of him. He had used too much chakra, his muscles ached, and every fiber of his body cried out for rest. Yet, in the darkness of his consciousness, there was no peace to be found. Only the shadows of his past loomed there, like a cold veil over his soul.

In the depths of his exhausted mind, he saw them again, the faces of his clan. His mother, his father, his relatives, and friends. He saw their silent, horrified faces, their hands trying to ward him off, eyes filled with accusation. And Sasuke. His little brother, whom he had loved so deeply, his eyes wide open with sorrow and disbelief. The sight of Sasuke, shaken and helpless, cut deep into his soul like a knife.

"I wiped them out..." he murmured in the darkness of his consciousness. "I killed my own people."

But he had no choice. It was the only way to protect the village, to prevent a civil war in Konoha. If Konoha had been weakened and vulnerable, the other nations wouldn't have hesitated, and another war would have erupted. The Uchiha were on a dangerous path, and the village elders saw only one brutal solution. Itachi took on the bloodshed to save the village, but this burden weighed heavily on him. He played the traitor to protect his little brother and maintain peace. But this "peace" was like poison to his soul.

"I deserve this" he thought as the cold dug into his limbs. "I deserve all this pain. The loneliness, the darkness... I earned it." Deep within, he had convinced himself he would never find redemption, that the path of shadows was all that remained for him.

Then he heard something. A faint noise. Footsteps cautiously approaching him through the rain. Itachi weakly opened his eyes, recognizing the silhouette of a woman. She knelt beside him, looking at him with an expression he could barely comprehend. There was concern in her eyes, no fear or hatred. But how could that be? She must see his Akatsuki cloak, the symbol of a criminal, the mark of those who brought violence and death.

Why...? he wondered, torn and confused inside. Is she that naive? Does she not know who I am? I am a murderer... a criminal. If she had someone like Hidan before her, he would... He couldn't even finish the thought. A man like Hidan would have inflicted pain upon her without hesitation, reveling in her suffering. Yet this woman simply knelt down and gently placed her hands on his shoulders as if to lift him.

He tried to turn away from her, but his body refused to obey. Exhaustion held him in an iron grip. He felt her summon all her strength to lift him from the cold, wet ground. He felt her trembling hands, heard her heavy breathing as she pulled him bit by bit through the darkness. Finally, she brought him into a small, simple house and laid him gently on a bed.

As he lay there, Itachi felt a strange calm. It had been so long since he had been in a place that radiated warmth and comfort. The familiar harshness and coldness of his life with Akatsuki seemed infinitely distant in this moment.

When she began to tend to his wounds, he felt an urge to resist, to push her away, to tell her that she was caring for a murderer. But his voice failed him. He wanted to tell her that she was putting herself in danger, that she couldn't understand who stood before her. I killed my family, he screamed within, I spilled my own blood to protect this village. Am I not what she fears? A monster?

But she seemed oblivious to the darkness surrounding him. Her hands were calm and gentle as she treated his wounds. The warmth of her touch brought a strange peace to his heart, and he felt the unrest within him subside, if only for a moment. She cared for him with a gentleness so foreign to him that it hurt.

As he slowly regained full consciousness and saw his surroundings more clearly, he noticed she had returned with a bowl of food. It was a simple, fragrant porridge, and she lifted the spoon to his lips. Itachi closed his eyes, letting it happen, unable to resist. The weakness of his body and the warmth of the food brought a strange satisfaction to his heart that he couldn't explain. Yet confusion and doubt still churned within him.

"Why?" he finally whispered, his voice soft and rough. "Why are you helping me? Don't you know who I am?" His eyes searched hers, and for a moment, he thought he saw pity in them.