The Silver World was still, but no longer quiet.
Hinata lies asleep in a bed of flowers, Kuro at her side, still and expectant.
Michel sought one of the threads Hinata had unconsciously woven—an invitation, fragile but open, this is a special one and once he found it he pulled on it, usually this would only bring someone's consciousness, but this weakened and receptive soul plus its proximity combined with Michel's power allowed to bring it completely, for a limited time, and that is something this world has in abundance.
Takama Gin stood not far, his form projected in pale light. His body in the real world was unconscious, on the edge of death. But here, his soul had been called.
"Where are we?" Takama asked, his voice calm, eyes alert.
"A place born of her soul," Michel said. "And now open to us… because you reached out. Because she trusts you."
Takama looked down at his hands. "This doesn't feel like a dream."
"It's not."
Michel walked closer. "You're here because your soul is fractured. The poison they gave you was made to destroy more than the body."
Takama's expression hardened. "I've held on."
Michel nodded. "That much is clear. But it won't last. Not as you are now."
He looked out into the Silver World, at the soft glow that marked the distant resting place of Hinata.
"No one can survive for long with an incomplete soul," Michel said. "Not even with the Breath of the World. Not with the old techniques of your family. You haven't healed. You've delayed the inevitable."
Silence passed between them.
Then Michel turned back to him.
"But I can fix you."
Takama raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
Michel took a long breath. "Because she and I are bound by tragedy. You see... I am not of this world. I died once, in another life… another reality. And when I passed on, something found me. A creature called Shikashi."
He looked Takama in the eye. "It is made of countless suffering souls. An aberration, feeding on despair. It dragged me here—not out of kindness, but to sabotage a different will. Kaguya, a being long sealed, used her last fragments of power to send souls to change this world's fate. I was the third."
Michel's voice grew softer. "Shikashi wanted me to merge with Hinata. To devour her soul and overwrite her. But I refused. I fought back, using what little strength I had. I kept my essence apart from hers… but it bound us all the same."
He looked down at his hands, trembling slightly. "She would have died. I couldn't let that happen. She became more than a charge. She became my granddaughter. Not by blood, but by bond. By choice."
His gaze hardened. "But now... I can no longer walk beside her. Not directly. That's why I need you."
Michel's eyes shone with a soft, brilliant sorrow. "Because I can't stay with her. Not anymore. I've given too much. My threads are frayed. My flame dimmed."
He stepped closer. "But she's not alone. She doesn't have to be. If you're willing."
"I am."
Michel's breath caught for a second. Then he smiled. "Then I will give you the strength to be the pillar she needs."
He raised his hand.
Silver threads wove outward, delicate as light, and wrapped around Takama's chest. Where the damage in his soul burned darkest, Michel channeled the pure breath of the Silver World and drew the poison out.
But it wasn't just venom.
It was the corruption of Shikashi—a core of condensed spiritual malice. A black sphere, no larger than a pearl, yet dense beyond comprehension.
Michel held it in his palm. "This… was fused into your spirit. Part venom, part curse."
Takama stared at it. "Can you destroy it?"
"No," Michel said. "But I can use it."
Using his silver soul threads, Michel wove the silver threads through the poisoned echoes of his own soul—ripping apart the chains this parasite had once laid in conjunction with the last remnants of the poison that was still in his soul and used them to feed the poison forged in Takama's soul... now the color of the black orb turned dark red.
He turned to Takama. "Your sword. Call it."
With a thought, the katana appeared beside him in the Silver World. An echo of its real self.
Michel touched the blade. "You have no need for chakra. No need for tricks. But this blade… this blade will cut more than steel now."
He wrapped the dark red orb in silver threads, pressed it against the blade, and let it sink in.
Light flared. The blade shimmered, but didn't change shape. Just weight. Just purpose.
Michel linked it with Takama's repaired soul. "Only you can wield its full power. And you must use it with care. For one day, you may have to cut through something far more terrible than a god."
Takama looked down at the sword with reverence.
Michel stepped back. "It's done. You'll awaken soon."
Takama gave him a long, respectful bow.
Michel nodded once. Then looked away.
"I have preparations to make," he said. "She'll need more than a protector. She'll need knowledge. Resources. A foundation for what's to come."
He turned to the horizon. "And now, at last, I have the means to gather it."
With that, Michel vanished, his form becoming strands of silver wind.
Takama stood alone a moment longer.
Then his eyes opened in the real world.
And beside him, his sword gleamed.