The Iron Palace had never gleamed so brightly. Lanterns swayed like fireflies along the colonnades, the spring air scented with incense and early blossoms. Within its stone halls, nobles and samurai from across the Land of Iron and beyond gathered beneath fluttering banners. Tonight was a show of peace, legacy, and power—masked behind silks and ceremony.
Hinata Gin stood at the edge of the great hall, adorned in a pale silver kimono threaded with faint, reflective patterns. Her long hair was tied neatly with a silk ribbon, and her expression—though her eyes remained gently closed—was tranquil. Kuro stood by her side, the massive hound's one good eye scanning the room while the scar over the other eye made more than one guest hesitate to approach.
Servants whispered:
"Is that her? The blind girl Lord Takama calls daughter?"
"They say she walks with the beast's eye instead of her own."
"She does not stumble, even once... and that dog, gods, that dog watches like a man trained in war."
"I heard a samurai mention her as a priestess"
Hinata did not flinch. She felt each word, each shifting gaze, but her heart was anchored.
Takama stood nearby, dressed in formal robes of dark blue and iron-gray. His presence was as steady as the mountain. Though he did not hover near Hinata, his intent wrapped around her like a protective veil. From time to time, his eyes flicked to her—to Kuro—to the door.
The announcement trumpet rang. The doors opened to welcome the Daimyō, Lord Akihiko Gin, seated on a wheeled dais and wrapped in regal blue. Beside him stood his son, Renga Gin—sharp, composed, and calm.
"Our people gather," Akihiko said, his voice faint but clear. "Let bonds be seen and honor renewed."
Courtiers bowed. The young heir stepped forward, offered brief thanks, and withdrew. Then came another announcement:
"Lady Hinata Gin, ward of Lord Takama Gin."
Hinata stepped forward, guided by Kuro. The room hushed.
She bowed with a grace that belied her age. Her voice was soft but firm."It is an honor to walk among the swords and wisdom of this land," she said softly.
Akihiko the Daimyō nodded with faint approval. "May your spirit continue to sharpen."
As Hinata stepped back, a young noblewoman approached with delicate steps. Dressed in rose and gold, her every movement rehearsed to perfection. Lady Sayaka, daughter of a powerful general, known for her quiet pursuit of Lord Renga's attention. She offered a strained smile.
She smiled tightly at Hinata. "Your presentation was… charming. It's rare to see such composure in one so young."
Hinata bowed gently. "I am still learning, my lady."
Sayaka's eyes drifted briefly past Hinata, landing on one of the samurai standing beside Lord Takama—a man wearing a blue sash tied at the waist, embroidered with a silver symbol she recognized instantly. Her gaze flicked back to Hinata's forehead. The same emblem. The same shape. She masked her frown with another polite smile, but inside, something tightened.
Sayaka's smile did not waver. "And yet, some would already call you a priestess. Titles come quickly to the mysterious."
Before Hinata could answer, the hall shifted.
From the far side of the chamber, a new presence arrived—subtle in entrance, but unmistakable in aura. The herald announced:
"Delegation of the Village Hidden in the Waterfall—Takigakure."
Heads turned. From the northern archway entered a group dressed in earth-toned formalwear. Their pace was calm, their steps precise. At their head walked a young man in deep green and black, his green eyes unreadable.
Jiren.
Whispers spread immediately.
"That's the heir to the Takikage's inner circle." "The boy genius… they say his poisons can still kill a man in silence."
Jiren offered a respectful bow to the Daimyō and approached a respectful distance from the court's heart. He said nothing, only observed. But Hinata felt a ripple in the flow of spiritual threads around her. Something about him was… blurred. Hidden. Her soul reached for his, and found only resistance—a polished wall of intent, wrapped in poison and precision.
Takama noticed too. His jaw set. No words passed, but for a brief second, their eyes met across the chamber.
Jiren gave the faintest nod. And then smiled. He said nothing. But as his eyes scanned the room, they paused—for just a moment—on Hinata.
She felt a cold weight settle on her shoulders.
Then the herald spoke again.
"Delegation of the Land of Rice Fields, escorted by Otogakure."
A smaller group entered. Among them walked a man with pale skin and hair tied back in tight coils. His robes were patterned like serpent scales, and his chakra twisted like thread in a storm.
Kagura, an agent of Orochimaru.
He bowed low but did not speak. His eyes darted—calculating, dissecting. When they passed over Hinata, she stiffened. A flicker of memory from Michel's secret scripts, flashed behind her eyes: forbidden experiments, the twisting of life for power.
Takama murmured to her, low enough only she could hear: "Otogakure should not be here. But it seems that they appreciate our agreement more than we think."
She nodded.
And then, as if timed for maximum disruption:
"Tenshō Gin, son of House Gin, returns from exile."
The court stirred. Some gasped. Others whispered. Then silence.
Tenshō entered in red and silver. He walked with humility draped over calculation. He bowed deeply to the Daimyō.
"Father. I return not in arrogance but in repentance. I have seen the fire of pride, and I return with empty hands, to build anew."
Akihiko watched him for a long, harrowing moment.
Hinata could see the conflicting emotions as Akihiko watched his son now before him... resentment, hatred, self-reproach, and one that overwhelmed all others... the most wonderful and terrible of all feelings, hope.
His voice was dry:
"Then walk straight. We will watch."
Tenshō rose and turned to face the crowd. His smile was gentle—too gentle.
Hinata's spiritual sight pulsed. Behind the mask, his soul burned with disdain, ambition, and envy. A darkness rooted in old wounds and forbidden dreams.
Before the chamber could recover, another spark:
A samurai—Lord Naoji, long-time friend of Renga—stood abruptly.
"You!" he shouted, pointing at Renga. "That gift—my promised one prepared for me! And you accepted it with your hollow courtesy?"
Hinata, hearing the accusation, felt the tension ripple before the words even landed. Her thoughts flicked back to her etiquette training with Lady Maeko. In traditional noble courts, gift-giving was not simply an exchange—it was a declaration. A symbol of loyalty, affection, or intent. To intercept such a gift, even unknowingly, was to step into a private ritual. The repercussions could ripple like thrown stones in still water.
All heads turned.
All heads turned. Renga blinked. "I returned it. I didn't—"
"Lies! You smile while you betray! You think that erases the insult? I bled beside you!"
His hand reached for his sword. Gasps erupted.
Kuro stepped forward, growling, a low sound like stone splitting. Hinata raised a hand to steady her.
Hinata's breath froze. The threads of Naoji's intent were tangled—manipulated. Poisoned. She reached for Takama's sleeve.
He moved before she could speak.
Takama stood between Naoji and his nephew Renga "Lord Naoji! You are not well. Stand down."
Naoji's legs trembled. Then he collapsed.
Sayaka's cousin whispered, "He was acting strange all night… couldn't even hold his cup."
Akihiko the Daimyō coughed violently. Renga rushed to him. The room's composure cracked. The council murmured.
"The heir invites scandal." "He cannot even command his friends." "And now the exile returns, humble and whole."
Sayaka stood frozen.
Jiren stood silent. Kagura turned and whispered something to his escort.
Tenshō placed a hand on his heart, projecting sympathy. But his eyes found Hinata—just for a second.
And she saw it.
He knew. He knew she had seen through the veneer, had peered into the festering truth of his soul—his hatred for his family, his thirst for power, and the performance he now offered to the court. And more than that, he knew she understood what he truly was beneath the surface. There was no need for words. Just recognition.
She turned her face slightly. Kuro growled again. Takama stood beside her like a blade drawn but unthrust.
Outside, the wind shifted.
Inside the palace, the petals began to fall.
<<<< o >>>>
In a quiet corridor far from the banquet hall, Kaede stood by a lattice window overlooking the garden cloaked in moonlight. Footsteps approached—measured, calm. Jiren.
"Was it wise to come in person?" Kaede asked without turning. "The Daimyō will die soon enough from the poison we administered. You risk exposure."
Jiren gave a soft, almost bored smile. "Poison, yes. But not in the sense most would expect. What we gave him didn't kill him directly. It eroded his body's natural defenses. Left him exposed to what he once could easily overcome."
He stepped beside Kaede, looking toward the distant flickers of light beyond the palace.
"Now, a common chill will root in his lungs. A lingering infection will find no resistance. And when he dies, they will blame his age. His burdens. Anything but us."
Kaede exhaled. "So in your eyes, he is already dead."
Jiren's eyes narrowed. "In truth, the Daimyō has been dead the moment he ingested my poison as well as his tester. They simply haven't realized it yet."
They stood in silence, two shadows watching a kingdom slowly unravel.