Chapter 7 – The Breath of the World

The house no longer echoed with a lullaby.

There was no soft voice humming in the halls, no warmth behind the doors, no scent of fresh herbs or gentle laughter to mark the rhythm of a mother's day.

Only silence, and the long shadow of absence.

Michel felt it every time Hinata entered a room, how the light shifted, how the walls no longer held the same breath.

Her mother was gone.

And though Hinata could not say it in words…

Her soul knew.

<<<< o >>>>

The birth of Hanabi did not heal the wound.

It only added layers to it—new expectations, new weight.

Michel watched it unfold with quiet sorrow.

Hinata stood at the edge of the crib, watching her baby sister sleep.

Her eyes were wide, hopeful, afraid.

She reached out, gently, curiously…

but Hanabi stirred, whimpered, and turned away.

The nursemaid stepped in too quickly.

"Don't touch her yet, Hinata-sama. You'll wake her."

Michel saw the small flinch in Hinata's shoulders.

Saw the hand fall back to her side.

Saw the light dim slightly in her soul.

<<<< o >>>>

The days that followed were quieter than any child's days should be.

Hinata tried to be near Hanabi, bringing toys, offering smiles.

But Hanabi never smiled back.

Never reached.

The thread between them was pale. Dormant.

Michel could see it.

And each day it remained unchanged, Hinata withdrew a little further into herself.

<<<< o >>>>

She was still so young, but already, she carried the weight of rejection.

The nursemaids from the branch family were polite—always polite.

But they spoke to her without warmth.

Dressed her without care.

Watched her not like a child to be loved…

but a task to be completed.

Michel could hear them when they thought no one listened:

"Still no Byakugan?"

"Hanabi will pass her by in no time."

"The elders already know it."

He wanted to answer.

To scream.

"She's just a child"

"She is more than eyes."

"She is soul. She is heart. She is the one who still reaches despite everything."

But he remained a presence unseen.

A guardian without a voice.

<<<< o >>>>

Hiashi stayed near, in his own way.

He did not scold.

Did not push.

But his love came through in structure, not affection.

Michel saw how he stood in doorways, watching silently.

How he listened at night for signs of Hinata's breathing.

How he lingered beside her crib longer than he did Hanabi's.

But he, too, was tired.

And that tiredness wore down the tenderness.

<<<< o >>>>

Even Neji, just a few years older, treated Hinata with quiet distance.

He did not glare.

He did not insult.

But when she waved to him, he did not wave back.

When she smiled, he blinked slowly, as if unsure what to do with the gesture.

Michel sensed no cruelty in him, only conflict.

Something not yet formed.

But to a child, absence and coldness were often the same.

<<<< o >>>>

For months, Michel gave Hinata only what he had before:

balance. Soul. Steadiness.

He watched her grow physically stronger.

Her legs more stable.

Her lungs more resilient.

She didn't fall sick in winter.

She laughed—rarely—but freely.

Still, the emotional wound remained.

<<<< o >>>>

And Michel, deep within his own process,

breathed with the world.

For one year, he called this meditation the Breath of the World.

He didn't just feel the energy of nature… he understood it.

Understood how stillness could shape flow.

How silence could guide motion.

He didn't command.

He aligned.

And over time, his own soul adapted.

The silver threads he had drawn inward shimmered more steadily now.

Their pulse was no longer erratic, but rhythmic.

Alive.

<<<< o >>>>

Only then—after a year of watching, learning, and refining—did he dare let them touch her.

A thread. Just one.

Guided gently through the connection that already existed between their souls.

It glowed faintly as it reached her.

And when it touched the edge of Hinata's being, it did not burn.

It soothed.

Michel waited.

Watched.

Adjusted.

Then let another pass.

And another.

<<<< o >>>>

Weeks became months again.

Hinata grew more animated, more stable.

She ran without tiring.

She stood longer in the courtyard, staring up at clouds, silent but curious.

Michel noticed something else:

The drain lessened.

Where once he had to constantly give to preserve her life, now the flow felt reciprocal.

Balanced.

And with that balance came something he hadn't expected:

Freedom.

He could move more.

Drift further.

Reach senses beyond the Hyūga compound, beyond the narrow soul-link between guardian and child.

For the first time, Michel could feel the village.

Its people. Their threads. Their hearts.

He could feel the way a baker whistled at dawn,

the weight of an old woman's memories,

the bonds between friends, lovers, rivals.

And through all of it, he felt his own soul begin to expand.

<<<< o >>>>

The world grey still greeted him when Hinata slept.

But now, within that grey, a new radiance bloomed.

The silver world.

Born not from intention, but from resonance.

Shaped not by Michel alone, but by Hinata's quiet wonder, her dreams, her laughter echoing in spirit.

Where once the grey had been shapeless, now it shimmered with structure—

a dojo rebuilt from fragments of memory,

a sky that changed colors with emotion,

a ground that responded to will.

Here, Michel could shape illusions.

Not alive, not conscious—but comforting.

Joys for Hinata.

Smiling dolls. Talking animals.

Warm fires that never burned.

Music without instruments.

And though she remembered none of it when she woke,

in dreams she would run to him,

hold his hand,

and build castles of silver light that sparkled when she laughed.

<<<< o >>>>

It was not a perfect year.

But it was no longer a desperate one.

And Michel, no longer just a soul holding the line,

became something more.

A presence.

A space.

A refuge.

"You are not alone." he whispered in every thread, every moment, every night.

Even if she forgot.

"You are not alone." He repeated it, not only for her, but to remind himself.