To Gorō's eyes, winter in the Land of Iron was nothing new. He had walked through many such seasons, alongside Takama during the last great war, and later as a sword instructor to the young heir, Lord Aiko. He had cried the day the boy fell, the sorrow digging roots deep into his old bones. Since then, the villa has grown quieter, heavier.
The girl who summoned him that afternoon, however, stirred something in him. At first, when she arrived weeks ago with Takama, he had seen a blind, timid girl who barely knew how to bow properly. A soft thing, broken by misfortune. But under Lady Maeko's guidance and the warmth of the village's children, Hinata Gin had begun to change. The sorrow that had cloaked the Gin household since Akio's death had slowly begun to lift in her presence. The children laughed again. Even the wind through the courtyard felt lighter.
Now, though her voice was still soft and her gaze low, there was something in her posture, in her calm, that reminded him of women of the court. The real ones. Not a child.
She spoke with respect, but without trembling. "I have been entrusted with a task. To show an opportunity to someone I deem worthy. And I would like to begin with you, Gorō-sama."
"An opportunity?" he asked, arms crossed.
"Yes. All I ask is… if you accept, that you keep secret what you will see."
He had seen many plays of honor in his life. But he had also seen gods die in silence. He nodded. One night of rest wouldn't hurt.
When he woke, the world was different. It was the village... but not his own. There was a silver mist, and a silence so pure it hurt. He walked, following a feeling. There was Hinata, waiting for him with a slight bow.
"Welcome to the Silver World, Gorō-sama. It is a spiritual reflection created by the will of the moon and the silver lady, its high priestess. You are the first I have brought here."
She led him along a path to a great tower that shimmered like crystal under the moonlight. Inside, a wise, ancient-looking man welcomed them. Michel, she called him. "The Keeper of the Great Library, inside of the Crystal Tower."
They climbed to the very top. A temple at the summit. Inside, a feminine figure awaited. Dressed in white, wrapped in light. She didn't speak. But her silver eyes seemed to pierce through him.
Hinata knelt. "My lady, this is Gorō, the first to enter your realm by my will."
The Silver Lady nodded with a subtle motion. Gorō felt compelled to kneel as well. And he did.
When they exited the temple, Hinata explained. "Here, time flows differently. For each night in the real world, a week can pass here. This place is meant to form, protect, guide… If you wish, would you train me with the sword?"
He accepted. Out of curiosity. Out of respect. Out of something he couldn't name.
The girl was elegant, firm. She wielded the wooden sword with flawless posture, as if steel coursed through her veins. From the first stance, Gorō recognized the core of the Takama Gin style—refined, precise, carried with a grace he had not expected to see in someone so young. It was clearly her foundation, yet… not all of it. There were hints of something else. A reaching, perhaps. She accelerated and slowed in odd rhythms, unpredictable not out of chaos, but out of intent.
At the first clash, he realized she anticipated not only his strikes, but his thoughts. She moved mid-action, adjusting as if she'd already lived the outcome.
Like fighting an Uchiha, he thought. A blind girl with a serene gaze… and a prophetic sense of combat that bent the rules around her.
His first style, the basic form of his school, was rendered useless. He switched to "The Path of Lightning"—fast, erratic… and she flowed through it with shocking composure. He shifted to "The Split Branch," broken and asymmetric, designed to disorient, but she lowered her center calmly and absorbed the pressure. When he invoked "The Broken Crane," a style reliant on deception and delayed angles, she was already spinning into a counter.
What unnerved him most was the absence of breath work. No samurai breathing technique. No audible cycles of power building through inhalation or exhalation. The duel became one of pure technique, intuition, and movement. As if he were fighting a spirit.
At last, he broke the pattern entirely—no rhythm, no form. He twisted the tempo mid-strike, shifting from fast to slow, and for the first time saw confusion in her stance. Only then did he strike true. Only then did he win. And even then, his brow was wet with sweat, and his chest burned.
"You're… more than you seem, girl," he said, panting.
<<<< o >>>>
From Hinata's point of view, the night was a whirlwind. She forced herself to recall every instruction Maeko had given her—the posture, the measured voice, the serene expression. But inside, she was trembling. She felt Gorō's gaze. His judgment. And beyond that, the overwhelming presence of the Silver Lady. When the Silver Lady looked at Gorō, Hinata could see his soul tremble. It was worth it.
During the duel, she was surprised by her own abilities, but even more so by Gorō's creativity. Every time he changed his combat style, the projection of his intent in the World of Intent shifted dramatically. At first, she could track him—the echoes of his movements were clear, readable. But soon, the shifts came faster. The intent blurred. He layered deception not just in technique, but in the very feeling of what was to come.
What stunned her most was how he broke patterns not with greater speed, but by flipping expectations: a fast strike slowing mid-air, or a slow stance exploding into action. It made her predictions falter, her instincts second-guessing. What she thought she read would suddenly change, as if the future itself bent sideways.
The clash of a few blows at those distorted rhythms changed her view of how combat could be shaped—not just by skill or strength, but by misdirection at the level of intention. She was defeated with dignity, but left with awe and newfound questions about the very flow of battle.
<<<< o >>>>
Later that evening, Gorō sat alone in a small garden pavilion near the tower, watching the silver mist swirl over still water. He rested his sword across his lap, though the duel was long over. His thoughts, however, lingered.
He had trained many swordsmen. He had fought beside Takama in war, and mentored Lord Akio in peace. But this girl—this Hinata—had startled something deep in him. She fought without breath styles, without brute force, and yet had forced him to adapt more than most seasoned warriors. What struck him most, in retrospect, was that he too had fought her without using his own breathing techniques—relying instead on pure swordsmanship. It had been an unspoken agreement, a duel of fundamentals. And it had shaken him.
"She does not fight with her body," he murmured, half to himself. "She fights with her soul. A blind girl who sees without eyes—her spirit guides her blade. If she grows further, if she learns more… she could become terrifying in battle."
He closed his eyes, remembering Akio's final lesson. The boy had been clever, brave—but never unpredictable. Hinata was different. A mirror reflecting something new.
Footsteps approached. Michel, quiet and composed, joined him, settling beside him without a word.
"She surprised you," the old librarian said calmly.
Gorō nodded. "I didn't fight a child. I fought a truth I wasn't ready to face."
Michel only smiled, his eyes distant. "That's the nature of this place. It doesn't show us what we expect—it shows us what we've forgotten."
He chuckled softly, then added, "You have to admit it—these new generations are leaving us and our old bones behind. Fortunately, you still have plenty to teach these vigorous youngsters."
Gorō smirked. "You wish. A few more encounters like this and I won't be able to move at all."
Both men burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the silver mist like a memory of warmth.
<<<< o >>>>
Hinata remained in the dueling hall long after Gorō had gone. The silence allowed her nerves to settle. Her limbs still trembled slightly, but her breath was even. She walked slowly toward the edge of the open terrace, letting the moonlight wash over her.
She whispered to herself, "Posture is presence. Voice is power. Grace, even in fear," repeating the words Maeko had drilled into her. They had carried her tonight.
Below, she could hear distant laughter. She thought about the future guests. More would come. That thought warmed her heart.
She looked at her exhausted reflection in the glass of water that reflected it and smiled faintly. "I lost… but I learned. That's enough for now."
<<<< o >>>>
As nights passed, more samurai arrived. Then, the young apprentices. All guided by Hinata into the Silver World. Some were skeptical. Others, fervent. But all changed after their visits.
Meanwhile, Takama had departed for the capital to report to his cousin, the Daimyō. At his side, a pale and silent man: Kabuto Yakushi. Orochimaru's agent.
The winter winds would bring more than just snow.