This beautiful city…
Amegakure was built on coastal waters. Every building an innocent, refreshing white, it had stood proud and tall since its creation.
Small bridges crossed back and forth over currents of clear, unpolluted water that passed through the natural canals.
Native coral could be seen growing beneath the crystalline liquid, colored fish darting back and forth, in and out while larger creatures gracefully floated beside them. Dolphins bounced across the surface occasionally, drawing crowds and earning fish for their troubles.
The people of Amegakure were as much a part of nature here, as the fish that graced the waters.
The white walls of the city contrasted aesthetically with the blue water. It was an Atlantis in its own right, a found paradise, a city among cities.
The smell of salt hung pleasantly in the air as silver gulls chose their perches.
An array of birds glided swiftly overhead, the scales of small fish glinting in their beaks.
Market stalls lined the outer wall of the city, selling varieties of fish, vegetables, clothing and spices.
A large city though it might have been, no one was a stranger.
In specially sculpted coves, white stones gave way to fine, golden sand where children tossed brightly colored balls to one another and splashed in the silky ocean waters.
A thriving economy graced its white cobblestone paths and a culture of rich colors and beautiful people inhabited its streets.
Nagato gazed upon its ruins stoically.
The walls now blackened with fire and ash, the buildings now crumbling to dust.
The canals ran dry and salt deposits, rotten fish, flies and the skeletons of aging sea plants were building up in their absence, creating a thick soup of malodorous decay.
Once clean white bridges connecting parts of the city now lay in ruins at the bottom of the ocean.
Several buildings that had resided for centuries along the shore now rest half submerged in the polluted water.
Not a soul was seen along the broken streets and not a living creature stirred in the ruins of the dystopian metropolis.
Red hair dancing slowly in the thin wind, soft rippled eyes glazed over in thought, he breathed in smoke and gun powder.
The smoke created since the blasts and the fumes spewing from the poisoned waters created a thick, unwavering smog that threatened to choke what life remained out of the city.
Amegakure would never recover from this.
From his vantage point, atop the highest stable structure on the edge of the city, Nagato had a 360 degree view.
To his right lay the forest, more of a jungle in its own right, the mists intertwined through the branches making it appear more ominous than it actually was.
In front of him lay the ocean. Fetid waters washing up debris and unnatural objects that now appeared foreign in their normalcy. There was no safe way to access the water now, the buildings collapsing in on themselves blocked any potential path.
Around him lay the city itself.
Centuries worth of white bricks now tinted black and grey after their exposure to fire and ash.
Some buildings stood stronger than others, but all of them suffered heavy damage. The remnants of houses and apartment blocks now reduced to rubble
Jiraiya had warned his pupils not to go into these residential buildings. They should have been able to steal what they needed to survive from abandoned markets and houses.
The onset of war had been so prompt that no one had even had time to waste buying the bare essentials, so most stores were still fully stocked after everyone had left.
They could make a living from markets.
Jiraiya had reasoned that they mustn't disturb the residential areas because he was sure, many people decided to stay in the city and hope for the best.
Considering they hadn't seen a single other soul in at least a year, it had been their presumption that the walls which had once provided an element of peace for the living, now provided a tomb for the dead.
They would respect that.
He had long since come to terms with the devastation that now lay before him, a desolate battle field of broken dreams and lost hope. But despite the loss, he had eventually gotten over it and now gazed upon the ruins in pure ataraxia. There was something about being alone that he had begun to find alluring.
Nagato waved a hand to clear the early morning fog and coughed into his fist.
He had stayed too long. It was time to go.
Turning on his heel, he headed back to one of the only buildings still standing in the lost haven that was once his home.
Waiting for him there was a group of people brought together by the cataclysm.
It wasn't much, but his makeshift surrogate family was something Nagato wouldn't give up for the world.
Or what was left of it…
Yahiko, Konan…
I'll be home soon…