In the couple of days that followed, various Jōnin and Chūnin of Takigakure experienced brief encounters with a young herbalist. A casual question for directions, a fleeting glance, or a short conversation—always just enough for her presence to register without arousing full suspicion. Yet, for the more experienced among them, something felt off.
When some tried to track the girl down, she was already gone. And to their growing concern, reports came in that she had been seen in multiple places at once. It didn't take long before the village raised its alert level. But by then, it was already too late—Jiren was no longer in Takigakure. Following the important message that his trusted friend Kaede had for him.
That night of the second day, each of the 14 marked individuals drifted into sleep. Hinata made her first attempt to pull them into the Silver World. But the realm itself resisted—its very fabric rejecting those not yet ready or unwilling. Their individuality, their lack of spiritual consent, created a barrier too strong to force through. Still, Hinata was able to bring them into the White Space, the liminal realm between soul and dream, where her voice could reach them without harm.
There, bathed in silvery mist and timeless quiet, she stood before them as a guide—not a commander. In that space, where the soul was laid bare, Hinata offered them a choice. With practiced clarity and empathy, she read their doubts, fears, and hopes like open books. And one by one, they listened. One by one, they chose.
The Silver World welcomed them—not by force, but by invitation.
<<<< o >>>>
The town of Tsukihana—named for the way the full moon shimmered on its lakes during spring—sat nestled at the edge of the Great Forest bordering Takigakure. Though modest in size, it was a place where nobility often sought retreat from courtly politics, and where merchant lords showcased refined architecture, tea gardens, and stone pathways woven through manicured woodland.
On this particular evening, in the heart of Tsukihana's Moon-Reflected Gardens, crimson lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze, their soft glow mirrored in koi-filled ponds. Wide stone walkways guided guests through curved wooden bridges and elegant gazebos. Amid these surroundings, Jiren stood near the largest pond, clad in dark robes, his posture composed and alert. With him stood Fū, energetic and expressive, her voice recounting a child's mischief with bright laughter.
"I'm going to fetch more sweets," Fū said, her voice like sunlight as she waved and skipped away.
Jiren remained in place, contemplative.
And then the air shifted.
Across the pond, the waters rippled unnaturally, as if the very fabric of the air trembled with anticipation. A sudden chill swept through the gardens, and the conversations of nobles and Jonin fell into stunned silence. From the haze emerged a woman with silver hair that shimmered like starlight, and luminous silver eyes that seemed to pierce into the soul. She stepped forward, her movements ethereal, her feet gliding over the water without a ripple. Each breath of wind carried a distant chime, and those closest to her felt their hearts skip in awe and confusion, as if they were in the presence of something divine yet unknown. At her hip rested a sheathed katana, its hilt engraved with lunar motifs. Her every movement radiated an otherworldly grace, and her reflection in the pond below was not of Takigakure but of another realm—a land bathed in soft moonlight, crowned by a brilliant celestial moon behind her. At her side walked a masked man in black, a sword at his hip—calm and silent as the void.
Jiren's team of protectors, a group of Takigakure ninjas jumped to his defense, in a preemptive attack, two of them threw a volley of Kunai and Senbon from hidden positions, and the other pair advance and use the great fireball Jutsu to cover and draw attention away from the hidden attacks of their allies.
The masked man stepped forward, his blade barely leaving its sheath. Mist unfurled from his every breath, swallowing the attacks whole. Where steel struck mist, it vanished. Where flame danced, it fizzled into nothing.
Hinata—the Silver Lady—did not flinch. Every strike seemed to curve away from her, as though the world refused to harm her. Unnatural grace while moving with simple movements. A lethal Jutsu or numerous weapons thrown at her, always one step ahead and they are always a moment too late.
Her movements were dreamlike, every step covering meters as if the air bent to her will. In seconds, she stood before Jiren.
He did not speak.
With one hand, he hurled a small black capsule at her feet. It exploded into a roiling cloud of darkness—the Soul-Destroying Poison. A weapon meant to devour chakra and obliterate the soul.
She stepped forward, untouched.
"I have come," her voice rang like silver chimes, "for your judgment. As it was for Tenshō, so it shall be for all those in Takigakure who defiled the Iron Lands. Learn well from this mercy."
Jiren's eyes widened.
And then—he dropped. Limbs slack, spirit seized. A puppet cut from its strings.
Even the Silver Lady had an almost imperceptible hint of surprise.
A scream tore through the garden.
Fu had returned—just in time to see the one person she trusted most collapse like a marionette with severed strings.
For a heartbeat, she stood frozen, disbelieving. Then the realization struck, carving through her like lightning. Her eyes widened with anguish, and her voice—raw and unfiltered—tore through the hush of the garden in a scream that pierced even the waterfall's roar.
"JIREN!!"
The chakra within her erupted like a dam breaking. Crimson and green light surged around her in jagged halos, flickering and unstable. The air bent around her, whistling and trembling, as if the world itself recoiled from the force of her loss. Her fists clenched, her teeth ground in fury, and her feet launched from the ground with reckless momentum.
Her best friend had fallen.
She didn't know how.
She didn't care.
All she saw now—was this Silver Lady. in time to see him fall.
Chakra flared around her like a sunburst, wild and desperate. Her pupils narrowed, her cloak of energy forming in jagged bursts.
The last throes of Fu's conscience were replaced by uncontrollable anger.
And now she was charging—toward a High Priestess.