The Silver World hummed with serene intensity. Along the inner balcony of the crystal library, beneath a sky of silver dusk and glimmering starlight, Hinata and Michel walked in silence.
They had spent the morning fine-tuning the gestures of Hinata's new divine identity, ensuring her transformation was not only functional, but emblematic. The altar was complete. The world itself seemed to breathe more steadily now, as if recognizing its guardian.
But Hinata's heart remained unsettled.
"Michel," she asked softly, halting by a glowing bookstand, "do you think I should bring more people into this world? Not just Maeko or Takama. I mean... everyone from the village. The apprentices. The samurai. Even the civilians."
Michel tilted his head thoughtfully. "That's a question with weight. And I'm glad you're asking it instead of acting on impulse."
Hinata touched the railing, eyes distant. "This place… it heals, it teaches. The time here is different. People could grow, learn. But… would it be too much? Too soon?"
Michel walked beside her, hands behind his back. "When I first stumbled into this place—born from the singularity between my soul fragments and yours—I only sought a way to interact with you. Even when you couldn't remember me, this realm was my anchor. It gave me peace, a way to exist beside you. At first, I thought it was just a mirror, a quiet place for recovery and memory. But with time, every ripple you caused turned into a wave. You've given this realm intent, structure… even identity."
He gestured to the quiet expanse beyond the library—a field where moonlit trees swayed gently in windless air.
"If you bring too many, too quickly, you risk diluting what makes this world special. Some may fear it. Others may worship it. Others may try to shape it to their own will. But if you bring a few—those who are ready in soul—it becomes a seedbed of harmony."
Hinata nodded. "Maeko adapted well. Even Takama. But what of the others?"
"Then ask yourself: why bring them? To protect? To teach? To train? For companionship? For loyalty?"
She closed her eyes. "Maybe all of them. But not everyone can walk the same path."
Michel's gaze softened. "Then choose those who carry threads strong enough to reach you. Not everyone is ready to step into a world like this. But if their hearts align, and your bond is strong, you can guide them here without disrupting the flow."
Hinata turned to him. "You think I should be cautious."
"I think," Michel said gently, "that you're building something sacred. Sacred things deserve to grow slowly, lest they fracture."
She remained silent for a time. Then, a small smile formed. "Then I'll be careful. I'll start with those who seek to grow. Those who need this place. And I'll keep nurturing this world until it's ready to welcome more."
Michel nodded. "That's wisdom, Hinata. Not fear."
And as they stood beneath the great archway of the library, the stars of the Silver World shone a little brighter—perhaps in approval, or perhaps in anticipation of what was to come.
<<<< o >>>>
The ritual was complete.
The flesh was unfamiliar, but malleable. Orochimaru flexed his new fingers slowly, noting how the sinews strained. His hands remain the same, the marks of his battle with his old master Hiruzen Saratobi, still mark his new vessel and apparently his soul. It would take days for this new vessel to fully adapt, but it would suffice.
In the dim chamber of stone and snake sigils, Kabuto stepped forward, scroll in hand.
"My lord. A delegation from the Land of Iron has arrived in the capital. They carry a personal request from a samurai named Takama Gin, cousin of the Daimyō. He wishes to speak with you directly."
Orochimaru's golden eyes narrowed. "Takama Gin... ah. The man whose sword slays without cutting. A rumor, perhaps. But one worth tasting."
His lips curled into a delighted grin. "Accept the audience. Escort him in."
<<<< o >>>>
The snow had stopped. In his quarters, Takama sat cross-legged before a shrine of polished wood, his katana resting across his knees.
He recalled Michel's words. "There may be only one person in this world with the ambition, the knowledge—and the amorality—to undo what was done to Hinata."
Takama opened his eyes.
He was not afraid of demons. He had crossed swords with them. He had buried his own son. But this—this was something else. He stood slowly and sheathed his blade.
Outside, one of his younger samurai waited.
"Is it time, Lord Gin?"
"It is. And if I do not return... guard her."
<<<< o >>>>
The messengers from Otogakure arrived at dusk. Dressed in neutral gray, they bowed with practiced politeness but carried the unmistakable chill of shinobi.
The journey took only hours, but it felt like an eternity.
Otogakure was not a village. It was a wound in the earth.
The entrance was hidden beneath a twisted grove, leading to tunnels etched in bone-white stone. Symbols of transformation, serpents, and twisted seals marked the walls. The air grew heavier with every step, oppressive with the echoes of chakra.
One of the corridors seemed to breathe.
Takama ignored it.
Finally, they reached a vast chamber. A throne of coiled serpents and a polished obsidian floor.
Waiting.
Orochimaru.
<<<< o >>>>
Orochimaru did not rise. He watched Takama approach with something between amusement and hunger.
Kabuto stood beside him, glasses gleaming.
"To what do we owe this... curiosity, Lord Gin?"
Takama bowed with disciplined grace. "My lord wishes for renewed terms. Given the upheaval after your attack on Konoha, the balance of trade must be reestablished."
Kabuto raised a brow.
Orochimaru chuckled. "And you came in person? The noble warrior deigns to dance in the mud with snakes?"
Takama's expression did not change. "I do not fear serpents."
"You should."
There was a long pause.
Takama felt it: echoes. Whispers. Not of chakra, but of soul. At least four distinct voices, struggling, bound, twisted together within Orochimaru. An idea took place, his instincts supported it and Takama knew when to listen to his instincts.
Then Takama spoke again, voice lower.
"But that is not the only reason I came."
Orochimaru tilted his head.
"I have a daughter. The hyuga seal forced upon her—It was activated, miraculously she survived. I believe you might be able to fix what others cannot. her chakra network, the possibility of a legacy and perhaps her eyes."
Kabuto blinked.
Orochimaru's grin faded slightly.
"And what makes you think I would waste my time on sentiment?"
Takama's answer was a blade.
But not for them.
Remembering his battle against Nightmare Hiashi, remembering the thread he cut at that moment he ended that fight, his intention to replicate the same thing here flowed without a doubt.
With a blur of motion and spiritual force, Takama focused his energy on one of the soul-chains that dangled unseen from Orochimaru's essence—a remnant of a life consumed. A voice screamed in Orochimaru's mind as one link snapped, the burden ripped free.
The chamber shuddered.
Kabuto lunged. A kunai flashed.
Orochimaru raised his hand. Impressed by the liberation he feels, a weight lifted... perhaps the promise of more.
"Stop."
Takama stood still, weapon sheathed.
"I've felt the chains you carry. That was one. There are more."
Orochimaru narrowed his eyes.
"You offer to... cleanse me?"
"In exchange for her healing. I will give you my sword, if need be. My word."
A silence fell.
Then, Orochimaru smiled.
"This world becomes more interesting by the day."
Orochimaru's grin sharpened. "Very well. Let us renegotiate everything."
And thus began a pact forged in manipulation and purpose, sealed not by trust—but by mutual ambition.
<<<< o >>>>
Later, alone, Orochimaru sat with fingers steepled.
"Takama Gin. You may be the first samurai to intrigue me in decades."
Kabuto spoke from the shadows. "Shall I investigate the girl?"
"Yes. Carefully. This is no longer just about Daimyō's trade."
He licked his lips.
"It is about potential."