The snow had begun to melt.
Winter still lingered across the rooftops and pine forests of the Land of Iron, but thin rays of sunlight broke through the clouds more often now, and the air had lost its bitter bite. The dojo remained cold, but inside, a soft warmth pulsed—born not from fire, but from movement.
Hinata moved across the polished floor like a river flowing through stone. Her breathing matched the rhythm Takama had taught her—measured, powerful, alive. Each kata strike carried precision and quiet strength.
She was alone.
Or rather, she had chosen to be. This would be her final night in the Gin estate before they left for the spring gathering at the capital. And she wanted silence to frame the transition.
As her body moved, her mind wandered.
Takama had said he would present his daughter formally to his dear cousin Lord Akihiko Daimyō of the land of Iron. Not just in paper or blood—but in spirit. The thought tightened her chest with warmth... and nervousness.
So much had changed since she left Konoha.
Takama's steady guidance.
Kuro's loyal companionship.
Michel's voice through the Silver World.
Maeko's endless lessons.
Lady Shiryū's iron gaze that hid reluctant respect.
Goro's unspoken pride.
And little Taro—who had filled the halls of the estate with laughter and sleepless nights.
The Silver World had grown as well.
No longer a quiet afterlife or a reflection of her inner self—it was becoming a realm of its own. With people. Villagers. Children. Samurai who trained and laughed and slept beneath the silver moon. It was stabilizing, harmonizing with the people she brought into it. A place of strength. Of balance.
She shifted into another stance. The blade of her practice sword cut the air in a silent arc.
And that was when she felt it.
Not a sound.
Not a movement.
But intent. Off-rhythm. Predatory.
She stopped breathing.
Kuro growled slowly from the shadowed wall, as the smoke entered her lungs she felt her chakra responding abnormally, yet she persevered.
Then they moved.
Two figures, cloaked and swift, dropped through the high windows like falling knives. Smoke erupted in the room—gray, dense, laced with suppression agents.
Chakra? Hinata felt nothing. But she hadn't relied on that in months.
She moved.
The first attacker lunged with a blade—non-lethal, meant to subdue. Hinata twisted beneath it, sweeping his leg and striking his shoulder with the reverse edge of her sakabatō. She had no fear of killing; the blade was forged for restraint, and she trusted its purpose. The second came from behind—Kuro intercepted with a brutal lunge, fangs sinking into cloth and armor.
The dojo echoed with footsteps, breath, and pain.
They hadn't expected resistance.
They hadn't expected her.
She didn't defeat them. But she didn't need to.
When the second assailant fell to one knee, bleeding from Kuro's shoulder bite, they locked eyes—and she saw it. Recognition. Fear.
They vanished into smoke, retreating into the night.
Takama arrived moments later with Goro. Both men saw the marks of combat, the smoke's residue, and the trembling in Hinata's hand. But she stood tall.
"They tried to take me," she said softly.
And the silence that followed said everything.
Kuro, however, staggered as the adrenaline drained from his system. The smoke in the dojo, laced with chakra-suppressing agents, had taken its toll on her. Her breathing was labored, his posture low.
Hinata turned quickly and knelt beside him, placing a hand on his side. "You did well," she whispered. "Rest now."
The great black hound let out a soft huff before lowering himself fully to the floor. His eyes fluttered shut—not from injury, but from exhaustion.
<<<< o >>>>
Before the sun rose, Takama invited Hinata for tea beneath the blooming branches of a plum tree, one of the first to awaken from the snow. The soft pink petals trembled in the early light, and the air carried the scent of renewal.
He poured the tea himself—an act of quiet respect.
"There is something I wish to ask of you during this trip," he said. "Not just to walk beside me as my daughter… but to observe. To see how those in power act, how they maneuver. These people rule not with the strength of a sword alone, but through words, masks, and influence."
Hinata nodded slowly. "You wish for me to learn courtly politics?"
"Yes. And more than that." He looked at her, truly looked. "There will come a time when my voice may no longer be enough. When your clarity and kindness will be needed to protect what we are building."
Hinata lowered her gaze, hands warming around the tea cup. "Then I'll watch carefully. And I'll remember."
Takama smiled faintly.
<<<< o >>>>
Takama's convoy stood ready near the gates. Horses and armored retainers. Formal robes. The crest of the Gin family fluttered on silken flags.
Hinata stood beside her father, dressed in a light winter kimono threaded with silver. Kuro sat at her side, calm but alert. Behind them Maeko and her husband Enshin were escorting the lord of the house and his daughter. Behind Enshin stood Goro, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
"We'll leave the estate in your care," Takama told Enshin
"My lord, you know you can count on that. Besides, with Goro in charge of security, I can be sure everything will be fine." Enshin replied in a solemn manner
Goro. His eyes flicked to Hinata and softened. A silent nod. One she returned.
Maeko and Enshin bowed to the departing lord and Hinata.
Hinata bowed in response.
And then they were gone.
<<<< o >>>>
In the lower district of the estate village, a man in merchant robes adjusted the strap of his pack and greeted passersby with a smile. He had only arrived a few days ago—but already, he had found a room, helped repair a door, and offered a discount on lanterns.
He watched. He listened.
Not far away, within the servant halls of the Gin estate, a new kitchen helper unpacked crates of rice with quiet precision. He bore the same uniform. He knew the routine.
He was not who he claimed to be.
The real maid had left for "healing." This one had a task.
Find what the girl left behind.
And if she had anything worth taking—it would be taken.
<<<< o >>>>
The ride to the capital was long but serene. Snow faded from the landscape with every mile. Trees bloomed timidly at the edges of the road, and the stone paths cleared of ice. Hinata kept mostly to herself, speaking little, sensing much.
Villages passed in the distance. Samurai bowed. Messengers ran ahead to announce their arrival.
At dusk, towers broke the horizon—tall, dark, proud.
The gates of the Iron Capital stood before them, wreathed in banners and guarded by soldiers in layered armor.
Hinata's breath caught.
Here, the next chapter would begin.