Stars glittered in the heavens like diamond dust upon the robe of a great king. Purple streaks spanned this darkness in an ominous way, almost magically. But tonight, it was cold. You could see it with every exhalation of the passers by; those without a place to be at this late nine o' clock hour. They lingered amongst the shadows, like silhouettes, and would occasionally come within the view of the many paper lanterns that seem to be strung haphazardly across the main walkways and passages. These lanterns glowed a brilliant orange, from afar, looking like miniature bursts from a firework.

The lights flickered a reflection upon his eyes: those undeniably dark eyes. He looked, almost relaxed at the scenery, as rooftops were slightly below his line of sight, emitting a lovely blue and orange tint of mist, a by product of the lights and atmosphere. Within the confines of his concealing clothing, he crouched atop the massive wooden gates of Konoha. Like a cat, with all limbs holding him up, he simply watched, and took it all in.

“This place...”

He hissed, reminiscing in the past, and comparing it to this setting. Nosferatu was the alias. He had just graduated the academy, with thoughts about the future flooding his mind like the air around him. The Konoha headband, he took it out from a pocket, as a lazer of white shinned across it. Never before had he seen a new headband before; they were usually dull and tattered in some way, worn always by his former enemies. This one, however, was different. It gave off that scented metallic polish: something akin to aluminum coating to prevent rust. The dark blue cloth felt clean and soft, a complete mismatch for the cold metal which clung unto it. He didn't see his enemies when he looked at the headband, as before. No, it was like a newborn child, an un-differentiated cell: it could turn out to be anything!

He stood up, restlessly, like a mountain that suddenly harboured life. Gripping the headband with his black leather glove, he poised to make a giant leap, and so lept off the structure and onto the rooftops. As silent as a whisper, his feet nicked the roof tiles, thrusting him into the air. He would travel for a few seconds, the wind trying to force his hood back, and then land and repeat the process. Where was he going? What was his plan? He didn't know, he was merely an observer-- like a child in a new world, lead only by instinct and irrational thoughts.

“... it reminds me of, home. ”

[440]