Hello, the author here, just to let you know that I just realized that I skipped chapter 69, for those who want to read it now I put it where it should be.
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The snow fell like whispers that didn't want to be heard.
The caravan descended the winding road that led to the Gin estate, its wheels cutting soft trenches through the frost. Hinata sat within the lead wagon, wrapped in a long gray cloak lined with silver stitching. The hood cast shadows over her eyes, but she did not need to see the familiar silhouettes outside to know they had arrived. She felt it in the air—the breath of the mountains welcoming her back.
Kuro padded silently beside the wagon as it slowed to a stop. Takama rode just ahead, dismounting in a single fluid motion. He waited for her patiently.
Hinata stepped down slowly. Her boots pressed into the warm earth, where only the faintest remnants of spring frost clung to the shadows. The summer sun was soft behind cloud cover, but its warmth lingered in the air. Around them, villagers and samurai lined the road. Some bowed low, others pressed fists to their chests in a silent salute. None spoke.
She did not expect reverence. But it came anyway.
"Hinata-dono," whispered a child.
The voice was soft, but it echoed louder than any cheer.
She gave a slight bow. Her breath, though warm in the summer air, moved with a rhythm that was no longer just hers.
<<<< o >>>>
Maeko met her at the gate.
Her eyes filled with disbelief, then tears. She ran, abandoning decorum, and pulled Hinata into a tight embrace.
"I thought..." Maeko began, her voice cracking. "When Kabuto's letter arrived so vague, I feared the worst."
Hinata smiled faintly. "I came back. Not whole… but here."
She noticed the child bundled in a thick wrap behind Maeko. Taro.
The boy wobbled forward on small, sturdy legs. His eyes were wide, curious, unafraid. He reached out and touched Hinata's chest lightly, just above her heart.
"Baa," he murmured.
Hinata blinked.
Maeko knelt beside him. "He doesn't speak much. But when he does… he often surprises me."
"Baa," Taro repeated, then hugged Hinata's leg.
She felt tears sting her eyes for the first time in months.
Later, as she rested inside the complex, Maeko brought her tea. They sat beside a brazier, silent for a long while.
"He clings to you," Maeko said softly. "Even in sleep."
"He makes me remember what still matters."
"Maybe that's why he chose to speak today."
Hinata nodded. She didn't speak of Mitsue, or the pain of the procedure. She only watched the flame.
<<<< o >>>>
The next morning, Takama invited her to the training hall.
She wasn't entirely sure. And yet, she persisted. Her body, day by day, felt more familiar—its motion a growing echo of who she had been, and who she was becoming. Whatever her father had planned, she knew in her heart that it was meant to help her.
When she entered the training hall, he was already there, seated cross-legged before one of the ancient banners bearing the symbols of long-gone masters. The early light cast quiet shadows over the polished floor. As he turned to face her, Takama offered no words, only a soft smile, and rose to his feet while carrying a wooden training sword in hand.
"Just a kata," he said. "No techniques. Just see how your body moves now."
Hinata nodded.
She stood in the center of the tatami mat, exhaled slowly, and began. Her movements were precise—but her body surged forward faster than she expected. A pivot became a stumble. A strike overextended. Her control lagged behind her strength.
Takama caught her wrist gently.
"Your body hears you too well. It obeys before your spirit catches up."
She took another breath. "So I must teach it to wait for me."
"Exactly."
He handed her a towel, watching her carefully.
"You're adapting faster than I imagined. But remember—your power now has layers. Let them breathe before you wield them."
"It's frustrating to have to do this again" She said while wiping the sweat from her forehead.
"Don't worry so much, it's worse not knowing if you have a path ahead of you... I was in a similar situation... When I completed the forging of my body I was able to start doing all my arts without having to breathe, my body naturally had the characteristics of fire breathing, each movement, each intention... your body had a great leap in skills in a very short time... Not at that level yet, but I estimate that you will soon make that leap. You have to adapt and I know that is something that you do above all expectations."
<<<< o >>>>
The Tsuchikage's chambers were quiet, save for the steady crackle of the lava basin set in the far wall. Lord Onoki sat behind a wide stone desk, aged but still sharp, his eyes scanning two reports laid flat before him.
Two elite jōnin knelt before him.
"You both understand the seriousness of this," Onoki said, voice gravelly.
The taller of the two, Kozan, nodded. "Yes, sir. Our scouts vanished near the Iron border."
The other, Suiren, more composed and deliberate, added, "Jōnin Seiya and three chūnin. No trace since the last transmission."
Onoki pushed a scroll toward them.
"This was intercepted five days ago. A merchant's report. He claims to have seen Deidara—our Deidara—fleeing through the eastern range. That was nearly a month ago. It aligns with where Seiya's team was sent."
Kozan frowned. "If Deidara's involved, then either the team failed... or was silenced."
"Your task," Onoki said, "is to uncover the truth. Each of you will lead a team of two jōnin. Fan out across the region.
If Deidara is alive, I want him returned. If he's dead, I want proof. And if our missing team was compromised—I want to know by whom."
"Yes, Tsuchikage-sama," they said in unison.
As they rose to leave, Onoki added, "One more thing..."
They paused.
"Rumors have reached us of a new cult or faith stirring in the northern villages of the Iron Nation. Something about a Silver Lady tied to the moon. If you see any sign of this... investigate. Quietly."
<<<< o >>>>
Far from there, in the heart of the Land of Iron, in the inner village where Renga housed only those he trusted most, shadows moved.
Candlelight flickered against stone corridors. In servant quarters and noble halls alike, the air felt tighter. Eyes lingered longer. Whispers grew heavier. The inverted lotus bloomed in silence.
Something was unraveling beneath the surface.
Genji, a young man with sun-scorched skin and hands hardened by reins and rope, had worked in Renga's stables since he was thirteen. He cared for the horses with quiet devotion, but his thoughts were tethered to a distant concern: his younger sister, Sachi, was ill, and the herbal medicine she needed could only be purchased from the Capital—far beyond his means.
One night, as he scrubbed the trough in the far stall, a hooded man appeared without a sound. No name was given, only a small pouch of coins placed in the corner stall.
"This is for Sachi. All you have to do is deliver a letter each week to the coachman at dawn. Do not read it."
Genji trembled. "And if I ask who you are?"
"Then your sister stops breathing."
The seal on the letter bore the mark of an inverted lotus.
<<<< o >>>>
Hinata and Kuro walked together beneath the low-hanging boughs of garden path, the stones warm under their feet from the lingering summer light. Kuro trotted a little ahead, tail wagging, then paused and looked back.
Hinata smiled gently. "I know what you're thinking."
Kuro tilted her head.
"You're happy here, I know that. Safe, with Takama, Goro, and the samurai. But I can see it in you—you want more. You want to play. To run. To make mischief."
Kuro gave a small bark, tail whipping with energy.
Hinata stopped beneath a blossoming tree, one hand resting against the trunk. "Some of my priestess clones are doing errands for the people of the Silver World. Visiting villages, delivering messages, and watching over pilgrims. The roads are more dangerous than I expected... I think your presence would make a real difference."
Kuro took a step forward, ears perked.
"But," Hinata added, a playful note in her voice, "Just like I disguise myself as the Silver Lady or a priestess... maybe we should make something for you, too. A name. A role. A form."
Kuro immediately spun in a circle, chasing her own tail in joy.
"Well," Hinata laughed, "I suppose the samurai will be relieved. It'll make their lives easier if you're not here constantly teasing them."
Kuro barked again, a sound like laughter.
"Then it's settled," Hinata said, beginning to walk again. "Let's find your mask for the world."
<<<< o >>>>
That night, Hinata stood alone in the private dojo.
No sword. Just, breath.
She inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled again.
And then it came: a second breath. One not hers. A pulse that moved with her, inside her.
Mitsue.
Hinata closed her eyes.
She saw not with eyes, but with feeling—soul threads in motion, coiling, receding, whispering.
The dojo faded. The scent of herbs and incense dissolved. Instead, she stood in a silvery clearing in her mind.
Mitsue's form shimmered faintly beside her.
"I'm still not sure what we are to each other," Hinata murmured.
The serpent pulsed once—not a word, but an answer.
"We'll learn to breathe together. In this world, and the next."
Hinata opened her eyes.
"This time," she whispered, "we begin again."