Chapter 4: Threads of Stillness
Ren sat alone beneath the same crooked pine tree as before, knees drawn up to his chest, cloak wrapped around his shoulders to guard against the chill. Morning mist still clung to the forest floor like a forgotten dream.
He had chakra. He knew that now.
But feeling it wasn't the same as controlling it.
Every time he tried to "reach" for it, it slipped away—like water between his fingers. A flicker of heat one second, gone the next.
He needed a method. A system. Something to help him connect.
That's when he remembered the seven chakras.
Not from this world. From his old one.
A meditation practice. Some spiritual thing he'd read about once during a bored weekend—how energy centers were aligned through the body, from base to crown. People had used it for mindfulness. Healing. Breathing.
He hadn't taken it seriously back then.
But now?
Now he wondered if maybe—just maybe—it could help him align his chakra. Even if it wasn't the same, it felt… close.
After all, chakra was about balance, wasn't it?
So he tried.
---
He sat cross-legged, spine straight, eyes closed.
He slowed his breathing. Let the forest sounds fade into the background.
Root, sacral, solar plexus, heart, throat, third eye, crown.
He whispered the names in his head, letting each one anchor him.
He focused on the base of his spine—the root. Imagined it as a red ember. Not burning. Just warm. Solid.
Then higher—the sacral, just below his navel. Orange light. The place he'd first felt chakra flicker days ago.
Slowly, gently, he climbed each point. Not rushing. Just feeling.
His body didn't explode with power. He didn't unlock sage mode or grow wings. But something did happen.
His breathing deepened.
His heartbeat steadied.
And most importantly—his chakra stopped running.
It no longer slipped away.
It stayed.
Not strong. Not fast. But constant.
Like a thread tied to his spine, weaving up and down through his body, faint and silent—but real.
He didn't know if it was the meditation, or just focus.
He didn't care.
It worked.
---
He practiced again the next morning.
And the next.
No one noticed—just another orphan wandering a bit too far from camp, pretending to nap under a tree. But while others slept or scavenged, Ren sat still and searched inward.
Each session, he improved.
Not in big ways—he still couldn't mold chakra, couldn't feel it in his hands like the medics did. But the presence of it grew stronger. Steadier.
It was like tuning a radio.
The more he adjusted, the clearer the signal.
---
That night, he dreamed.
Not of his old world.
But of light.
A line of color through the spine, soft and slow, humming like a distant song. It pulsed with the rhythm of his breath, the beat of his heart.
When he woke, his fingers tingled.
He smiled.
Progress.
---
Later that day, he stood beside the stream near the edge of camp, where the shinobi sometimes washed off blood. It was quiet now. Empty.
He cupped his hands over the water.
Closed his eyes.
And tried to will his chakra to move.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—a faint buzz in his palm.
Not enough to lift the water.
But enough to ripple it.
Ren grinned.
Not because he was strong.
But because he wasn't.
And still—it moved.
---
[End of Chapter 4]