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Chapter 15 - Chapter 15 — The Silver-Eyed Library Thief

The White Zetsu network hummed beneath the earth like a living map, feeding me threads of information. Kakashi: fourteen, son of Aphrodite, secluded near a remote library by Boston. Quiet. Bookish. Dangerous in a way that made my chest tighten with anticipation—knowledge, after all, was a currency I hoarded.

I approached the perimeter under the cover of twilight, cloak pulled low, the Sharingan cooled in my eyes so as not to alarm anything mortal. The library sat on a mossy hill, lights long since snuffed. A single silhouette moved between the stacks inside—a slim figure hunched in the faint glow of a candle. White Zetsu reported: he was alone. Vulnerable.

Good.

Then the air shifted. The forest smell changed to something fouler—sulfur and iron. I felt the ripple in the world the way a predator senses fear in a heartbeat: hell hounds. Fast, brutal, smelling of the underworld. They were closing in on the library, drawn by the same curiosity my Zetsu had been. They didn't know luxury or subtlety. They only knew the scent of living power.

I didn't wait.

I burst from the tree line in a sliver of motion, chakra flaring through me. The hounds snapped and lunged; they were teeth and flame, eyes like coal. I met them with a spear of lightning the size of a man—Chidori Sharp Spear—and the sound of it was like thunder striking tree bark. The spear tore through one hound's flank and sent another skidding across the lawn.

Heat and snarls answered me, so I blurred forward—Movement trained by Indra's memories and my body's borrowed perfection. I planted a foot and rolled, the Chidori Senbon erupting from my palms: dozens of lightning needles launching in a tight, lethal volley. They hit the pack with surgical precision; one hound yelped and went limp, another burst into sullen black flame as Amaterasu lashed out from my right eye and consumed its hide.

Inside the library, a soft curse—Kakashi. He was swift, pulling an old blade and moving with a calm that betrayed his danger. He fought with grace, but the pack was too many. One hell hound, larger than the rest, leapt through a shattered window and pinned him to the floor with iron-jawed hunger.

I saw it move to bite. Time narrowed.

Left eye—Tsukuyomi. I stroked the air with a single, silent thought, casting a sliver of genjutsu so small it barely registered. The beast froze mid-leap, its world collapsing into an endless loop of its own fear. Right eye—Amaterasu sparked and took the beast's flank in charcoal fire. The hound screamed and the loop broke, leaving only ashes and a scent of burnt sulphur.

Kakashi looked up at me then—candlelight reflecting in a solitary eye, the other hidden beneath a shag of silver hair. He was breathing hard, face smeared with grime, eyes wide with adolescent shock and something sharper. He was used to being alone. He was used to strangers. But he was not used to being saved so casually.

"Who—" he started, then closed his mouth. He'd already sensed the weight of my chakra, the foreign thread woven through his world.

"Name's Indra," I said, and let the title sit between us like a coin. No flourish. No claim beyond the single word. It was efficient. It said more than I wanted, and less than I intended.

Kakashi pushed himself upright, examining the landscape of shredded earth and the charred remains of hell hounds. "Aphrodite's son," he said quietly, as if cataloging me inside the index of his mind. "You have odd flair. You're not from around here..."

"You're the one who hoards knowledge in a locked library in the middle of the night," I replied, shrugging once. "Not very subtle."

He blinked. A faint smirk, sly and almost weary. "And you interrupt people's bad habits with pyrotechnics. Thanks, I guess." He hefted himself, wincing. "I can walk."

I shook my head. "You will not. Not yet." My hand skimmed the ground; I felt Kurama shine—a tide of power waiting beneath the surface—and I called to it, drawing a stream of his Yang into my limbs. The flying of undergone technique I had mastered recently flexed under my control, an art of suspension and thrust carved from raw chakra and will. It let me suspend the world, then tilt it gently beneath my feet.

Before Kakashi could protest, I grabbed him under the arms and lifted. The technique hummed—my body a conduit, Kurama's force the engine. We soared off the mossy hill, stone and trees shrinking beneath us as the wind screamed in my ears. The town lights spread like a glittering wound below. For a second I let myself enjoy the simple perfection of flight: the way the world rearranged itself when you pulled the sky into your pocket.

He was heavier than he looked. Aphrodite's son bore the lean strength of someone shaped by charm and sharp wit, but he also had the quiet weight of someone who had read too much and trusted too little. He didn't struggle much. Perhaps he recognized survival when it wrapped itself in silence.

"Where are we going?" he asked as we moved across the night.

"To my base," I replied. "You're coming with me."

He let out a soft, incredulous laugh. "Kidnap and forceful recruitment. That's bold."

"It's called saving you," I countered. "You can leave if you want. Or you can learn. We travel together, you expand what you know, and I keep you alive. Which is more appealing?"

The words were simple. No grand speeches. No illusions. Power offered in exchange for knowledge—two things Kakashi didn't dislike.

He looked at me then, properly assessing. I could feel the gears in his mind turning—probability trees and contingency routines, the quiet math of a strategist. "What's in it for you?" he asked finally.

"A team," I answered. "And someone who reads faster than everyone else." I allowed a smirk to curve my lips. "You like books. I like information. We can… help each other."

He was silent for a long beat. Then he exhaled, the motion small. "Fine. I'm in. But one thing—no lecturing about fashion." He tapped his head, where a silver mask hung concealed. "And you owe me a decent book to read."

I chuckled. "Deal. Lots of books."

The flying technique dropped us gently above the clearing that hid my cave-base—simple, sealed, ordinary from the outside. The Sannin were there, waiting with casual patience—Tsunade already taking stock of the new arrival's wounds with a raised brow, Jiraiya offering slap-happy encouragement, and Orochimaru watching me with that same woman-snake curiosity.

Kakashi slid down on his own two feet as soon as the technique released us. He kept his expression steady, but I watched his eyes—their slight wildness mellowing into wary interest as he took in the base, the scrolls, the sleeping White Zetsu nestling in shaded hollows.

"You brought me to a cult of lunatics," he observed dryly.

"You brought yourself into my orbit," I corrected, meeting his gaze. "Welcome to the team."

He set his pack down carefully and looked at the Sannin, then back at me. The boy—no longer just a boy—took a step forward, the night's shock already settling into a steady, curious calm.

"Books?" he asked again, more hopeful than I expected.

"Books," I repeated. "And survival. And a chance to be more than a footnote in someone else's prophecy."

He nodded once, brief and guarded. "Alright. Let's see what the White Fang's son can learn."

I let the corner of my mouth lift. "Good. You'll fit in."

Kurama hummed contentedly in my skull as we walked into the cave—my troupe growing in size and in potential. The base welcomed us: scrolls, sealed treasures, and the soft, conspiratorial rustle of White Zetsu moving through the roots. Night closed around us like a curtain, and for the first time in days, I felt the neat satisfaction of a plan taking shape.

We had saved him from hell hounds, broken the silence of his library, and flown through the night like gods. Kakashi's recruitment was quiet, efficient, and exactly as it should have been.

Now the real work began: teaching, learning, and tessellating our ragged strengths into something fearsome.

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