Michel and Hinata stood on the uppermost balcony of the crystal library. Below them, the Silver World shimmered like an ocean of memory, thought, and will. The sky was always dusk here, with stars twinkling like thoughts drifting through consciousness.
Now that they were alone, something that hadn't been possible for days, Hinata wanted to ask Michel something... "You know the other day, when you and Maeko interrupted my lesson with my father, I had a thought, why not bring more people... not just those close to me... but everyone who wants to come..."
Michel spoke softly, "I've had that same thought for a while now. Now that we know you can bring others into this world, it's time to think ahead. Questions will be asked—who rules this place? Who protects it? The truth is, you do. At first, the authority of this world was shared. But ever since you reached the Silver Stage of your soul, you've become its true master. Here, your words shape reality."
Hinata blinked, uneasy. "Are you saying I should become... a Goddess?"
Michel chuckled lightly. "No. Something more down to earth, a high priestess. Just creating an identity for others to revere—a symbol—will help them navigate this world. And it will help you stay grounded. If people see this place's guardian as someone apart from you, then you can still interact with them without overwhelming them or losing yourself. Use the Transformation Jutsu to create a second self—an echo of your soul."
"Couldn't you be its figure instead?" Hinata asked, her voice soft.
Michel's smile turned wistful. "Perhaps once. When this world was partially mine, I could have fulfilled that role. But now, I'm simply a guide—someone wise in the ways of the soul, with a few privileges left. You're its heart now."
Guided by his words, Hinata created her new divine priestess identity. She imagined a version of herself older, regal, almost like Kaguya from the stories—a High Priestess figure with silver hair, silver eyes, and a white kimono bound with red cords. At her side, a katana rested, and hanging from her waist was a silver mask, tied by a sacred thread.
Together, they summoned an altar at the peak of the library's spire, and from there, Hinata shaped her ceremonial form. A pale, serene visage formed the mask, adorned with silver markings under the eyes and flowing ribbons of spirit. Her ceremonial robe retained hints of her ninja heritage, but spoke now of something grander, more mythic.
She was still Hinata—but in the Silver World, she became something more.
As her fingers traced the mask's ribbons, Hinata hesitated. "Will they still see me under this? Will I?"
"A divine figure is meant to be distant," Michel answered. "But the very fact that you fear losing yourself—that ensures you won't."
Later, as she walked away from the altar, Michel stood silently, watching her silhouette vanish into the light. A mix of pride and sorrow welled in his chest. "She's already becoming more than I ever was," he murmured. "And yet, she's still only just begun."
<<<< o >>>>
Later, after a long day of training with Hinata, Takama met Michel within the Silver World. The shifting silver mist parted as Takama arrived, his presence now stronger, more refined since his soul and body had achieved balance. He found himself at the foot of the great crystal library, its spire rising like a monument of memory. Michel was waiting near the stairs, as if expecting him.
"I figured you'd come," Michel said, his voice calm, yet edged with curiosity. "Something troubles you."
Takama nodded. "My cousin has given me a mission—one I do not trust. I must renegotiate treaties with the Land of Rice. After their attack on Konoha failed, they've been weakened. But I fear this is not a simple diplomatic errand."
Michel's expression darkened. "The Land of Rice is ruled from the shadows. Its leader is Orochimaru of the Sannin—a researcher obsessed with immortality, with no moral compass. He seeks all Jutsu, and his methods are inhuman. He has ways of stealing bodies to prolong his life. Last I knew, he was weakened, likely unable to perform Jutsu. But he has powerful agents: Kabuto, and the Sound Four."
Takama's brow furrowed. "Do you think he controls the Daimyo?"
"Likely," Michel replied gravely. "And beware of the Cloud. Orochimaru made enemies there. They might send assassins into Sound territory to cause chaos."
Takama took a breath, steadying himself. "Then I will proceed with utmost caution."
Michel, observing the steel in Takama's eyes, allowed himself a faint smile. "Good. But remember—if things go wrong, retreat with honor."
Takama responded with a soft chuckle. "I hope that won't be necessary. Because I intend to return—and begin teaching her the true way of the blade, Gin style."
<<<< o >>>>
From the capital of the Land of Iron, Takama departed with four samurai of his own generation and ten younger warriors. Mounted on horses, they left without hesitation, braving the snow and biting winds of winter. Despite the season, their journey went smoothly—four weeks of steady travel through mountain passes and quiet roads.
Yet Takama could not shake the feeling of being watched. Ever since they crossed into Sound territory, shadows seemed to linger just out of reach.
The Land of Rice itself was beautiful. Despite the cold, the trees remained full and green. Vast fields stretched along their path, dotted with peaceful farms and grazing animals. It looked like a land untouched by war.
But Takama saw beyond the surface. In every alley, he sensed ninja. In every stillness, tension. His soul, now balanced with his body, revealed to him the weight of the people's intent—their fears, their killing intent.
When they arrived in the capital, they were politely but firmly escorted to military quarters. Guests of the daimyo, but guests under watch.
They waited days before finally being summoned.
Takama entered the audience chamber with calm but wary steps. The daimyo of the Land of Rice awaited him—an indulgent man with overpainted grandeur. His robes were excessive, his jewels gaudy, and his eyes dull with self-importance.
He spoke with disdain for the Land of Iron, despite being one of his biggest clients.
Takama bowed with the appropriate formality but noted the false smiles of the samurai guards. More importantly, he sensed them—two ninjas hidden in the room. Their auras were sharp and heavy. Dangerous.
As the negotiation continued, Takama noted the daimyo's subtle eye movements—glancing, almost unconsciously, toward one of the ninja. It was clear who held the real power in the room.
When the talks ended, Takama requested a walk alone, which was granted with suspicious grace. As he moved through the stone corridors of the palace, he stepped into a shadowed courtyard and waited.
"You can come out," he said plainly.
A figure dropped from the rafters—a shinobi with masked features, posture tight with vigilance.
Takama faced him, composed. "I want to speak with your master. The man who truly leads your village. I believe a different arrangement is possible—one that favors both our nations, and avoids bloodshed."
The ninja tilted his head slightly. "You understand the risk in what you're asking."
"And I understand the value," Takama replied. "Tell Orochimaru—I come not as a threat, but as an opportunity."
The figure vanished into the night.
Takama remained still, surrounded by the weight of unseen eyes. He knew the real negotiation had only just begun.