The tent was still. The kind of stillness that only came after chaos.
Dagon lay motionless on the cot, his chest rising and falling in slow, shallow rhythm. The bruises had faded slightly, but the damage ran deeper beneath the skin, beneath the flesh, into the very flow of his life force.
Aranji sat beside him, legs folded, a scroll stretched across his lap. The ink was fresh, the strokes deliberate. He was writing for Dagon now not just instructions, but a gift. A guide.
The scroll was divided into two parts.
The first: Theoretical Foundation.
He wrote of the unseen energy that flowed through all living things. Of the balance between body and spirit. Of the way it could be molded, shaped, sharpened. He described it in the simplest terms he could manage, but even then, he knew it would be difficult for someone like Dagon to grasp. There were no words in this world for chakra. No language for what it felt like.
Still, he wrote.
When the first section was complete, he pressed his palm to the parchment and sealed it with a chakra lock. It would only open once Dagon had read and internalized the first part.
Then came the second: Practical Exercises for Control.
He began with the basics. The Leaf Concentration Exercise a single leaf placed on the forehead, held in place by chakra alone. A test of focus. Of stillness. He described the sensation, the subtle tension, the way the energy should feel like a thread drawn taut between skin and leaf.
He added a note in the margin:
"If you can't do this, you're not ready for anything else."
When the scroll was finished, he rolled it tight and placed it gently on Dagon's chest. A faint shimmer passed between them as Aranji linked it to his friend's chakra. Only Dagon would be able to open it.
He sat back, exhaling.
"You're lucky, you know," he said softly. "Most people don't get a chance You got one. Don't waste it."
He closed his eyes.
And breathed.
The world fell away.
He sank into meditation, his hands resting on his knees, palms up. The chakra within him stirred deep patient. It had been there since the moment he arrived in this world. Dormant.
Wood Release.
He could feel it now, not as a jutsu, but as a presence. A rhythm. A pulse that matched the heartbeat of the earth beneath him. It wasn't like Lightning, sharp and immediate. It wasn't like Water, fluid and reactive. It was slow. Steady. Relentless.
He reached into his pouch and pulled out a single seed small, brown, unremarkable. He pressed it into a pot of soil, then placed his hand over it.
He didn't force it.
He listened.
He let the chakra flow not in a burst, but in a steady stream, like rain soaking into dry ground. The seed responded. A sprout pushed through the soil, trembling. He guided it gently, feeding it with his energy, shaping it with memory.
He remembered the scent of the leaves. The way they curled when dried. The way Gensai used to roll them, humming old songs while the rest of the team cleaned their weapons.
"You'll know it's ready," Gensai had said, "when the leaves smell like fire and honey."
The vine grew, curling upward. Leaves unfurled broad, veined, fragrant. The scent hit him like a memory. He smiled.
"Finally."
He stripped the leaves, careful not to bruise them, and laid them flat to dry. Fifty in total enough for a while. He sealed them in a scroll, then packed a few into his pipe.
He lit a candle, held a leaf to the flame, and used it to spark the bowl. The smoke curled upward, sweet and earthy. He leaned back, exhaling slowly.
His eyes drifted to Dagon.
The chakra network was whole now. Fully connected. The damage from the melee had been real but the strike Aranji had used, the final one, had done more than break armor.
It had opened something.
Dagon's body now carried chakra. Not much. But enough.
Enough to begin.
Aranji took another drag, watching the smoke curl toward the tent's ceiling.
"Let's see what you do with it, big fool."