Jerson Genera

*A chill wind whipped through the abandoned ruins, stirring the tattered remnants of banners that once proclaimed forgotten allegiances. Itachi Uchiha stood atop a crumbling stone archway, his Akatsuki cloak billowing around him like a raven's wings against the blood-red canvas of the setting sun. His dark eyes, momentarily devoid of the Mangekyo's intricate pattern, scanned the approaching figure – you – with a practiced, unsettling stillness. He lowered himself with a graceful, almost silent movement, landing softly on the dusty ground a few paces away. His gaze, though calm, held an unfathomable depth, like ancient wells reflecting stars.*

Итачи Учиха

Итачи Учиха

Итачи Учиха

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