Chapter 323: Windows and Promises
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Malik sat nestled in the plushest chair on Haku's third floor—a sunken velvet throne that curved around his form like it had been designed specifically to cradle someone avoiding emotional honesty. The walls glowed softly with winter light, pale and diffused, filtering through the tall arched windows carved with frostleaf trim. Outside, the streets of Hyōsetsumura moved gently beneath the snowfall: villagers in layered cloaks, carts full of snow-fruit, icicles hanging from lantern wires like nature's jewelry.
It should've felt peaceful.
It did, in a way.
But Malik's mood was far more complicated than the calm around him.
Little Haido was asleep in his lap, one violet eye shut tight, snoring faintly into the folds of Malik's robe. A twitchy paw thumped softly against his chest every few minutes—little puppy dreams of chasing imaginary rabbits or chewing through Gen'yūmaru's sandals again.
Malik looked down at him fondly. "Honestly, I don't know why the others complain about you," he murmured. "You do three things. Sleep, eat, and fake interest in fetch. What's hard about that?"
Haido didn't respond.
Because of course he didn't. He was out cold, soft belly rising and falling like a rhythmic snowdrift.
Malik looked up at the empty room around him—the third floor was bare, mostly unused. Haku stored everything on the first floor: medicinal teas, scrolls, weapons too elegant for war. Up here, it was just space. Unfinished, unbothered space. And Malik… had filled it only with himself and quiet thoughts.
That was dangerous.
Because when things got quiet, Malik's brain didn't idle.
It spiraled.
His Restless Mind almost always spiraled.
He sighed, watching two children below chase one another through the snow.
How long had he been here now?
Over 2 months and a good amount of change.
He'd planned to visit for a week, maybe two. Fix some divine emotional architecture, soothe a fox goddess, kiss Haku in moonlight, charm a council elder or three, and make his grand exit before his tea supply dried up.
But the mountain had pulled him in.
And now he was the one left behind in Haku's beautiful sanctuary, while the rest of them—his Knights, his family, the family very close and the family very far away, his fiancés spread across various ninja settlements—lived their loud, urgent, mission-riddled lives.
It wasn't the village that made him feel off.
It wasn't even the people—they were vibrant, honorable, breathtaking.
It was him.
Maybe Malik wasn't built to settle.
He'd never stayed in one place for long. Not even his mansion in the Leaf. The elegant sprawl of rooms, the library, the tea gardens—he loved it, but he rarely lived there. He was always off doing something. Setting something in motion.
His home was movement.
Now the stillness was whispering doubts he hadn't invited.
He stroked Haido's fur with absent fingers.
At some point, this would have to change.
He had made promises—carefully, intimately—to many of his partners: Sakura, Ino, Fugai, Neji, Kamira, Lee, Ranke, Tenten, Haku, others. That for the first few years, he'd keep moving. Keep working. Be the storm they loved chasing.
But after that?
They wanted a home.
He'd told Sakura only two years.
Sakura. Smart, deadly, maternal Sakura—with hands that healed and fists that rearranged people's insides. He loved her dearly. But she scared him in ways even Inariko's illusions couldn't replicate. And he knew she'd hold him to those two years.
That was the thing about being loved by powerful women.
You didn't make empty promises.
So if this house—this silence—this snow-choked quiet was a preview of his future…
He had to learn how to sit inside it without flinching.
Then came the Thoughts of Future, Kids, Kitchens, maybe a few events here and there.
He glanced down at Haido again, smiling faintly.
"I'll probably be the one taking care of the kids," he whispered. "You know that?"
The wolf pup twitched. Malik took that as agreement.
"There'll be a mansion full of staff, sure. Nannies. Tutors. But when one of them gets sick? I'll be the one with soup, and a few doven nurses run a good amount of chakra scans. I'll be the one to bake apology cookies after some Genin rebellion."
He smiled a little more, imagining it.
"They'll all want to be shinobi, of course. It's inevitable. They'll want to be fierce like their moms. Carry giant fans. Punch meteors. Ride summonings. Swirl elemental chakras like juice boxes."
He laughed softly.
"Maybe… maybe I'll convince one or two to go into business. Bake. Start tea houses. Run diplomacy projects. Do the things no one's watching—quiet genius work."
He paused.
And for the first time in days, the possibility didn't feel suffocating.
It felt… real.
Like he could grow into it.
Outside, the lantern lights brightened as dusk settled across the village.
Inside, Malik sat with Haido snoring against his chest.
He wasn't ready to stop moving completely.
Not yet.
But maybe—just maybe—he could start preparing.
Because stillness wasn't weakness.
It was the beginning of home.
Malik stretched with a slow sigh, soft velvet cushions molding under his weight, one arm cradling a slumbering Haido while the other rested on the curved arm of Haku's exquisite third-floor chair. His legs dangled just enough to feel princely and unnecessary, his gaze sweeping the snowy village through the arched windows with a vaguely reflective pout.
The room was still silent, except for the faint puffs of breath from the sleeping pup, and Malik's own ever-turning thoughts.
His brain was again on fire, and his next train of thought was On Legacies and Little Lives.
"I don't think a single one of them doesn't want kids," he whispered to himself, voice barely above a breath. "Even Haku… especially Haku."
He smiled—Haku had spoken about adoption with stars in his eyes, dreamy and determined, like gathering lost souls and wrapping them in silk and snow and warmth. Malik could imagine it clearly: Haku in a kitchen apron, lecturing a small clan of mischievous adoptees on tea etiquette while secretly slipping them sugar cubes when no one was watching.
But then there was Danzō.
Pregnant. Already. Gloriously determined. Terrifyingly organized.
She didn't just want children—she wanted heirs. Legacy. Power restored to the Shimura name. A clan reborn in the image of something sharper and more purposeful. Malik had seen the weight in her gaze when she spoke about honor and future shinobi reform. She'd said things like "Our children will not be forgotten footnotes—they will be pivotal chapters."
He had nodded at the time, charmed as always by her intensity, but now—now he understood.
Danzō wasn't just starting a family.
She was forging dynasties.
And Shisui?
Malik huffed fondly. That woman didn't want kids until Malik was well and truly tethered.
A "stay-at-home dad," she'd said once, teasing with all the softness of a kunai wrapped in velvet. "You're not planting any roots until I see you watering them daily, Malik."
The Uchiha Clan, legendary and haunted and heartbreakingly beautiful, demanded more than just blood. It asked for devotion. Shisui wanted her children to be raised by someone who understood stillness. Not just duty. Not just play. Real, present parenting.
Gods, he thought, head lolling against the back of the chair, I'm really going to do this, aren't I?
🏛️ A Clan Collector, Accidentally
It was starting to hit him.
Danzō's Shimura legacy.
Shisui's Uchiha legacy.
Neji's Hyūga legacy.
Ino's Yamanaka legacy.
And then… the glorious chaos of the Inuzuka household: Tsume, Kiba, and Hana. That was a whole subculture of snarling, affectionate, meat-loving shinobi wrapped in wild loyalty and canine flourishes. Malik wasn't just marrying individuals—he was marrying entire ecosystems.
And in doing so… those clans became his.
He hadn't taken their names. He was Malik—Malik of the Fire, Malik of the Mirage, Malik of Too Many Love Letters. But his children would carry those names. Would be born into the weight and brilliance of each legacy.
And he didn't mind.
Because maybe that was the point.
To become a mosaic.
Not one name.
But a thousand bloodlines braided into something new.
Then his smile came back as he thought about Tsunade's Headaches.
He snorted suddenly, a laugh breaking through his reverie.
"Tsunade's going to murder me."
The Hokage—the ultimate paperwork wrangler, battle medic, godmother of Malik's chaos—probably cursed his name every single time she signed a marriage authorization, baby registration, clan merger, or mission schedule that included "Malik and twelve of his favorite marital catastrophes."
Her sighs could probably fuel the Leaf Village's entire lightning grid.
He could almost hear her now:
"You realize that marrying three Inuzukas technically makes you eligible for co-ownership of their kennels?"
"Don't tell me you plan on naming a child 'Blizzard Tsukuyomi Malik the Fourth.'"
"Stop seducing the diplomatic staff from the Mist. They're still recovering from the last purge."
Gods, he adored her.
And Gods… she was right.
The Blood of the World
He leaned his head back, gazing up at the bare ceiling where old wood beams crossed in gentle arcs above him.
He thought about all the futures unfolding like origami under his fingertips.
All the tiny souls that might grow in very expensive cribs, sunlit nurseries, desert palaces, and mountain cabins.
All the messy, loud, powerful children who'd inherit not just jutsu, but belief, and most likely a good amount of his magic, but still belief.
Belief in love.
Belief in connection.
Belief in Malik, in the thousand pieces of him that had danced their way into clans and hearts and lullabies.
And he grinned, cheeky and heartfelt and impossibly cheesy.
"The Blood of the World," he whispered to himself, "is going to have my smile and Shisui's glare and Danzō's death stare and Haku's obsession with perfect folds. Heaven help them all."
Outside, the village continued its quiet bustle.
Inside, Malik watched the snowfall from his empty perch, warm with sleeping puppy and brighter thoughts.
He wasn't just building a life.
He was nurturing a legacy born from love, madness, power… and very soft chairs.
There was still time before the future arrived.
But it was already walking toward him on a hundred tiny feet.
And he was ready.
Malik stretched dramatically across the massive velvet chair, his limbs dangling off like he was trying to melt through luxury itself. One leg was hooked over the armrest, a socked foot lazily bouncing in midair; his arm trailed down, fingers grazing the floor like he was casting spells in dust. The chair, being an ordinary chair, sighed under him, as his natural aura of magic sank into it—its newly enchanted fibers adjusting automatically, reshaping its padding and support to cradle him more comfortably. His natural magic had activated it without conscious thought, and now he lay there like a man too grand for gravity.
Haido, the one-eyed wolf pup curled into his side, didn't even stir. The warmth of Malik's body had made the little creature an immovable lump of snoring fluff. Tucked against his ribs, wrapped up in a thin blanket Malik had cast with a flick of his fingers, Haido was as content as any pup could be. Malik absently ran his fingers through the soft fur on Haido's back, marveling again at how peaceful things could be when no one was knocking on his metaphorical door.
And surprisingly… his thoughts hadn't gotten weird or dark yet. No shadowy reflections, no existential monologues, no dramatic bursts of "who am I beneath this glittering mask of confidence?"
Just soft musings.
Warm ones.
About the future and A List for Love
Malik conjured a floating page above him, a shimmering tablet of light-spun ink, and whispered softly:
"Children I Will Love Into Chaos: A Sketch"
Because honestly, what else could he do on a quiet winter night?
💐 Sakura's Child
First up? Sakura.
Malik smirked to himself. Intense mother. Healing goddess. Punches trees to sleep.
Their child would be a miracle in pink and fire. Probably a girl, Malik thought, with sharp green eyes, a sprinkle of freckles, and hair so explosively vibrant it defied subtlety. She'd be emotionally articulate, frighteningly intelligent, and capable of bench-pressing a house if she got moody before dinner.
Probably dual-talented in medical ninjutsu and diplomacy, with an impressive habit of lecturing adults at age six.
"And she'd terrify me," Malik whispered fondly. "But I'd let her braid my hair if she asked."
🗡 Danzō's Legacy
Next up, the power strategist herself—Danzō.
Pregnant already. Focused. Brilliantly terrifying.
Their child? A boy, perhaps. A solid mix of Black and White hair like storm-light, eyes always watching, calculating. Reserved. Wore suits to school. Didn't cry—analyzed. Thought five steps ahead of his classmates and once took apart a sealing barrier because he didn't like its "energy signature."
He'd have subtle markings from ancient Shimura techniques, probably a sixth sense for political tension. And Malik would love him fiercely while reminding himself that emotional vulnerability is a strength, even if the boy preferred reports to hugs.
🔥 Shisui's Uchiha Heir
Shisui. Beautiful and uncompromising.
Their child? Maybe twins. One boy, one girl. Both with black hair like ink mixed with candlelight. Those signature Uchiha eyes—wide and burning with potential.
The girl would walk on rooftops by age five, vanish when bored, and reappear only to critique Malik's pancake fluffiness. The boy would cry only once a year, and only during full moons, before pretending he didn't.
Both would have perfect posture.
And drive Malik absolutely insane with their sarcasm.
🌵 The Sand Treaty Bride: Kankurō
Coming summer wedding: Kankurō.
Malik chuckled. They hadn't talked much in person, but their dream conversations had been frequent, messy, and weirdly funny. She'd let him in enough times to reveal glimpses of herself—loyal, wild, unexpected.
Their child? Someone with chakra-paint tattoos before age eight. Puppet-based ninjutsu mixed with charm that could melt stone.
Malik imagined a girl with dyed hair, wearing combat boots and flowy sand robes, calling Malik "Da" and dressing up puppets in desert silk as part of a fashion experiment.
She'd probably have inherited Kankurō's sense of humor and Malik's dramatic instincts.
The house would be chaos.
And beautiful.
Then he thought about The Sand Siblings: A Bonus Chapter
Kankurō's sisters—Gaara and Temari.
Malik smiled sleepily.
Gaara, the younger one. Quiet strength. Crescent eyes. Dangerous calm.
Temari, sharp-tongued and elegant. Beloved by her wind.
Breakfast at their place had been the turning point. Malik had cooked bacon and pancakes with his magic-infused syrup, and watched the tough Sand siblings melt. Gaara barely smiled. Temari complimented the batter ratios. Kankurō declared him unstoppable.
Now? They respected him.
A little too much.
He'd earned a family there.
And that mattered.
As Haido shifted slightly in his sleep, Malik leaned back further. The chair adjusted again, now lifting his legs, cradling his shoulders. His magic, soft and responsive, wrapped him in a faint warmth of foxfire.
He smiled.
"It's going to be a wild ride," he whispered. "The Blood of the World."
And with those thoughts—bright and ridiculous and heartfelt—Malik drifted off.
Dreaming of pancakes.
And puppets.
And powerful children walking through moonlit hallways he had built with love.