Chapter 19 – Threads in Mizukusa

Mizukusa, the city of aquatic grass, lay at the seam between lands—where the low hills of Kusa met the wet marshes fed by the rivers flowing from the Waterfall Country. Built over waterways and stone bridges, its quiet beauty masked a tension that pulsed beneath the surface.

The caravan rolled through the eastern gate just before sunset. Paper lanterns flickered to life, casting warm glows across the canals. Team 8 walked alongside the cart, alert but relaxed.

Michel hovered close to Hinata, unseen but ever present.

"Something's wrong here," he thought. "The threads of this place... they tremble."

Even without seeing them, Hinata felt it. Her steps slowed. Kuro's ears flattened, hackles raised.

Kiba sniffed the air. "Smells like moss and smoke."

"City's old," Shino said. "Moisture carries more than just scent."

Gensai brought the cart to a stop before a modest merchant house. His wife, Ayame, stepped down with a nod of approval.

"You've brought us safely. I'll see that the payment is processed," Gensai said.

"You've all done well," Ayame added. Her gaze lingered on Hinata and Kuro. "Especially your hound. She doesn't miss a thing."

Kuro growled lightly—just enough to acknowledge the compliment.

<<<< o >>>>

Later, as camp was set up in the guest yard behind the house, Kurenai briefed the team. "No wandering alone. Tensions between border traders and local enforcers are high. We leave at first light tomorrow."

Kiba grumbled. "We don't even get a bowl of ramen?"

"Think of it as a mission debrief," Shino said flatly.

Kiba sighed.

Hinata, sitting near the garden, quietly polished her quarterstaff. Kuro lay curled by her feet.

Michel observed her aura pulsing in gentle rhythms. Steady. Focused.

Then—something faint brushed against him.

A tremor.

"That's not wind," he murmured.

<<<< o >>>>

"I'd like to walk near the canals for a moment," Hinata said softly to Kurenai.

The jonin studied her. "Kuro stays with you."

Hinata nodded and left quietly. The streets were dim, the mist thicker than before. Water whispered through stone culverts. Market stalls were closing. Distant voices echoed faintly.

Michel followed beside her.

"She senses it too."

Her path brought her near a narrow alley where an old warehouse stood, its front sealed but the doors cracked—light flickered inside.

Kuro whined.

Hinata stepped closer, cautiously. That's when she saw him.

A tall, silver-haired man in a worn hakama. His presence didn't scream power—it resonated it. Like the stillness before a storm.

He looked down at her, calm but alert.

"You shouldn't be here, child."

Hinata instinctively bowed. "Sorry... I just—"

"You feel it, don't you?" he said, narrowing his eyes.

Hinata paused. "Something isn't right."

"I thought so too."

Kuro's growl deepened. The man—Takama Gin—shifted his weight subtly. He rested one hand on the hilt of his katana.

"Step back."

<<<< o >>>>

The air split with a high-pitched hiss.

Bombs—small and black—rattled onto the cobblestone, then erupted in clouds of thick, dark smoke.

"Cover your eyes!" Michel shouted, even if she couldn't hear.

Even so, Hinata tried.

But the smoke carried more than just ash. It burned through chakra. Through thought. Through soul.

Michel felt it too—like a blade raking through his essence.

It wasn't physical. It didn't need to be. It reached past chakra, past thought—straight into the core. It spoke to the soul, and the soul trembled. A corruption like the one Shikashi left in Hinata eroding connections with his clan—but refined. Weaponized.

Kuro barked furiously and leapt away into the darkness.

"Hinata !!!!" Michel reached for her screaming, even though he knew no one could hear him.

<<<< o >>>>

Takama moved with blinding speed.

His blade sang through the mist, cutting two attackers across their ribs.

"You dare...!"

But the poison was already working. His knees buckled. He growled, forced his legs to hold.

A third attacker dodged past his fading guard and struck him in the back with a chakra disruptor.

Takama fell to one knee.

"Still fighting?" one ninja mocked.

Takama turned, bleeding but composed. "You'll need more than smoke and cheap tricks."

He swung again, cutting the leg of a fourth enemy. But he staggered after.

Another bomb hissed. Then another.

Takama's sword dropped from his grip, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

He could no longer feel the edge of his blade. Not in his hands. Not in his spirit.

<<<< o >>>>

Hinata couldn't breathe. Her limbs refused to move.

She held tightly to Kuro's scent—remembering how warm she felt beside her.

Her vision blurred.

From behind the smoke, voices echoed.

"She's still awake?"

"Not for long. This venom is too pure."

"This will prove it. If she lives through this, she's worth more than the samurai."

Michel struggled within her. His threads burned silver-white as he pushed the venom out.

"She's slipping. Her soul... it's tearing."

He wrapped every remaining thread around Hinata's core.

"No. Not like this."

He pulled, tore, purged.

His own essence flared.

The pain was like being shredded through light and memory—like pieces of who he was were being torn apart, leaving only instinct and flame—but it worked.

Hinata's soul dimmed but didn't collapse.

Michel remained.

Just barely.

And the damage to his soul was deep—its glow dimmed, its edges frayed.

Still, in that agony, something shifted.

The pressure of the venom hadn't just scarred them—it was shaping them.

Forging them.

A bloodline and a soul responding to adversity.

Together.

<<<< o >>>>

One ninja poked at Takama's limp form. "He's still breathing. Tie them both. We leave before more from Konoha show up."

"They won't find them. The old man will be ashes by the time anyone notices. We're taking them to the refuge to extract what he knows. Hopefully, the venom won't kill him before we can give him some of the antidote at the base."

<<<< o >>>>

Kuro ran.

Blood dripping from her shoulder, vision in one eye blurred, she ran through side alleys, past startled cats and sleeping merchants.

She didn't stop until she reached the edge of the merchant compound.

And howled.

A piercing, trembling call that shattered the night.

<<<< o >>>>

Michel was being dragged along with Hinata—his spiritual form tethered to hers by silver threads now frayed and strained.

He couldn't scream. Couldn't stabilize himself.

All his focus was on purging the venom… and resisting the pull that tried to force him deeper into her soul.

Only feel.

Only fight.

"Silver threads remain. Frayed. Dim. But they hold.

I'll find you. Even if all that's left of me… is that."