Konoha pulsed with a quiet energy, the kind that preceded great events. The final stage of the Chūnin Exams was only days away, and the entire village moved with purpose: repairing stands, organizing logistics, reviewing battle rosters. But for Hinata Hyūga, each step forward was personal.
It had been almost two weeks since she had opened her eyes.
Though blind, she saw more than ever. The world unfolded to her spiritual senses: souls danced as radiant pulses of color, threads of connection wove between people like strands of invisible silk. Children running past left glowing trails of joy, old couples shimmered with the weight of shared years, and beneath the laughter and daily bustle, a complex tapestry of emotion and spirit moved in quiet rhythm.
She walked slowly through Konoha, one hand resting gently on Takama's arm. Kuro, now larger, more wolf-like than dog, padded beside her with a calm dignity that made many villagers pause. Heads turned, whispers followed, but not of pity this time. Not of mockery. "That's the Hyūga girl… the one who came back," someone murmured.
Hinata tilted her head, sensing the speaker's warmth, a distant pulse of awe. She smiled faintly.
They reached the market district. She could not see the stalls, but the energy of so many lives in motion was overwhelming and beautiful. She stopped at a corner and turned her head toward the sound of a child laughing with his mother. She watched the light between them, bright and golden.
"Is that what a bond should look like?" she asked softly.
Takama did not answer, but his grip on her arm became a little firmer.
<<<< o >>>>
In the hospital garden, Hinata stood barefoot on the grass.
Kuro and Takama watched from a shaded bench.
"Alright," she whispered to herself. "No help this time."
She bent her knees. Focused. Felt the earth with her soul.
She jumped.
It was not graceful. Her body wobbled in the air, she overcompensated, and landed hard on her knees.
She winced.
Then laughed.
Then she laughed—a sound small, bright, and startlingly real, like the first crack of dawn after a long winter. Kuro barked once and bounded toward her, tackling her gently into the grass. Hinata giggled, hugging her companion.
Takama walked over and offered his hand.
"Every fall teaches you something," he said.
"Then I must be learning a lot," she smiled.
<<<< o >>>>
Inside the Silver World, the grand library was still and hushed. Michel stood at the highest balcony, watching.
Far below, a silver door bound with glowing chains pulsed faintly.
He said nothing. But his eyes narrowed.
Soon.
<<<< o >>>>
That afternoon, Hinata stood by the hospital doors.
It had taken Takama days to prepare the attire she now wore. He had gone through dozens of ideas, rejecting anything that made Hinata look like a fragile doll. "She's not a broken thing," he muttered once to Kurenai, who had offered her help after seeing him struggle with the finer touches. "She's a phoenix." In the end, they settled on something graceful and dignified—simple, but undeniably strong.
She wore a simple yet elegant outfit: soft grey cloth with deep blue lining, her eyes and the Hyūga stigma left uncovered—unhidden, unashamed. A delicate hairpin, a gift from Takama, held part of her hair behind one ear. "My own daughter wore something similar," he had said, his voice softer than usual. "I think it suits you."
Kuro waited beside her, proud and poised.
Takama offered his arm.
"Ready?"
Hinata nodded. "Let's go."
Together, they walked through Konoha—toward the coliseum, toward the gathering storm.
Hinata tilted her face to the sun, her steps steady.
"Naruto," she murmured, "I'm coming. I'll be there."
She didn't have chakra.
She didn't have sight.
But she had her will.
And that was enough.