The night sky over the Land of Iron was beginning to shift—winter's breath receding, and spring's gentle warmth blooming in the wind.
Takama stood outside Hinata's training hall, arms crossed, watching the glow of a brazier flicker against the stone walls. Hinata emerged, wiping sweat from her brow. Her sword practice had become more refined, more precise—he could see it in her steps.
Training in the real world brought something different to Hinata. While everything she learned in the Silver World reflected back on her muscle memory and instincts, it was here, in the world of flesh and breath, where her true growth occurred. Her real muscles, her true body, had to train and adapt to move as they should. Only in the sweat and weight of this world could her spirit and form become one.
"We have one week," he said without preamble.
Hinata paused. "Until what?"
"Mifune is calling for a gathering. He plans to summon both heirs of the late Daimyō. He intends to state his position and, perhaps, try to settle the future of our country through unity instead of war."
Hinata inhaled, then slowly let the breath go. "And where do we stand?"
"That's what this week will decide."
She stepped forward. "I've been thinking, Father. If we want to protect the Land of Iron… maybe it's time to bring more of its people into the Silver World. Not nobles. Not heirs. The samurai. The loyal ones. The ones who fight."
Takama turned to her fully, face unreadable. "You speak like a shinobi."
That struck her. "What?"
"Your training—your instincts. They still act in shadows. Introduce power in secret, sway soldiers from their lords. That's how shinobi work. But we are samurai. And men like Mifune? They would take it as betrayal if you brought their soldiers into a spiritual realm without their blessing."
Hinata lowered her gaze. "I see."
Takama softened. "You are not wrong to wish to protect them. But you must do it with honor. With clarity."
She nodded. "Then we go to Mifune directly."
"And if he refuses?"
"I won't force anyone." She smiled faintly. "We will open the door—he will choose whether to cross it. I believe he'll make the right decision. Still, whether he wishes to remember or not... that choice must rest on his shoulders."
<<<< o >>>>
The following afternoon, Takama found Mifune in the courtyard of the central barracks, where younger samurai sparred under distant snow-capped peaks. The grizzled veteran turned at the sound of Takama's steps.
"Lord Gin," Mifune greeted. "The air smells of storms."
"Storms, or change." Takama clasped his hands behind his back. "You've no doubt seen my men—how some have sharpened in recent days."
"I have. Surprising, but not unwelcome. Some of you are young ones too."
Takama nodded. "There is a reason for that. Something… otherworldly. I would explain it all, but I'd rather show you. If you're willing."
Mifune narrowed his eyes, but curiosity sparked within them. "You're speaking in riddles."
"Tomorrow," Takama said simply. "Just bring an open mind."
<<<< o >>>>
That night, Hinata meditated in the quiet of her chamber. She called forth the white threads of the natural world, drawing them into her spirit until her soul shimmered with silver light. Her breathing slowed, deepened, as she reached out and found the thread that now connected her to Mifune. Gently, with reverence, she wrapped it in silver, strengthening the bond.
Then, with a calm breath, she released her Silver Stage and allowed herself to drift into sleep.
Tonight will be an important night.
The Silver World welcomed Mifune with a chill breeze and moonlight bathing empty corridors of a villa almost identical to his own. And yet, something was off.
It felt half-real. A dream painted in strokes too perfect to be remembered properly.
He stepped cautiously down the hallway, boots silent over polished floors, until he reached the open courtyard.
Takama and Hinata sat there, robes of deep grey and silver, drinking tea under the silver moon.
Mifune stepped into the courtyard, slow and steady.
"This… isn't real."
Hinata smiled gently. "It is as real as your soul."
"What are you doing?" he asked Takama.
"Not mine," he said, gesturing to Hinata. "Hers."
Mifune regarded her carefully.
She bowed. "Welcome, Lord Mifune… to the Silver World."
He said nothing for a long while. The wind whispered through the illusory pine trees.
Then he stepped closer.
His thoughts churned beneath a calm exterior. This place… it mirrored his villa, yet it pulsed with something deeper. Something that stirred the marrow in his bones. He could feel the echo of countless swords clashing beyond the silence, the pressure of will and discipline etched into the air.
Just beyond the courtyard, he glimpsed a group of Takama's samurai—men he had sparred with in the capital—locked in the intense, almost brutal training. Their blades moved with purpose, and the blood that stained their sleeves was real. Yet they did not stop. There was no fear in their eyes. Only respect. And resilience.
Mifune narrowed his gaze. This wasn't an illusion of peace. This was a forge.
He looked back at Hinata.
"I will listen."
Hinata gestured for him to sit, her expression calm, dignified. Takama poured him tea with the same discipline he brought to swordwork.
"This world," Hinata began, her voice like soft bells in the stillness, "was not made by me alone. It was born from pain, and tempered through guidance. Michel—my guardian in spirit—helped me shape it. But its essence comes from the will of the Moon and the Silver Lady who governs this place. I am merely a priestess. I am one who opens the door so that others can come here."
Mifune accepted the tea silently, watching the steam curl into the air. "I've seen death. I've walked through slaughter and silence. But never a place like this."
Takama sipped from his cup. "You've seen how our men have changed. This place is why. Here time flows faster. A realm where soul and techniques are honed without consequence. A place where warriors face their truth."
Hinata nodded. "And yet, not everyone remembers. Most come in dreams. Through the will of this world I allow those we trust to remember what happens here and not get lost in dreams."
Mifune's brow furrowed. "And what of me?"
"That decision is yours," Hinata answered. "We opened the door. Whether you step through fully, whether you choose to remember this place when you wake… that is yours alone."
Silence fell again, but this time it was warm.
Mifune looked toward the distant sound of steel meeting steel. "They bleed here. They suffer here. And yet they return stronger. I thought I understood the origin of your new strength, Lord Takama… but now I see why your house grows ever sharper."
He turned back to Hinata.
"You say this world is a gift. But you carry its weight. I see it in your eyes."
Hinata's fingers tightened slightly around her cup. "It is a burden… but one I carry willingly. Because this world is hope, Lord Mifune. And I will guard it. Even from those who don't have good intentions."
Mifune chuckled, low and deep. "Then perhaps you are not just a priestess… but a blade yet unsheathed."
Hinata lowered her eyes briefly, the moonlight tracing her expression. "Originally, it wasn't like this. The samurai who came here—discovered that their wounds would heal, even death itself could be turned aside by the grace of the moon. It changed them. Not into cowards, but into warriors unafraid to test their limits. Here, they found the freedom to let go… to fight with everything, to explore the edge of life and death not for glory, but for transcendence."
She looked back up, her voice firmer. "They call it being baptized. Each duel, each scar earned in this place without consequence, reveals something greater. And they return stronger—spiritually, physically… completely."
Takama set his cup down and spoke with steady gravity. "We live in complicated times. Takigakure has already begun to meddle in our politics through Tenshō. This place... it has done more than strengthen our warriors. It has preserved the hearts of our people. My villagers—they are here too, though I believe they dwell further from this core. This world, Hinata tells me, takes on the shape of those who reside in it. Somewhere, there is a village where my people walk in peace. They sleep easier now. Even if they don't remember, their spirits do. And they are more because of it."
Mifune took this in with narrowed eyes. He didn't need to question it—he had seen the signs. In battle, in posture, in discipline. There are certain qualities a samurai can only forge in the company of others. And here, he saw it blooming.
Takama stood, finishing the last of his tea. "Come. Walk with me."
Mifune followed without hesitation, and together with a handful of the samurai present in the Silver World, they made their way toward the inner training fields. There, beneath the silver-lit sky, Mifune and Takama crossed blades—not in rivalry, but in harmony. Their strikes rang clear, fast, precise, and the younger samurai circled around them in reverent silence.
When their duel ended, both men stood firm, breath steady. Takama gestured to the watching warriors.
"Help guide them, Lord Mifune. They are strong, but with your insight, they can become something more."
Mifune simply nodded. The path was clear.
<<<< o >>>>
Mifune awoke with the first light of dawn, heart calm, mind alight.
He remembered everything.
He sat in stillness for a long time, replaying the sensations, the conversations, the haunting power that pulsed through that silver world. A dream—and yet so solid he could almost taste the tea still on his tongue.
His men could be sharpened in that realm. Not just in skill, but in soul. No more unnecessary deaths. No more wasted potential. And if that girl truly was what she claimed—a priestess of a divine power beyond comprehension—then this Silver World might be the greatest treasure the Land of Iron had ever unknowingly birthed.
He would walk carefully now. He would observe.
But he would not turn away.