Chapter 8 – Threads of Bond

Hinata stood in the hallway, fingers clutched together at her chest.

The corridor was long, polished, quiet. Behind her, distant laughter—voices of children from the branch family, like Neji and his younger sister, playing somewhere just out of reach.

But they never called for her.

They never had.

She turned toward the door at the end of the hall.

Beyond it, her father waited.

"Come in," his voice called gently. Not warm. But not cold either.

She opened the door and stepped into the room where Hiashi sat cross-legged in formal posture.

He looked at her for a long time, saying nothing.

Then finally 

"You've grown stronger."

Hinata's eyes lit faintly, just for a second.

She bowed.

Behind him, scrolls lay stacked and unopened. Michel could feel the weight of their words, full of expectation and tradition—words passed down from centuries of pride, fear, and law.

Hiashi watched Hinata carefully.

"She still hasn't awakened her chakra," he had said to the elders earlier that week.

"She is not behind… but she is different."

<<<< o >>>>

Michel could feel it every time Hinata walked. The balance of her body and soul had improved dramatically.

Her steps were stable. Her breath sure.

She no longer cried at night, nor fell ill with the passing of the seasons.

The silver threads he had allowed into her being flowed quietly, gently—like moonlight in a riverbed.

But the Byakugan, that sacred bloodline power, remained sealed. And yet, Michel felt something strange whenever his silver presence brushed against it—like the eye did not reject the silver threads, but drank from them, subtly, hungrily. It was not just dormant... it was reacting, though not in a way he fully understood.

Michel suspected why.

The Hyūga's training methods were built on balance—on coaxing the chakra into cooperation with the body.

But Hinata's soul, too powerful and refined, made that balance unstable.

The very foundation of their technique worked against her.

"She will awaken it," Michel thought,

"but not until her spirit finds harmony with a body that can hold it. Not until she learns by moving, not meditating."

He sensed it would come when she joined the academy.

When movement, challenge, and new rhythms entered her life.

<<<< o >>>>

What Michel saw that Hiashi couldn't—perhaps refused to—was that his daughter's soul glowed with a radiance untouched by title or tradition.

But within the compound… that light was invisible.

Michel watched the threads between Hinata and the rest of the clan

Most were thin, flickering strands.

Many had no pulse at all.

The elders avoided eye contact.

The branch members kept their bows shallow and short.

Even Neji, her cousin, met her with a gaze too heavy for a child.

"She is loved," Michel thought.

"But not fully. Not freely. Not the way she needs."

<<<< o >>>>

Then came the visit to the Inuzuka clan.

Michel felt the shift as soon as they stepped into the compound:

wild energy everywhere—unrefined, instinctual, alive.

A place of smells and motion, where barking was a greeting and laughter echoed alongside snarls.

Hinata stood close to her father, overwhelmed.

Children with wild hair ran barefoot, rolling in dirt and shouting commands to dogs larger than themselves.

Training areas were littered with half-chewed weapons and muddy paw prints.

Hiashi moved with quiet dignity.

Hinata followed, holding the hem of his sleeve.

Then came the crash.

A blur of black fur.

Paws too big for her frame.

A bark that pierced the air like an explosion.

The pup came tumbling through a rack of training gear, skidded on her belly, flipped over a bench, and landed at Hinata's feet.

Silence.

Then a tail wag.

Hinata blinked.

The pup tilted her head.

Michel, intrigued, leaned in spiritually. The dog's chakra was erratic, but vibrant—pure instinct and mischief. It wasn't trained, but it was true.

She stood, padded closer, and nuzzled Hinata's leg.

The handlers arrived in a rush.

"I'm sorry, that one's—she's not suited for pairing. Too unpredictable."

"She's a disaster," said another. "We're considering removing her from the breeding line."

But the pup wouldn't leave Hinata's side.

Even when pulled, she scrambled back.

Whined. Whimpered.

Hinata knelt and extended a hand, hesitant.

The pup licked it once, then curled beside her.

Michel hesitated.

Then… gently… he extended a single silver thread—not into the dog, but through Hinata, into the bond that had sparked between them.

The result was instantaneous.

A warmth. A pulse.

A connection stronger than anything he had ever witnessed between living beings.

Not crafted.

Not commanded.

Just… revealed.

<<<< o >>>>

They left the compound. The pup was contained. Or so they thought.

That night, Hinata slept soundly.

Michel drifted into the Silver World, watching her play among glowing stepping stones and clouds of dancing dust.

But something new stirred.

A scent. A shape. A shadow not of his own making.

The pup.

Somehow… she had followed.

When Hinata awoke the next morning, the little black dog was curled beside her, tail wagging, eyes wide.

She squealed with joy.

Servants panicked.

No one could explain it.

"She got past the compound walls. Past the barrier seals. Past our guards…"

Michel chuckled from within.

Hiashi stood at the door, watching.

He said nothing for a long time.

Then finally: "If she is yours… she may stay."

Hinata hugged the pup tightly.

<<<< o >>>>

That night, in the silver dojo, Michel watched the two of them run through shifting fields of soft light.

The Silver World shimmered around them—alive, vibrant, ever expanding.

He could control its flow of time now—twice as fast as the real world.

More, if he chose.

But he resisted. Too much difference between Hinata's selves could bring imbalance.

Still… here, she grew.

Here, she healed.

Here, she laughed.

Michel created a small forest glade, a pond that rippled with dreams, a hill where the wind always whispered songs.

Hinata named the pup "Kuro"—black as night, full of noise and surprises.

They raced among flower petals that never wilted, and fell asleep beneath trees that shimmered silver in the dark.

<<<< o >>>>

And Michel?

He walked farther than before. His essence drifted through the spiritual world of Konoha, listening, watching.

And remembering.

He discovered something unexpected: since mastering the Breath of the World, he now carried perfect memory.

Every chakra signature, every stance, seal, whisper.

He began to study.

Not as a ninja.

Not to mimic.

But as a seeker of essence.

He watched ANBU vanish into leaves, academy students stumble through basic forms, jōnin sparring in silent courtyards.

He could not use chakra—but he could see its principles.

"They bind power through structure," he thought.

"But perhaps I can shape structure through presence."

He memorized patterns.

Flow. Footwork. Focus.

Not to copy, but to create.

To build something new.

<<<< o >>>>

Michel stood once more at the edge of the village's energy.

He felt its pulse.

The threads that connected its people.

The soft tension of potential and fear.

And the thread that tied him to Hinata—now brighter than ever.

She had someone now.

A friend who barked and bit and slept on her pillow.

And now… Michel wasn't alone in the Grey World either.

Each time Kuro slept beside Hinata, her spirit—wild and sincere—manifested beside them.

In the Grey World, she padded through mists.

In the Silver World, she chased stars and barked at laughter.

She wasn't human. She wasn't a soul like his.

But there was weight in her presence. Not learned, not granted. Born.

Michel watched her with quiet awe.

"I didn't bring you here," he thought, "but you came anyway."

"You came because she needed you."

He looked to the stars above the silver hills.

"One step at a time, little one.

I'll give you everything I can."