Chapter 225: Between the Tempest and the Tides
The guest room Malik shared with Kiyomi in Haido's fortress was modest compared to the grand chambers above. Its warm lighting and simple decor offered a rare sense of calm amidst the tension of their mission. Kiyomi sat cross-legged on the bed, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders as she adjusted the hem of her comfortable, loose-fitting pajamas. Unlike her usual battle attire, these clothes were chosen for practicality rather than allure, though her natural beauty needed no embellishment.
The door creaked open, and Malik stepped in, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. With a puff of pink smoke, his clothes transformed into soft pajamas that matched the comforting ambiance of the room. He threw himself onto the bed face-first, the springs creaking under his weight.
Kiyomi arched an eyebrow, her piercing grey eyes observing him with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "So?" she asked, her voice cutting through the quiet.
Malik groaned into the mattress, then rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "Haido's found the second Gelel temple," he began. "It's hidden in an underwater cave near a steep cliff along the ocean."
Kiyomi leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. "And?" she pressed.
Malik turned his head to look at her, his expression a mixture of weariness and playfulness. "And… if you really want to come along this time, you can. Just make sure Ranke doesn't notice you. This mission is supposed to be between her and me, like the first temple was with Kamira."
Kiyomi scoffed, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Ranke couldn't find me if I were standing right behind her. But you're seriously letting me come? What's the catch?"
"No catch," Malik said, shrugging. "You're always worried about me, so I figured I'd give you some peace of mind. Just try not to overshadow me too much."
Kiyomi rolled her eyes, though the faintest hint of a smile lingered. "Overshadow you? Please. You're perfectly capable of getting yourself into trouble all on your own."
Malik sat up slightly, propping himself on his elbows. "Speaking of trouble," he said, his tone turning serious, "I think I'm getting close to cracking Haido's hold on his knights. Once I spend more time with Fugai, I'll have a chance to work on all three of them. Then I can really start… working my magic."
Kiyomi's expression darkened slightly. "You're playing a dangerous game, Malik. This isn't just brainwashing. They've been with Haido for over two decades. That's not just loyalty—it's a choice. They're killers, and they've embraced that life."
Malik reached out and gently began to play with a strand of her silver hair, letting it slide through his fingers like silk. "Don't say things like that," he murmured. "Everyone deserves a second chance."
Kiyomi's gaze softened, but her tone remained firm. "And what if you fail? What if they don't want that second chance?"
Malik didn't answer immediately. Instead, he moved closer, resting his head against her chest. The warmth of her body and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat were a comfort he hadn't realized he needed. Looking up at her, his dark pink eyes met her piercing grey ones.
"Then they'll try to kill me," he said softly. "And it'll come down to me or Haido. No way around that."
Kiyomi's hand instinctively moved to his hair, her fingers threading through the soft curls. She sighed, a mixture of frustration and affection. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"Maybe," Malik said with a small grin. "But that's enough talk for tonight. Let's get some sleep."
With that, he nestled closer, letting her warmth lull him into a sense of security he rarely allowed himself. Kiyomi sighed again, this time with resignation, and leaned back against the headboard. Despite her reservations, she couldn't deny the strange pull Malik had on those around him—a quiet, persistent hope that refused to die, no matter how dire the circumstances.
As the room fell silent, the distant hum of the fortress's machinery served as a reminder of the challenges ahead. But for now, in the quiet safety of their shared room, the storm that was Kiyomi and the tide that was Malik found a fleeting moment of peace.
=
The dream world welcomed Malik with its shifting hues and ethereal glow. Here, thoughts and emotions became landscapes, and memories painted vivid scenes. Malik, a visitor in this realm, moved with quiet purpose, his pink eyes glowing faintly in the dreamlight. His steps were light, barely disturbing the fabric of the dream as he approached a scene that radiated tranquility—a dream belonging to none other than Itachi Uchiha.
The dream unfolded before him like a tapestry of peace, a world so unlike the one Itachi had known. Malik observed from the periphery, careful not to disturb her.
Itachi's Dream
The village seemed to shimmer under the soft light of a crescent moon, its streets paved with smooth stone, flanked by cherry blossom trees in full bloom. Their petals cascaded like a gentle snowfall, carpeting the ground in shades of pink and white. Itachi walked along the serene streets, her movements unhurried, her expression calm.
Her attire was different—simple yet elegant, a flowing robe in shades of deep blue and violet, unburdened by the weight of her Akatsuki cloak or the armor of a shinobi. Her face, often marked by solemnity, bore a faint, almost wistful smile as she took in her surroundings.
Beside her walked Sasuke, his features unmarred by anger or resentment. His eyes, devoid of the darkness of the past, gleamed with youthful curiosity and admiration for his elder sister. The two shared a quiet bond, their steps in sync as they moved through the village.
Ahead of them, their parents, Fugaku and Mikoto, stood near a well, chatting with neighbors. Fugaku's typically stern visage was softened by a warm smile, and Mikoto's laughter filled the air like a melody. Itachi's heart swelled at the sight—a family whole and unbroken, thriving in a world free from tragedy.
As the siblings approached, Fugaku turned and placed a hand on Itachi's shoulder. His eyes held no judgment, only pride. "You've grown into a remarkable woman, Itachi," he said, his voice steady and sincere. "We're proud of you."
Itachi blinked, warmth spreading through her chest. "Thank you, Father," she replied, her voice carrying an uncharacteristic softness.
Malik's presence at the edge of the dream remained unnoticed as Itachi's dream continued to weave its story.
Later, the scene shifted. Itachi now stood in a small training field surrounded by eager young shinobi. Her hands moved gracefully as she demonstrated a technique, the children following her movements with awe and determination. Their laughter and chatter were like music, and Itachi's smile grew wider, more natural.
"You've got it," she encouraged a small boy struggling to form a seal. "Keep practicing, and you'll master it in no time."
The boy beamed at her, his cheeks flushed with pride.
As the dream wound toward its climax, Itachi stood atop a hill overlooking the village. The first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of gold and rose, casting a gentle light over the peaceful settlement below.
The weight she had carried for so long—the guilt, the pain, the sacrifices—was absent here. She felt whole, unbroken, and at peace. A soft breeze carried the scent of cherry blossoms, and Itachi closed her eyes, breathing it in deeply.
Malik watched with a mix of admiration and sadness. He saw the truth within her dream—a yearning for peace, for a life untainted by bloodshed. This world, this quiet happiness, was everything she had fought to protect, even at the cost of her own soul.
He stepped closer, careful not to disrupt the fragile balance of the dream. With a quiet whisper, he spoke, his voice carried on the breeze. "You deserve this, Itachi. A life of peace, surrounded by love. I hope one day you find it."
As he retreated from the dream, the scene remained undisturbed, a small smile tugging at Itachi's lips as she stood in her perfect world, the weight of her past nothing more than a fading memory.
Malik left with a lingering sense of reverence. Itachi Uchiha's dream was a reminder of the depth of human resilience—the ability to hope for peace, even in the face of insurmountable pain.
Malik's dream body popped out and sat up in his bed, Kiyomi stirring beside him, her silver hair spilling over the pillow. Malik's gaze drifted to the window, where the first light of dawn mirrored the hope he had seen in Itachi's dream.
"One day," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I'll help you find that peace, Itachi. I promise."
Malik's consciousness slipped seamlessly into the dream world, a place he'd grown accustomed to navigating as if it were second nature. The ethereal fog of shifting realities wrapped around him as he honed in on his target: Haido. With each step he took, the fabric of Haido's memories and subconscious warped, pulling him closer to the core of the warlord's mind.
The dreamscape solidified into a sprawling battlefield, littered with bodies and bathed in a blood-red sky. At the center of the chaos stood Haido, but not as Malik knew him now. This was a younger Haido, perhaps only in his early thirties, exuding charisma and determination. His light brown bushy eyebrows and sideburns framed a face that seemed far too serene for the carnage around him. In his hand, he clutched an ancient book bound in cracked leather—the Book of Gelel.
The scene shifted. Malik watched as Haido stood before a cloaked merchant in a bustling marketplace. Their conversation was muffled, but the merchant gestured dramatically at the book, then at a crude map. Haido nodded, his green eyes gleaming with an ambition that made Malik's chest tighten.
"Intresting," Malik muttered under his breath. "You were so eager to grab power, you didn't even question the price."
The dream warped again, this time to the ruins of Temujin's village. The air was thick with the acrid stench of smoke, and the ground was littered with the lifeless bodies of villagers. Haido strode through the wreckage, his dark blue bishop's robe fluttering in the ash-laden breeze. Behind him followed three figures—Fugai, Kamira, and Ranke—their expressions ranging from disinterest to bloodlust.
Malik's heart clenched as he saw the remnants of life snuffed out under Haido's orders. Women, children, and elders lay scattered, their expressions frozen in terror. Yet Haido's face remained calm, almost kind, as if he were doing them a favor.
"We need the stone," he said, his voice soft but commanding. "Without it, the utopia cannot begin."
A younger Temujin appeared in the scene, no more than a boy of twelve, trembling as he crouched behind a broken cart. His wide eyes brimmed with tears as he watched Haido approach. When Haido reached him, he knelt, extending a hand.
"Do not fear, child," Haido said, his tone gentle. "The world is cruel, but I will give it order. I will give you purpose."
Malik flinched at the blatant manipulation, but he couldn't interfere. This was a memory, not a moment he could change. He watched as Temujin, too scared to do anything else, took Haido's hand.
The dreamscape shifted again, this time to an underground cavern bathed in an eerie green glow. Haido stood at the edge of a shimmering pool, fragments of Gelel stones scattered around him. His knights stood behind him, their faces lit with awe and greed as they gazed upon the veins of Gelel.
Malik's breath caught as Haido raised a fragment of the stone above his head. "With this power," he declared, "we will transcend mortality. No wound will hinder us. No enemy will stand against us. The world will kneel before our vision of peace!"
As Haido plunged the fragment into his palm, Malik saw his body convulse and transform. His robes tore away as his frame grew larger, more monstrous. His once kind expression twisted into a mask of arrogance and fury. His light brown sideburns vanished, replaced by unkempt white hair that fell wildly around his shoulders. Floating orbs of light red energy appeared behind him, pulsing ominously.
The scene darkened, the cavern replaced by a cold and shadowy void. Haido, now in his monstrous Gelel form, stood alone, his light red eyes burning with power. Yet there was something hollow in his gaze. His ambition had consumed him, leaving behind a being incapable of the compassion he once feigned.
Malik approached, his footsteps echoing in the void. "This is who you are, isn't it?" he said, his voice steady despite the rage bubbling beneath the surface. "A man who hides behind lies and power, dragging others into your darkness because you're too scared to face it alone."
The monstrous Haido turned his gaze on Malik, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "And you think you're different, little dreamwalker? Everyone is a pawn in someone's game. I simply choose to be the player."
Malik stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "Your knights—Fugai, Kamira, Ranke—they think they're loyal to a dream of peace. But it's just your dream, isn't it? A hollow promise to justify all the blood you've spilled."
Haido chuckled darkly. "They follow because they know the truth: power is the only constant in this world. Without it, you're nothing. You, of all people, should understand that."
"Power without purpose is emptiness," Malik shot back. "And you're drowning in it."
The void trembled, Haido's form flickering as the dream began to collapse. Malik took one last look at the warlord, committing the sight of his hollow eyes and monstrous form to memory.
"You've already lost, Haido," Malik said as the dream dissolved into darkness. "You just don't know it yet."
With a sharp intake of breath, Malik jolted awake, his body bathed in sweat. The weight of Haido's memories lingered in his chest, a stark reminder of the man they were up against—and the lengths he would go to maintain his grip on power.