Shiro paused on the final stretch of the trail, the gravel beneath his feet shifting as he surveyed the breathtaking panorama of Kumogakure’s mountain ring. The village lay far below, cloaked in mist and shadows. Around it, the peaks rose like silent guardians, each one a fortress of stone. At the summit where he stood, the mountain soared higher than all the others, a single gemstone perched atop a grand, unbroken crown. The sky above him glowed with the first threads of daylight, streaks of orange and purple that painted color into the grey pre-dawn world. He inhaled deeply, letting the cold air fill his lungs, and felt a pang of recognition he could not fully place. It was as if the wind carried the faint echo of voices he had once known. Even though he stood here alone, he sensed the echo of another, a presence he remembered from a life he was not supposed to have lived. This place was important.
The memory of that other life pressed against his thoughts, half-formed and elusive. He recalled the feeling of a hand resting in his, the soft murmur of shared laughter, and a promise made in hushed tones beneath the clearest sky. His chest ached as he thought of this place's significance, lowering himself to sit on a familiar flat rock near the edge of the summit. The clouds, all well below the summit, formed a rolling sea of white, and the unimpeded sun overhead drew gilded outlines around them. "It was right here..." He recalled a hint of that life, a core memory that wouldn't fade even when all else had washed away with the tide. That moment that had changed everything. His eyes flickered to the path behind him, as if expecting someone to appear at any moment, but no one came. This was not that same time, not that same day. Shirokouu's longing felt heavy, and he closed his eyes, trying to steady his heart. "It's not time for nostalgia," he told himself, though the usually-stoic Santaru knew the memories were more than just fantasy. They were echoes of a timeline that only he remembered.
He reached down to rest a hand on the Ryuu dagger at his side. The metal pulsed with a faint rhythm, almost like a second heartbeat. That oily slick of taint was still there, but there was something else present as well. Something about this summit seemed to have magnified the weapon’s resonance, turning its almost imperceptible hum into a steady vibration that traveled up his arm. It felt alive in a way that transcended steel and craftsmanship. It almost felt... nervous? Like the blade held the same anxiety, fear, and hope that the Time Walker himself did. Shiro exhaled, recognizing the pull for what it was: an attraction to its counterpart, the one that dwelled within Rei. He could not think of either blade without recalling the woman bound to it, his magnetic counterpart. “You're pulled too, aren't you?” The stormcalller asked aloud, his voice carrying a hint of resignation. The weapon offered no response, but the phantom vibration intensified for a few seconds before settling into a quieter hum. He thought about how the two blades, separated by realms, were magnetized toward one another. It mirrored the bond he shared with Rei, an inexplicable thread that linked them across timelines and possibilities.
He stood again, taking slow steps across the summit’s uneven stones. A small gust of wind ruffled his hair, and he pressed a hand to his chest, recalling how different the air had felt on the day he was trying so hard not to name. "I remember laughter… I remember sunlight so bright that it made me squint. I remember a warmth that had nothing to do with the weather." He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting off an overwhelming sense of loss. “Memories real only to me... Why can’t I just let it go?” he asked the open sky. His voice trembled slightly, an unsteadiness he could not conceal. Shiro had lived a life colored by duty, sacrifice and tragedy living where emotions and relationships make their home in other, more fortunate souls. His father, the Grey Man, had never prepared him for this, for a life that was about more than the requirements of being shinobi. The silence that followed felt both comforting and cruel. "I can’t let it go because it was worth holding onto. A good life. A life that mattered..." His grip on the hilt of the dagger tightened, as though he feared losing another memory to the inexorable drift of time.
The light in the sky continued to wax, and the stars began to disappear as the light of the rising sun washed them away. Shiro cast a long look over the ring of mountains. From this vantage point, it truly felt as though he stood upon a precious jewel set at the center of a massive ring. He could see the outlines of each peak, forming a protective circle around the hidden village below. The vision was beautiful, but it also reminded him of just how small and fleeting his life felt in comparison. Yet here, at this very summit, he found an odd sense of belonging, like a puzzle piece fitting exactly where it was meant to be. This place was significant for them both, he thought, stepping toward the ledge. "It still is." Though the memory of what happened here was fractured, the emotional weight remained clear. He could sense that it involved hope. Hope and promise.
He found the resolve he needed in that lingering sense of purpose. He slid the dagger from its sheath, holding it before him as it shimmered in the starlight. The blade’s thrumming grew louder, stirring the air around it. “No more waiting,” he murmured, setting his stance. “It's time.” The wind fell silent, as if holding its breath. For a moment, all he heard was his own heartbeat, along with the insistent pulse of the Ryuu weapon. For the first time since his meeting with the Ryuu elders, he felt uncertain. He remembered so much, so many cherished moments, but he didn't remember this. All that remained in his tattered memory was a feeling that it wasn't easy, that it was a true trial. "I will not let this moment pass in fear." He raised the dagger, bracing for the feeling he knew would follow, the sensation of parting the veil between worlds.
He drove the blade forward into the empty space in front of him. A tremor rippled through the summit, and the very air seemed to fracture. A faint light appeared where steel met nothingness, flickering at first, then shining in a burst of color and swirling shapes. The boundary of reality split open, forming a ragged doorway of brilliant, shifting hues. Shiro’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the tear in the world. The energy on the other side beckoned to him in silent invitation. He felt a sudden rush of conflicting emotions. Fear, exhilaration, yearning collided in his chest with such force that he nearly stepped back. Instead, he stood firm. "This is our chance," he told himself.
The portal shimmered like a living thing, an opaque barrier that pulsed in rhythm with the dagger still in his grip. He glanced over his shoulder one last time, letting his eyes roam across the summit. It still wore the fading twilight like a gentle cloak, silent and grand in its solitary watch over Kumogakure. He wondered if he would ever see this view the same way again. "I don’t even know what I’m stepping into," he thought, swallowing hard. "But I do know who I’m stepping toward." A faint sense of certainty began to grow within him, guiding him forward. “I’m coming Rei,” he said under his breath, the words softer than the breeze but as sure as steel. With that, he stepped through the tear, letting the light envelop him completely. The world behind him blurred into obscurity, and the last thing he felt was the dagger’s insistent pulse echoing the silent pull of another weapon, and another soul, awaiting him on the other side.
[MFT .:. 1372 Words]
The memory of that other life pressed against his thoughts, half-formed and elusive. He recalled the feeling of a hand resting in his, the soft murmur of shared laughter, and a promise made in hushed tones beneath the clearest sky. His chest ached as he thought of this place's significance, lowering himself to sit on a familiar flat rock near the edge of the summit. The clouds, all well below the summit, formed a rolling sea of white, and the unimpeded sun overhead drew gilded outlines around them. "It was right here..." He recalled a hint of that life, a core memory that wouldn't fade even when all else had washed away with the tide. That moment that had changed everything. His eyes flickered to the path behind him, as if expecting someone to appear at any moment, but no one came. This was not that same time, not that same day. Shirokouu's longing felt heavy, and he closed his eyes, trying to steady his heart. "It's not time for nostalgia," he told himself, though the usually-stoic Santaru knew the memories were more than just fantasy. They were echoes of a timeline that only he remembered.
He reached down to rest a hand on the Ryuu dagger at his side. The metal pulsed with a faint rhythm, almost like a second heartbeat. That oily slick of taint was still there, but there was something else present as well. Something about this summit seemed to have magnified the weapon’s resonance, turning its almost imperceptible hum into a steady vibration that traveled up his arm. It felt alive in a way that transcended steel and craftsmanship. It almost felt... nervous? Like the blade held the same anxiety, fear, and hope that the Time Walker himself did. Shiro exhaled, recognizing the pull for what it was: an attraction to its counterpart, the one that dwelled within Rei. He could not think of either blade without recalling the woman bound to it, his magnetic counterpart. “You're pulled too, aren't you?” The stormcalller asked aloud, his voice carrying a hint of resignation. The weapon offered no response, but the phantom vibration intensified for a few seconds before settling into a quieter hum. He thought about how the two blades, separated by realms, were magnetized toward one another. It mirrored the bond he shared with Rei, an inexplicable thread that linked them across timelines and possibilities.
He stood again, taking slow steps across the summit’s uneven stones. A small gust of wind ruffled his hair, and he pressed a hand to his chest, recalling how different the air had felt on the day he was trying so hard not to name. "I remember laughter… I remember sunlight so bright that it made me squint. I remember a warmth that had nothing to do with the weather." He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting off an overwhelming sense of loss. “Memories real only to me... Why can’t I just let it go?” he asked the open sky. His voice trembled slightly, an unsteadiness he could not conceal. Shiro had lived a life colored by duty, sacrifice and tragedy living where emotions and relationships make their home in other, more fortunate souls. His father, the Grey Man, had never prepared him for this, for a life that was about more than the requirements of being shinobi. The silence that followed felt both comforting and cruel. "I can’t let it go because it was worth holding onto. A good life. A life that mattered..." His grip on the hilt of the dagger tightened, as though he feared losing another memory to the inexorable drift of time.
The light in the sky continued to wax, and the stars began to disappear as the light of the rising sun washed them away. Shiro cast a long look over the ring of mountains. From this vantage point, it truly felt as though he stood upon a precious jewel set at the center of a massive ring. He could see the outlines of each peak, forming a protective circle around the hidden village below. The vision was beautiful, but it also reminded him of just how small and fleeting his life felt in comparison. Yet here, at this very summit, he found an odd sense of belonging, like a puzzle piece fitting exactly where it was meant to be. This place was significant for them both, he thought, stepping toward the ledge. "It still is." Though the memory of what happened here was fractured, the emotional weight remained clear. He could sense that it involved hope. Hope and promise.
He found the resolve he needed in that lingering sense of purpose. He slid the dagger from its sheath, holding it before him as it shimmered in the starlight. The blade’s thrumming grew louder, stirring the air around it. “No more waiting,” he murmured, setting his stance. “It's time.” The wind fell silent, as if holding its breath. For a moment, all he heard was his own heartbeat, along with the insistent pulse of the Ryuu weapon. For the first time since his meeting with the Ryuu elders, he felt uncertain. He remembered so much, so many cherished moments, but he didn't remember this. All that remained in his tattered memory was a feeling that it wasn't easy, that it was a true trial. "I will not let this moment pass in fear." He raised the dagger, bracing for the feeling he knew would follow, the sensation of parting the veil between worlds.
He drove the blade forward into the empty space in front of him. A tremor rippled through the summit, and the very air seemed to fracture. A faint light appeared where steel met nothingness, flickering at first, then shining in a burst of color and swirling shapes. The boundary of reality split open, forming a ragged doorway of brilliant, shifting hues. Shiro’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the tear in the world. The energy on the other side beckoned to him in silent invitation. He felt a sudden rush of conflicting emotions. Fear, exhilaration, yearning collided in his chest with such force that he nearly stepped back. Instead, he stood firm. "This is our chance," he told himself.
The portal shimmered like a living thing, an opaque barrier that pulsed in rhythm with the dagger still in his grip. He glanced over his shoulder one last time, letting his eyes roam across the summit. It still wore the fading twilight like a gentle cloak, silent and grand in its solitary watch over Kumogakure. He wondered if he would ever see this view the same way again. "I don’t even know what I’m stepping into," he thought, swallowing hard. "But I do know who I’m stepping toward." A faint sense of certainty began to grow within him, guiding him forward. “I’m coming Rei,” he said under his breath, the words softer than the breeze but as sure as steel. With that, he stepped through the tear, letting the light envelop him completely. The world behind him blurred into obscurity, and the last thing he felt was the dagger’s insistent pulse echoing the silent pull of another weapon, and another soul, awaiting him on the other side.
[MFT .:. 1372 Words]
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