The wind swept gently across the ridge where the Iwa strike team had gathered the day before. Morning mist clung to the branches, silent and unmoving. Birds sang, unaware of what had transpired in the invisible space between worlds.
Kozan opened his eyes first.
He lay on the grass, body stiff, the last threads of a dream retreating too quickly to grasp. Beside him, Suiren stirred—but winced immediately, clutching her side with a pained gasp. Ichise groaned audibly, rolling to one side with clear difficulty.
One by one, the other four shinobi awakened—each with some visible sign of strain. Yura coughed, his expression pinched as if breathing hurt. Masari muttered a curse, a thin trickle of dried blood at the edge of his mouth. Tenga remained lying still, eyes blinking slowly as Masari checked his ribs.
None of them spoke immediately.
Kozan sat up, surprised to find himself mostly intact. His mind raced. He remembered the forest. The priestess. Her words. The ambush... and then the white space.
No—there had been more. There had been a voice like silence, a tree of silver, and a choice.
Suiren struggled to sit up, teeth clenched as pain gripped her ribs. "Did we fall asleep?"
"No," Kozan said, his voice rough. "We were taken. Somewhere... else."
Ichise hissed as he adjusted his weight, one arm hanging limp. "Feels like something trampled me."
Yura scanned the surroundings warily. "We're lucky we're alive. Whatever hit us... didn't mean to kill."
Masari knelt beside Tenga, inspecting him. "Cracked ribs. Mine too. Probably most of us. But nothing vital."
"She didn't want us dead," Suiren murmured. "The beast—her guardian—could have finished us. It didn't."
"I remember," Suiren continued, slower now, "the priestess summoned her. And then... she vanished. Doors appeared. Two for each one for us."
Kozan's jaw tightened. "I saw them too. One blue. One red. But... I don't remember which one I chose. None of us do."
The group fell silent again. Each carried the memory of the white space vividly—the Silver Lady presence, the tree, the weight of choice—but the moment of that decision was a blank space, perfectly erased.
Yura lowered his head. "That was her punishment."
Suiren nodded. "We remember what mattered. But we'll never know what we chose."
And at that moment, none of them questioned it. Only the still echo of their own doubt remained.
<<<< o >>>>
A week later, inside the war room of Iwagakure, the Tsuchikage Onoki sat alone at the head of the war room, the morning sun filtered dimly through heavy stone blinds. His gnarled hands rested on a thick dossier, worn at the edges. It was the fourth time he had read the report.
He still didn't understand it.
It defied classification—too orderly to be delusion, too coherent to be coincidence. And now, with his elite shinobi back under his roof, the Tsuchikage had called them forward, not just for protocol, but because he needed to see it in their eyes.
He needed to understand.
Kozan and the others stood at attention, some still bandaged, others stiff with pain.
Onoki's fingers tapped against the armrest of his floating platform. "You found evidence of a battle, from the missing scouts, yes?"
"Yes, Lord Tsuchikage. Poisoned senbon. Scorched earth. Wood fragments not native to the region. Likely puppet-based combat."
"So our missing scouts are confirmed casualties?"
"Presumed," Kozan replied. "But we believe thanks to the testimony of the priestess they faced rogue nukenin—likely Akatsuki agents."
"Yes, the priestess... I've read this report four times," Onoki said flatly, tapping the scroll. "You say she summoned the High Priestess. That you were transported. Judged. And you returned—injured, confused, but alive. Do you all agree on this?"
"Yes, Lord Tsuchikage," Kozan said. "We remember the same events... up until the moment of the final choice. That memory was taken."
"Convenient," Onoki muttered. But his voice lacked sarcasm. There was only fatigue.
"If this was Genjutsu," he continued, "it was powerful enough to affect all of you simultaneously, override all resistance, and create shared illusion with identical aftereffects. "
He looked at Suiren.
"You said you sensed the creature—the beast. Explain."
Suiren inhaled carefully. "It wasn't like a tailed beast. Its chakra was dense, suffocating, and vast. But not wild. Controlled. I only caught it in fragments—when it struck. Otherwise... it was like it didn't exist. I couldn't track it. I couldn't feel it coming."
Her voice dropped. "Whatever it was, it played with us. If it had wanted to kill us, we would not be here."
Ōnoki leaned back, steepling his fingers. "And the priestess? The so-called moon cult?"
"They fulfilled their words," Kozan said. "They promised no harm if we asked questions peacefully. The escalation began with us. She responded... proportionally."
The Tsuchikage let out a tired breath. "I don't need another damn war on my desk. Konoha, Kiri, Suna... that's enough headache for a while."
He looked at Kozan one last time. "For now, we say nothing. Not until we know what this moon cult, and its high priestess, or whatever it is, truly wants."
Kozan nodded. "Understood."
<<<< o >>>>
And so time continued its tireless march—one second into the next, one day into another.
The samurai families under Mifune's banner of neutrality began to grow in strength and skill, spurred by the knowledge of their ancestors now rediscovered within the Silver World. Their discipline and vision forged a legacy that they passed to the next generation, and it was not uncommon for samurai to travel the lands in search of inspiration, spreading wisdom like wandering sages.
More and more across the Land of Iron, whispers of a dream began to circulate—a dream of a white space, and an invitation. Even among those loyal to Tenshō, daily life seemed calmer. Troubles found odd but peaceful solutions. When people faced hardship, there was always a wandering samurai or a silver-robed priestess who seemed to arrive just in time with the answer.
The Silver World grew. It welcomed new souls each day, and slowly, change began to take root. Ideas from the modern world filtered in through dreams—concepts of medicine, agriculture, technology—seeds planted in eager minds. They had yet to blossom, but the soil had been turned.
Yet not all growth was benevolent. In the shadows of the Iron Country, the inverted Lotus moved quietly. Its roots sought to choke the same ground Hinata sought to nourish.
<<<< o >>>>
Okabe once fought proudly under Renga in the border wars. But an injury to his leg had left him sidelined, relegated to guard duty inside palace walls. His pride, once sharp as his blade, had rusted.
One night, a man in traveler's clothes visited him. His name was Kaede, and he moved like an assassin.
"Tenshō hasn't forgotten true warriors. Renga rewards obedience. We reward merit."
She handed him a folder filled with surveillance layouts of the inner courtyards and a coded contact.
"Use it. Be useful again. Be respected."
Okabe accepted.
<<<< o >>>>
Sayaka archived documents in the northern judicial tower. Invisible to most, and content to remain so. But one night, she found her own signature forged on an edict she had never seen.
The next morning, a letter lay inside her satchel:
"What you saw was a mistake. One that can be forgotten—for 100 coins and your silence during every fourth council meeting."
The seal was unmistakable: a black, inverted lotus.
Sayaka swallowed hard. Then burned the original edict.
<<<< o >>>>
Tenshō watched the rain ripple across the pond in his hidden estate. Kaede approached in silence, a report in hand.
"The gardener is compliant. The cook allows passage. The samurai is aligned. The scribe... in our debt."
Tenshō gave a faint smile. "And Genji?"
"He loves his sister too much to betray us. Without knowing it, he is already ours."
Kaede laid a map of the Iron Country on the table. Black marks scattered across its surface.
"The net is woven. When collapse comes, they'll have no one left to turn to."
Tenshō murmured, "The Silver Lady may have faith... but I have patience."
Together, they watched the lotus in his teacup. Folded. Black. Inverted.