He had lived another life.
Before chakra, before ninja, before the world of hidden villages, Jiren had walked a very different path. One carved through jade mountains and blood-soaked valleys. A world of cultivators—men and women who honed the energy of heaven and earth, who broke their limits to ascend beyond mortality.
There, strength was law. Immortality was the prize. And one's soul was currency, weapon, and curse. Jiren had once stood among the prodigies of the Jade Sky Sect. Until a betrayal during his ascension through the Ninth Thunder Gate claimed his life.
Or should have.
He remembered her first.
Not the enemies who betrayed him. Not the brothers he once fought beside. But the woman whose tears fell not from weakness—but from knowing what was to come.
A woman of impossible beauty, wrapped in celestial silk, her hair like drifting night. A being too ancient for his world. She was the first thing he saw after his soul was cast from the gates of ascension.
And then came the other.
Shikashi—the monster.
Not a man. Not a god. But something in between. A monster wrapped in purpose. An amalgamation of billions of souls all singing in one voice. He had torn Jiren from death and hurled him into a world of lesser rules, laughing as he did.
"Let's see how far you climb when fate is mine to pull."
Jiren would never forget the sound of that laughter. Nor the rage it carved into his soul.
He awoke in Takigakure, in a frail boy's body, memory intact, fury smoldering.
This world was primitive, but fertile. The people were blind to the greater laws that governed life and spirit. But they understood power. And Jiren knew poisons—refined toxins designed not only to kill the body, but also to manipulate the soul, bend will, steal breath.
His skills gained him attention. Promotion. The eye of the Takikage himself. Jiren became heir to the village not through blood, but through brilliance. He became his apprentice, his successor. He made weak shinobi stronger. He turned failures into killers with his brews.
And he never stopped preparing. For the day the creature that tore him from his old world would return. The day destiny would try to reclaim him.
That day, he would be ready.
He had already crafted the venom meant to kill even that.
<<<< o >>>>
The room was dark and cold, lit only by the flickering flame of a paper lantern. The silence was absolute—broken only by the deliberate scratching of a pen over parchment.
Jiren sat cross-legged, surrounded by scrolls and vials, his expression unreadable. His long, ink-black hair was tied behind his head, and his robe bore no insignia—only silence.
On the table before him lay a dissected diagram of the Gin clan's forbidden technique: the Body Forging Method.
"His son survived the procedure... briefly," he murmured. "But not the soul. And now his heart is with him, as intended."
He reached for another scroll—handwritten records obtained thanks to the interrogation assisted by his poisons, the young Aiko Gin could do nothing but comply. Experiments had been conducted, but all ended the same: fractured souls, dead vessels. The technique elevated the body to a level the soul could not endure. One way to mitigate it, he estimates, is to use the technique slowly for a long time, the result of which is unclear.
"Takama survived... not just the process, but my poison too. A toxin meant to sever spiritual cohesion. And yet... he lives. Stronger."
He stood slowly, turning toward a crystal pane that overlooked the misty ravines below Takigakure. In the distance, waterfalls wept in silence.
"There is more. He found something. A resonance. A countermeasure."
Jiren's fingers curled tightly. "Something even his son did not know."
<<<< o >>>>
In a chamber below, Jiren knelt beside a sedated common samurai whose body bore burns along his spine. Another experiment. This specimen is but one of the many, attracted by the allure of being able to obtain one of the secrets of breathing that the high samurai houses of the land of iron keep. Power is always a great motivator for the powerless.
Along with the numerous specimens, there was Ugual, one of the most experienced shinobi specialists in the human body and some medicine from Takigakure.
"Failed again," whispered Ugual. "The nervous system is reinforced… but the subject did not stabilize. Now is death as many before him"
Jiren entered, eyes narrowing.
"This plan was a mistake... until we get more information about the only known case capable of overcoming the adverse effects, continuing this accelerated approach is dangerous for those involved." Jiren was visibly frustrated, but in his eyes he knew he couldn't waste anything if he wanted to achieve his goals. "Restore the remaining samurai and guide them to apply the technique in a measured manner; perhaps at least in that case, they can be of use to us.
Ugual bowed. "Yes, Lord Jiren."
Jiren breathed, as if a weight were less on his shoulders... At least he no longer needed to use this technique for himself.
<<<< o >>>>
Tenshō Gin stood beside a shrine in a snow-covered courtyard, burning incense. The wind bit through his robes, but he remained still. Behind him, Kaede approached.
"The stimulant is ready. Lord Genkuro will be... more reactive than usual."
Tenshō nodded. "And the gift?"
"Delivered. The lady placed it in Lord Arito's quarters herself."
A small, almost invisible smile crept onto Tenshō's lips.
"Then all we must do... is wait."
<<<< o >>>>
Within the central keep of Takigakure, behind layers of guards and sealed doors, Jiren stood before the Takikage. The village leader sat cross-legged on a low dais, arms folded beneath his cloak, studying his heir with unreadable eyes.
"You want to destabilize the Land of Iron's succession," the Takikage said bluntly.
"No," Jiren replied with calm certainty. "I want to direct it."
The Takikage chuckled, a dry sound. "And what makes you think a few courtly scandals will turn the tide? Samurai are stubborn. Loyal to blood."
Jiren stepped forward slightly. "They are numerous, yes. Their loyalty is wide. But it is not deep. They obey the Daimyō because they were taught to. But when that image cracks, they scatter."
He gestured to a scroll on the table. "Ninjas win wars with fewer men. We strike where it matters, when it matters. Our strength lies not in open battle—but in pressure, precision, and collapse."
The Takikage raised an eyebrow. "You truly believe we can replace the ruling house of Iron?"
"Not replaced," Jiren said. "Redirect. Tenshō will be our ally in name. But the pulse of that nation will beat to our rhythm."
The Takikage was silent for a long time. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Continue. But do not fail."
<<<< o >>>>
That same night, deep within the frozen forests outside the Gin family's estate, Kaede crouched beside a fire, whispering to five shadowed figures cloaked in dark grey armor.
"You are not to engage unless absolutely necessary," she instructed. "Your task is to observe. Map patrols. Identify the girl."
One of the figures shifted. "And if she's alone?"
Kaede's eyes narrowed. "Capture her. Quietly. If you fail, you vanish. No traces."
She handed each of the first three a capsule—a smoke bomb laced with a chakra-suppressing compound. "This is for the girl. And for your escape if needed."
Then she turned to the remaining two.
"You—embed yourself among the outer village. Pose as merchants. Blend in. Watch the rhythms of daily life."
The final figure knelt low. "And me?"
"You will replace one of the household servants," Kaede said. "There's a maid with an injury scheduled to leave the manor. You'll take her post. Learn their schedule. Learn her vulnerabilities."
All five nodded and vanished into the shadows.
Kaede remained by the fire, her voice low and razor sharp.
"Let's see what secrets your new daughter carries, Takama Gin."
<<<< o >>>>
Back in Takigakure, Jiren resumed his meditation. With each breath, he shaped intent—refining not just his chakra, but his vision.
"Let them dance. Let the fire burn slow, until the spring feast. When their Daimyō stumbles before the court… only one voice will rise above the silence."
And he opened his eyes, silver and cold.
"Mine."