The following night, Hinata opened her eyes near the stone garden, close to the tree whose presence always brought her peace. The previous night had been difficult—memories of her grandfather and father weighed heavily on her. But she had seen her mother. That alone meant everything.
When she arrived, Michel wasn't waiting. She walked into the dojo and found him inside, seated before the low crystal table, deep in meditation. When he sensed her presence, he rose gently and offered an apologetic smile.
"Forgive me, Hinata," he said, his voice calm and soft. "I was trying to refine the technique so my emotions wouldn't overwhelm you."
Hinata sat across from him, placing a hand lightly on the cool surface of the table. Kuro, this time, chose not to wander. She lay beside her in silent watchfulness, her presence a quiet comfort.
The first time Hinata laughed, Michel thought it was wind.
A soft, airy sound. Barely a breath.
But real.
She lay in her mother's arms, wrapped in soft blue cloth.
The woman hummed gently, rocking side to side, eyes half-closed. Her voice—no louder than a breeze—carried the melody of something not meant for others to hear.
A lullaby. Ancient. Personal. A prayer hidden in notes.
The room was small, its paper windows letting in the pale gold of the setting sun.
The air smelled of herbs, fresh linens, and skin warm from holding life too closely.
Hinata shifted in her arms, eyelids fluttering.
Her mother brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead with reverent fingers, then leaned in and sang again, this time softer, as if afraid to wake her completely.
Michel stood in the stillness, as close as the veil between worlds would allow.
He could feel every heartbeat in that moment—the child's, the mother's, his own soul's echo.
Hinata giggled. A tiny sound, like porcelain bells.
Her mother gasped in delight and laughed, pressing their foreheads together.
"You're stronger than they think," she whispered.
"And I'll be strong for you, my little moonlight."
She pressed a kiss to her daughter's nose and held her tighter, swaying as if the rhythm could shield them both.
Hinata pulled her hand away from the crystal table and rested it gently on Kuro's head, scratching behind her ear. Her face lit up with a tender smile. She could still see her mother's face in her mind, hear her voice, feel her warmth.
"When I heard that song," she murmured, her voice trembling with a quiet joy, "my heart… it felt warm. Like she was here. I… I know that song. I had forgotten it. Thank you, Michel."
Kuro gave a soft lick to her hand, then lowered her head onto Hinata lap, sighing contentedly.
Michel's expression grew more solemn as he stepped closer.
"I have more to show you," he said carefully. "Things about your father, about myself… and your mother."
Hinata's tone turned sharp. "I don't want to see anything about my father."
Michel paused, then nodded with understanding. "I see… When you're ready, if ever you are, just say the word."
She looked at him, her voice quieter now. "Show me something about you."
And once again, her hand returned to the crystal table.
That night, Hinata dreamed. Michel felt it as he always did—a soft release in her spirit, and then the pull.
He sent a tiny wisp of his consciousness with her. The world greyed.
The mist curled around familiar shapes. And Hinata sat near the beginnings of his dojo—its beams now stronger, a few paper windows forming from memory, now catching a breeze that didn't blow.
She was older now. Her form in the grey matched her waking self—a baby just past one year. Still small. Still soft. But steadier. Stronger.
She sat cross-legged on the ground, beside her the sprout of a small tree had emerged from the ground near his dojo.
"That is amazing," he thought. "I will mark it with a stone garden."
She looked up as he appeared, and clapped her hands.
She didn't speak. But her face lit up with recognition.
Michel sat beside her.
She climbed into his lap and laid her head on his chest.
"She knows," he thought. "Here, she remembers."
She looked up and pointed at the dojo. Then smiled again and began to hum. Just a few notes.
Michel recognized the melody. "Her mother's lullaby…"
And he realized something else. She remembered the world beyond the grey.
She recalled voices, places, sensations. But when she awoke, she would forget this place.
Forget him.
Michel held her tighter, though there was no body between them.
"Then I'll stay here," he whispered. "So you always find me when you dream."
Hinata pulled her hand back from the crystal table. "So that's how the tree was born? Is that why you made the stone garden around it?"
Michel smiled gently. "It was your first creation inside the Grey World. I couldn't do any less. That night gave me hope… During that first year, it was like you didn't remember me—but eventually, something changed. You did. That meant more to me than you know. Even if you couldn't recall me in the real world, you remembered in your dreams… and that was enough."
Hinata looked down, voice wistful. "I wish I could remember this place—and you—and all I've learned here… in the real world."
"You will," Michel said with quiet certainty. "It took you a year to remember your experiences in this dream world. I'm sure that with time, you'll be able to remember this part of your life in the real world as well."
Hinata fell silent, as if making a quiet prayer for that hope to come true.
Michel's voice lowered. "There's one more thing about your mother I'd like to show you… But it's not an easy memory. You see, I can see the black threads of death. And I saw them tightening around her day by day. I tried to save her—tried to do what I did for you. But my spirit is bound to yours. She was beyond my reach."
His voice was heavy, thick with sorrow and helplessness.
Hinata hesitated, heart trembling. But she also knew Michel wouldn't offer this without a reason.
She reached forward, and once more, placed her hand on the crystal table.
It was night. Michel felt the pull shift—not toward Hinata, but toward the mother.
Her spirit trembled. Flickered. He reached for her—not out of control, but drawn by instinct.
He entered the space between moments.
The threshold of parting.There she stood. Not in her body. But in form. In light.
She saw him. She truly saw him. Her face did not flinch. She smiled. Tired. Beautiful.
"Are you the one keeping her alive?" she asked softly.
Michel nodded. She placed a hand on his chest.
"Thank you."
She looked down, and saw her new daughter sleeping.
At arm's length when she was alive, now unreachable.
"She's not ready to lose me."
"I know," Michel said. He hadn't spoken aloud in so long it startled him.
"I wish… I could stay longer," she whispered, her voice thinner now. "I wanted to see both of them grow."
She touched her belly—flat now in spirit, but still carrying memory.
"My little Hanabi. She'll never know me."
A wind began to rise. A cold one. A gate opened behind her—wide, dark, endless.
The Shinigami waited beyond.
A shape of presence, of judgment, of inevitability.
She turned back to Michel.
"If you can… remind them they were loved." she said, "Please… protect her. My little moonlight."
"I will."
She stepped back. And then, she was gone.
Hinata didn't let go of the crystal table—not at first. It was Michel who pulled away, only when he saw the tears falling freely from her eyes. Kuro nuzzled closer to her side, offering quiet, wordless comfort.
Michel stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a gentle embrace.
"She was thinking of you until the very end," he whispered.
"Thank you, Grandpa," Hinata said between sobs—a complicated tangle of grief and joy wrapped into trembling words.