Minato felt old. Technically from what he had gathered, roughly fifteen years had passed since his death. Physically, it seemed he had not even aged a day since the moment his heart had stopped.

Mentally… he felt a hundred years old.

This was probably why the dead generally didn’t come back to life, he realised upon reflection. The notion made his lips quirk slightly. The almost-smile died quickly though.

He wasn’t out of the woods. Not by a long shot. Minato had no idea how he was here, and though he was slowly getting to grips with where here was and that he was indeed actually alive, all were overshadowed by the prospect that he might not be acting of his own free will.

Minato did not want to go back to Konoha whilst harbouring danger. Minato might have been a bit hot-headed but when it came to his home... he took no chances.

They were coming though. With an escort.

He knew there would be some faces he never thought he’d see again. Some faces he never thought he’d see; period. One he had wanted to.

It was just… surreal. It was the epitome of surreal for Minato.

Dead was dead. He had made his peace, such as it was. He had known the cost. He had been willing and able to pay it.

Coming back though. He really had never factored that into anything.

What did you do, once you came back?

Minato eyed the small room with something like a rueful grimace. It was dusty and a little dark, small to be sure, but it was warm and dry. It was all he needed really. He had been paying the kindly old lady who had nearly had a heart attack on finding him, by doing chores. Things that she herself could not manage. He had … arrived with neither clothing nor money to his name. Just that. His name. His memories. And the distinct realisation that he was alive again.

He figured this was the least he could do as a repayment but…

Map. First thing, he needed to get to where he intended to go.

And from there. Well, Minato figured it would come to him. Eventually.