The Silver World pulsed softly, the sky gleaming with endless waves of silver mist. Michel stood atop a high ridge, looking down at the sleeping figure of Hinata, and the tiny black dog curled faithfully at her side.
But tonight, his steps would not linger here.
He had promises to fulfill.
<<<< o >>>>
Ren dreamed fitfully in his modest apartment in Konoha, unaware that another presence entered the fragile weave of his consciousness.
Michel materialized in the boy's dreamscape—an endless hallway of shifting doors, each leading to fragmented memories, regrets, ambitions. The boy sat slouched against one door, arms crossed, expression bitter even in sleep.
Michel approached quietly.
Ren's head snapped up. "Who are you?"
Michel smiled faintly. "A fellow traveler."
The air around them shimmered, the dream threatening to unravel—but Michel stabilized it with a thought.
"You're... like me," Ren said, realization dawning. "You're another one."
Michel nodded. "The third. You, the second."
Ren narrowed his eyes. "I know things," he said defensively. "About this world. I watched the anime... well, not much past the fillers—those were awful! Not like Bleach's fillers. Those were way better!"
Michel chuckled, a low rumble. "I read the manga. Heard about the anime from my grandkids." His voice softened. "We're not so different, you and I."
Ren shifted uneasily. "Then you know. About what's happening. About what's coming."
"I know more than I did," Michel said. His gaze grew serious. "And I know that you, like me, carry an invisible chain—a parasite seeded by Shikashi."
Ren paled.
"You can't rip it out," Michel continued gently. "Neither could I. But I can offer you something else."
Ren straightened, wary.
Michel knelt, so they were eye level.
"I can't free you," he said. "But I can open your eyes. I can show you the hand that pushes you—so when you feel a thought that isn't yours, you'll know it. You'll choose."
Ren swallowed hard. "Even if I can't stop it... I can fight it."
"Exactly."
The dreamscape flickered, destabilizing. Time was short.
"One last thing," Michel said. "You'll forget this conversation when you wake. It'll be just another dream. But the awareness—the sight—that will remain."
Ren's eyes shone with fierce understanding.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Michel smiled sadly.
"No," he said. "Live free—and thank yourself."
The dream shattered into silver dust.
<<<< o >>>>
The next place Michel walked was not a battlefield. Not a dreamscape.
It was the room of a young girl, warm and quiet, filled with the faint scent of cherry blossoms.
Hanabi Hyūga slept peacefully, curled among embroidered silk blankets far too fine for a girl who had known so little warmth.
Michel approached her gently, weaving no words, no disturbances. Only memories.
From deep within his own soul—and the promises he had made—he drew fragments of Hinata's mother: laughter on a spring day; a lullaby by candlelight; the soft touch of a hand on a fevered brow.
He folded them into dreams.
Not visions, not illusions. True echoes.
He placed them carefully into Hanabi's sleeping mind, like seeds.
Maybe one day, when doubt gnawed at her heart, Hanabi would remember.
Remember that she was loved.
That even in a life so short, her mother had treasured her.
Michel bowed low before departing, as if before a shrine.
Promise kept.
<<<< o >>>>
In the world of flesh and stone, Hinata's body stirred faintly under the weight of silence.
Beside her, Kuro kept vigil—a silent shadow never more than a breath away.
Since the fight, something had changed within the little black dog.
Not just in size, but in essence.
Her chakra had grown denser, sharper—refined to a purity almost unnatural.
Whenever Hinata twitched, whimpered, or shifted, Kuro was there.
Always there.
An anchor. A guardian.
The healers saw no change.
But Kurenai, standing quietly by her bedside, frowned.
She had seen the way Hinata's fingers twitched—not randomly, but with purpose.
A rhythm.
A pulse.
Kurenai touched her shoulder gently.
"Come back when you're ready," she whispered.
Across the weave of spirit and dream, Michel heard the words—and smiled.