Jiren moved along the ridge overlooking the clearing, every step quiet, calculated. Though the others had not noticed, he was certain they had been under watch for some time. He felt it—like the air shifted around their group. Yet the princess remained unbothered, visiting one village after another, never in a hurry. Her direction was deliberate: toward the Land of Rice.
He paused. A whisper brushed his shoulder—soft, intangible, unmistakably a message. Not from the parasite; that voice had been silent since the incident. No, this was her. Hinata Gin. The message was fragmented, a suggestion more than a command, a feeling etched into his spine.
She wanted to speak.
The Protocol screamed against it. They never met like this. Not alone. Not without Fū.
But something in the tone—some subtle urgency wrapped in gentleness—moved him. Reluctantly, he descended from his perch and approached the Iron Princess' encampment.
A large flame marked the center of camp. Firelight danced across the clearing, illuminating her pale face and dark hair. Hinata sat near the blaze, her fingers plucking soft, haunting chords from a lyre. Her voice rose in delicate song, the notes ethereal, soaked in memory. Kuro, her inky-black canine, rested by her feet, alert and statuesque, while the white-silver serpent, Mitsue, curled beside her, moving slightly with the melody's rhythm.
Her guards were nearby, listening with closed eyes and still bodies—but Jiren could tell they were aware. Every muscle knew its duty. Still, he felt sure that she had sensed him long before they had.
They don't know, Jiren thought, studying their faces. They don't realize she is the Silver Lady.
He almost pitied them. He wouldn't have believed it either, if not for Fū.
The final note lingered like incense in the air. In the quiet afterward, something within Jiren felt… lighter. He had forgotten what calm felt like.
"I see you've arrived, Jiren," came the voice of Kenshiro, the aged samurai by the fire. He nodded in acknowledgment, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Lady Hinata wishes to speak of developments she believes are imminent."
Those words snapped Jiren back to attention.
Hinata turned her face toward him and smiled softly. "Thank you for coming, Jiren. I apologize for the method. It was my first attempt at that kind of communication."
Jiren said nothing, watching her closely.
"I can feel something approaching," she continued. "It's not a certainty, more like a pull in the threads. I believe the soul senses when it is near danger, when death considers drawing near. But this time I feel two threads—two separate strikes. One frontal, one hidden, waiting for the aftermath."
Jiren narrowed his eyes. "Can you sense that clearly?"
"Not precisely. But clear enough to act. Two or three days, I think. I'll know better when it's closer. I was expecting one threat. Two… That's the surprise. That's why I asked for you."
She turned to face him more fully. "You know the field, Jiren. Your formations are precise, undetectable. I want you to prepare something for the second group. Capture them alive if possible. Delay them. Disrupt them. The first group—let them come. If it becomes too much, I'll signal you the same way I called you here."
Kuro gave a single low growl, then lay back down, tail flicking once as if in approval. Mitsue shifted, her pale head resting atop Hinata's feet.
Jiren studied the scene. Her request was logical. Tactical. She knew more than she let on.
"And where do you plan to meet them?" he asked at last.
Hinata's lips curled into a mischievous smile, her eyes glittering faintly beneath the firelight. "In the Valley of the End."
The crackle of the fire was the only sound left between them.
Jiren inhaled slowly.
Of course.
<<<< o >>>>
That night, within the strange quiet of Yumegakure, Jiren found himself once again face-to-face with Fū.
"I saw her again," Jiren said, his tone low.
Fū's eyes lit up with familiar warmth. "Hinata? That's great! Did she finally tell you how she shut up that party-ruiner?"
Her nickname for the parasite had become an inside joke between them, born from shared frustration and too many ruined moments.
"Unfortunately not," Jiren sighed. "She brought up something different. She sensed another attack approaching—not just one, but two. The first is direct, but she believes a second group will strike immediately after the first."
The playful smile faded from Fū's face. Her fingers tightened around his.
She tilted her head. "Then I'll find that answer for you."
Without another word, she led him through the flowing dream-roads of Yumegakure. The towers shimmered like memory and moonlight. She pulled him with purpose toward the crystal tower.
"If she's not there," she whispered, "Michel will be. He always knows something."
They passed through the polished white marble halls, where scholars, monks, and dreamers spoke of ideas and wonders. As they entered the main library, Michel raised a hand in welcome.
"Fū, it's always a joy," he said. "And Jiren too. Perhaps one day you'll share some of your world's wisdom with us. I would trade your tales for mine."
But seeing Fū's urgency, he simply gestured. "She's upstairs. Training. The room may look large when you enter—but don't trust your eyes."
Before I could respond to Michel's intriguing proposal, Fū grinned and darted up the stairs, still gripping my hand tightly and pulling me along in her usual whirlwind fashion.
Blue barriers shimmered as they crossed the threshold. The vast chamber within bent perception—changing, adapting.
In the center stood a familiar man, silver-haired, his left eye glowing red with a Sharingan, lightning dancing in one hand.
Facing him was Hinata, her sakabatō drawn posture rooted in iaidō precision.
As Jiren and Fū entered, the spar came to a graceful halt.
"Apologies, Kakashi," Hinata said calmly. "We have visitors. Shall we continue another day?"
The Copy Ninja nodded, and his lightning vanished. In a blink, he was gone. Revealing that he was an extremely complex illusion.
The room shrank, reshaping into something more modest.
"Hinata!" Fū squealed, letting go of Jiren to tackle her in a tight embrace.
"Good to see you too, Fū," Hinata replied with a soft laugh. "What brings you both here tonight?"
"Jiren told me about the wedding… and how you silenced the party-ruiner. We need answers."
Hinata's eyes glinted with sympathy. "Ah… yes. That. When I saw Ren in Konoha, I realized something: he also carries the party-ruiner." Hinata let out a small chuckle at Fū's playful nickname, a brief moment of levity in the heavy conversation. "Being near you must have triggered something—an amplification. The connection between your parasites became more pronounced."
She exhaled slowly. "So I asked my father to sever the bond. It hurt it—badly. I couldn't destroy it… but now, it should only be able to speak through dreams. And here, in Yumegakure, your dreams are protected."
Fū blinked, then laughed with relief. "You didn't even warn him?"
"I couldn't. If the parasite knew, it would have resisted or never having done what I needed from it. No one expected an attack during a wedding—so it was perfect."
Jiren, quiet until then, lowered his gaze. "The pain… it was worth it."
Hinata nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry I had to do it that way. But I won't let it hurt you again."
At that moment, Jiren realized how strange—and vital—this place had become. And how much of himself he had already entrusted to this Silver Lady.
<<<< o >>>>
Two days passed in what felt like a blink. The preparations were complete. In the quiet of late afternoon, Jiren felt it—Hinata and her group had dismounted, moving rapidly toward the Valley of the End.
Then the message came.
They're here.
His pulse quickened. Channeling his strength, Jiren shot forward through the trees, activating the formation. His men dispersed without hesitation, each one taking their assigned position, feeding chakra into the hidden net woven across the terrain.
Today will be a very bad day for two groups of shinobi, Jiren thought grimly.
His master's words echoed in his mind: "Choose your ground with intent, Jiren. Where you stand will decide who survives and who doesn't."
He glanced at the formation's subtle glow.
It was always fascinating, watching this world clash with his. Shinobi thought of themselves as apex predators.
But hunters rarely expected the trap.
He had been the prey once.
Not today.