Hinata Hyūga was a young girl nearing her twelfth birthday. Her long black hair framed a pale, delicate face, and her eyes—those unmistakable pale orbs—marked her as a bearer of the Byakugan, the famed dōjutsu of the Hyūga clan. She was slight of frame, dressed in the traditional robes of her house, and her forehead bore the clan's insignia etched into her headband.
Though she possessed the name and blood of one of Konoha's most prestigious clans, Hinata was timid. Words rarely left her lips in class unless called upon, and even then, they emerged barely above a whisper. She struggled to express her desires, to show strength—yet she loved the academy. Within those walls, far from the cold traditions of her family, she found something resembling connection. Something almost like home.
Beyond the academy, her world narrowed to two souls: one known, one hidden. The first was Kuro, a mischievous ninken pup who was both troublemaker and loyal companion. The second... was a secret.
Unseen by everyone, even her, a silver thread bound Hinata to a strange, ghostly presence. His name is Michel. An old man, bearded and white-haired, with sharp blue eyes that missed nothing. He stood ever at her side, bound by fate, watching the world from the edge of life. Slowly, bit by bit, pieces of his fragmented soul bled into her through the shimmering link that tied them. Day by day he was closer to death, resisting the attractive force that pulled him towards Hinata, fearing that if he stopped resisting the destinies of both would cease.
That day, she had gone to the academy library. The final exams were coming, and she wanted to prepare. She needed to prove she could become a shinobi. Maybe not like Naruto—so bright and loud—but someone who mattered all the same. Someone worth believing in.
She sat at a corner table, reading a scroll intently when someone approached. A boy from her class.
Ren.
He was the kind who only spoke when certain he was right. His eyes held a sharpness too old for his age, and he always seemed to be watching—especially her. His words cut without volume.
"You don't belong here," Ren said, his tone flat.
Hinata froze. "W-what...?"
"I know what you are." A faint, knowing smile curved his lips. "You're the first. The original."
Her heart skipped. "I.. I don't... understand."
"Of course you don't." He stepped closer. "You don't even remember where you're from. But I do. Your actions—they don't fit. You don't belong, and yet... they chose you."
He leaned in just slightly, voice low and bitter. "I will surpass you. Even if you were chosen first."
Then he turned, walking away as if the matter was settled.
Hinata stood there, stunned, confusion rising like a tide. She fled the library moments later, heart pounding, her small fists clenched.
Michel watched it all in silence. His translucent form lingered in the library's shadowed corner, eyes narrowing.
"So... is he the one before me or the one after?," Michel murmured, though no one could hear his voice but the wind.
<<<< o >>>>
That evening, Hinata returned alone to the vast Hyūga compound, as she did every day. Her footsteps echoed softly through the quiet halls of the branch family's quarters—the area assigned to those who bore the cursed mark of servitude. Inside her small home, silence greeted her. But she wasn't truly alone. Kuro, her loyal ninken pup, padded beside her, ever faithful.
She made a simple meal from the rations given by the clan, dividing it in two: one portion for herself, the other for Kuro. As she ate, her gaze drifted beyond the paper walls toward the grand mansion in the distance. That was where her father and younger sister resided. Once, she had believed he cared for her. Once, she had thought herself part of something whole.
But not anymore.
This compound, this legacy—it felt more like a cage than a home. The academy had offered her more warmth than these walls ever did. There, at least, people saw her. Not as a failure or a burden.
She clutched Kuro in her arms, the pup licking her cheek affectionately. Together, they lay down on her futon.
And like every night… she let go.
Her mind drifted. When she fell asleep, memories came back to her mind from another life, another place… she decided to go there again, like she did every night—one she remembered from countless dreams.
She opened her eyes into another world. A quiet rock garden stretched out before her, centered around an ancient tree whose roots wove into the earth like veins of silver. Beyond it stood a grand wooden dōjō, serene and still beneath a pale sky. This was no illusion or fantasy. This was the place she returned to every night, drawn not by imagination but by memory. This was the home of her soul—a fragment of a life forgotten in waking hours but vivid and alive in sleep. Here, in this Silver World, she was not a stranger. She was herself.
Kuro appeared beside her, tail wagging gently. She could be here too, always.
This was the Silver World—the realm created at the intersection of souls. Time moved differently here. Faster. Deeper. And here, Hinata was different too. Stronger. Sharper. Not timid, not voiceless. Here, she learned and remembered how to stand tall.
Sitting at the steps of the dōjō was Michel. He greeted her with a soft smile.
"Good evening, Hinata. It's always a joy to see you again," he said, rising slowly to his feet.
She rushed into his arms, hugging him tightly. "Good evening, Grandfather. Something strange happened at the academy today. Ren… he said things I didn't understand. I know you saw it. Does it have to do with the things you promised you'd tell me when I was older?"
She saw it then—his stern expression, veiled with care. A pause, a sigh of reluctant acceptance.
"Yes," he said. "There are things I didn't think you were ready for. But perhaps… you are. You're more mature here than you are in the waking world."
She puffed her cheeks in protest. "That's not fair. I can't even remember what happens here when I wake up. I get to think more, to practice more. I grow faster. Just… not where anyone can see it. Too bad I can't remember it in the real world"
Michel's smile deepened—gentle, but with something hidden behind it.
"What? What is it you're not saying, Grandpa?"
He chuckled. "Ah… that's something else I'll have to tell you. Good news, I think. But I'll save it for after the story. Come with me."
He led her into the dōjō. Inside were rooms filled with fragments of memory: toys Michel had crafted for her when she was smaller, scrolls and notes of his research. One room, however, held something different.
In the center of it was a glass table. Michel motioned for her to sit, and he took the seat across from her. Silver threads formed from his hands, weaving into the table like flowing ink.
"This technique," he began, "was something I developed as a means to teach you more directly. In the end, I decided that conversation was better than relying on strange and untested Jutsu… but this one lets me show you memories—my own."
"How come your memory is so good?" Hinata asked, her voice filled with curiosity. "I can barely remember anything from when I was little."
"That's because you chose to forget painful things," Michel replied. "In my case… When my soul reached the Silver Stage, my memory became perfect. Everything I've ever experienced is crystal clear."
Hinata leaned forward, eyes wide with anticipation.
Michel hesitated. Something in him told him that he didn't have to tell her this, that she wasn't ready yet, but seeing her eyes, seeing her effort... Michel the grandfather couldn't resist.
He didn't want to show this. But it was time. He exhaled… and began.
There was a moment...
...when Michel stopped breathing.
But it wasn't sudden.
It was like the final note of a well-played melody.
Conscious. Serene. Perfect.
He had lived many lives in one.
As a child, a young man, an adult, a warrior, a teacher. And in his old age, a wise man who found his deepest peace in the eyes of his grandchildren as they shared stories of impossible worlds.
Stories of warriors, eternal battles, mysteries of energy and fate…
Tales he had learned for their sake, and grown to love on his own.
In that final moment, as his heart exhaled for the last time, his life passed before his eyes.
Days of training beneath the burning sun.
Fights that nearly cost him his life.
The faces of those he had helped.
His family's laughter.
And the small things:
Hot tea, the scent of rain on tatami, the wrinkled hands of his wife.
It all flowed by like a slow river.
And Michel smiled.
Because he knew he had left the world just a little better than when he found it.
And then... he fell.
Not toward the sky nor earth.
He fell between worlds, through a passage where time folded upon itself.
A place with no north or south.
A vortex where all that ever was unraveled and was born again in fragments.
As he fell, time and space felt achingly real.
The currents of energy around him, the flashes of other lives, fragments of wars and joys—all seemed unbelievably vivid, as if he was moving through the very history of another reality.
There was something hauntingly familiar in it all, but the pain and intensity were too real, too deep, to be dismissed as fantasy.
Finally, when he opened his eyes—if he still had any—he saw a broken world.
A moon shattered into drifting fragments hovered across a lifeless sky.
And on one of those fragments, a female figure floated, suspended in the void.
She was not dead, but neither was she alive in any human sense.
Tears streaked her eyes, a third eye remained closed on her forehead, and small horns curled softly from her head.
The vision was overwhelming—strange, sorrowful, and beautiful.
Michel could not hear her cries, but he felt the wave of suffering that swept through him, cold and profound.
He didn't know who she was.
But something about her stirred a sense of echo within him.
Not recognition… but resonance.
Hinata slowly lifted her hands from the glass table, her brows furrowed as she tried to process the rush of emotions and sensations she had just witnessed.
"That was... strange, Grandpa," she said softly, still feeling the echo of the vision.
Michel exhaled and brought a hand to his forehead, massaging his temple with a tired motion. "I meant to show you the beginning... but perhaps I was too eager," he murmured. "Don't worry. There's still much left to reveal. Touch the table again, and we'll continue—this time, I'll try not to overwhelm you all at once."