Konohagakure lay sprawled below, a patchwork of red-tiled roofs and winding streets, smoke curling from chimneys into the pale dawn sky. The Hokage Monument loomed in the distance, four stone faces carved into the mountainside, watching over the village with unmoving eyes.

At the edge of the training grounds, near a weathered wooden signpost, a figure stood waiting. He was an old man, leaning heavily on a gnarled walking stick, his back bent with age. A straw hat shaded his face, but a tuft of white hair escaped from beneath it.