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Hi guys, Grinita here! This is a side story written by me, following a different alternate path from the original story. Please share your thoughts in the comments and reviews. And if you like it, don't forget to drop some stones — they're a great motivator for me!
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In a low building, far from the shiny white towers, was the headquarters of the Five Hands. Not like the rest of the moon's buildings. Old. Its walls of gray stone, not white metal. Its floor cold, unpolished. The place looked like an abandoned temple, but it was the hidden heart of power in the city.
Marik entered. Tall, thin, his white soft hair covering parts of his face. His face cold, expressionless. His eyes sharp, examining everything. He wore a simple black robe.
He carried something in his pocket. His fingers played with it. No one saw.
The room was almost empty. In the far corner, there was a chair. No one sat on it. But Marik knew Jilen was there. He was always there. Even when you did not see him.
"Jilen," Marik said. His voice calm, dry.
From the darkness, a voice emerged. Marik had not seen him yet, but he heard him.
"How do you evaluate him?" the voice asked.
"Nothing," said Marik. "Nothing about him attracts attention."
"Did you see him up close?"
"I saw him. I spoke with him. I was in his room. My face was close to his."
Jilen was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Was he afraid?"
"No," said Marik. "He was not afraid. He was in shock. But he did not show fear."
"Did he provoke you?"
"He tried. But he did not."
Jilen laughed. A short, cold laugh.
"Then... he will not last."
"He will not last," said Marik. "Even if Kain allows him to participate, he will not last."
A long silence.
Then the darkness moved. Jilen emerged from the shadows. Marik did not see his face completely. Jilen was as if part of the darkness itself. He disappeared into the narrow corridor without a sound. As if he had never existed.
Marik stood alone. Then turned and walked on his way.
In another room of the same building, Damon sat. Huge, fat, his hair disheveled. He was eating. Eating a lot. Before him a large plate filled with blue food. Devouring it greedily.
The sound of his chewing was loud. Annoying.
On the other side of the room, Sora stood. Her hair pink and long, her eyes blue. She wore an elegant dress. She looked out the window, trying not to hear.
"Damon," she said in an annoyed voice. "Can you eat quietly?"
"No," said Damon, his mouth full. "I cannot."
"Why?"
"Because it is delicious."
Sora rolled her eyes. She was about to leave when Damon said:
"It seems there is an Earthling among us."
Sora stopped. Did not turn to him.
"Did you meet him, Sora?"
"No," she said. "And I do not care what happens."
"You do not care?"
"No."
She opened the door. Was about to leave.
"Even if he participates in the battles?" asked Damon, his mouth still full.
Sora paused for a moment. Did not answer. Then left, closing the door firmly.
Damon continued eating. His voice was still loud. Annoying.
"She does not care," he muttered to himself. "None of them care. Until they see."
Elsewhere in the city, Enel was alone.
He did not go to the battle room. There was no reason. Kain had not called for him. Time passed slowly. Boredom was killing him.
He stood in the middle of his room. White walls surrounding him. Cold blue light covering everything.
He began to move.
He could not use his power. Lightning was sealed. Haki was dead. But his body... his body was still there.
He began to mimic Kain's movements. Remembered how Kain stood. How he moved. How he raised his hand at the right moment.
Enel moved a step. Then another. Stopped. Thought.
He began to imagine an attack. Not a real attack. An imaginary attack. A fictional movement. Imagined an opponent before him. Imagined the opponent striking. Enel moved to dodge.
Step. Turn. Duck.
Imagined another attack. Faster. Moved to dodge again.
He was sweating. Breathing hard. Did not use his power. Only his body. Only his movements.
Imagined Kain before him. Imagined Kain striking. Tried to dodge. Failed. Imagined again. Failed. Imagined again.
Repeated the movements. Again and again. Until he mastered them. Not completely. But he became faster. More precise.
He stopped. Breathing heavily. Looked at his hands. Trembling. Not from fear. From exhaustion.
"I will become stronger," he whispered to himself. "Even without my power."
Marik left the Five Hands headquarters. Walked through the corridors. Crossed the market. Passed by people who looked at him with respect. Some bowed slightly. He did not turn.
He reached the palace of the third family. The palace was large, white, shiny. Different from the rest of the city's buildings. Older. More prestigious. Its garden was wide, filled with rare blue plants.
This was the palace of Marik's family. The family where all members had white hair. Their hair color was a mark of their purity. Their power. Their influence.
At the large gate, his mother waited for him. A middle-aged woman, her long white hair, her silver eyes. She wore an elegant dress.
"Where were you?" she asked.
Marik did not answer. Walked past her as if she did not exist.
"Your father is waiting for you," his mother said. "To begin your training. Preparation for the battles."
Marik continued walking. Did not turn.
"You know," his mother said in a sharper voice. "That you must not tarnish our family's reputation. You must honor this family. As your father did for decades."
Marik paused for a moment. Did not turn. Did not say a word.
Then continued walking.
He entered the training hall. Wide, its floor polished wood. The walls of white stone. In the center, his father waited for him.
The father was tall, his hair white as snow. His face stern, no smile. He wore a simple training robe.
Marik entered. His father closed the doors behind him.
"Are you ready?" the father asked.
Marik looked at his father. Then said:
"Yes."
At the other end of the city, Sanada was in his garden.
Not like other moon gardens. Not filled with only blue plants. There was something else. Something precious.
A small tree. Very small, barely reaching his knees. It was green. Truly green. Not blue. It was a small tree from Earth. His ancestors brought it with them when they fled. They cared for it for centuries. It was a symbol. A memory. Hope.
Sanada watered it. Pouring water slowly, carefully, as if washing something sacred.
"Father."
His daughter's voice. She stood at the garden gate. She had returned from the city. She was excited.
"Father, I heard news," she said. "Talk. About the possibility of the Earthling participating in the battles."
Sanada stopped watering. Turned to her.
"Who told you this news?"
"I heard some people talking about it. In the market. In the café. Everyone is talking."
Sanada was silent. Thinking. Analyzing.
To himself, he said: "If he participates... we will know. We will know if my instinct is wrong. Or if he has secrets we do not see."
"Father?"
Sanada looked at his daughter. Then said:
"We will wait. And see."
He turned his back. Returned to watering the small tree.
His daughter stood watching him. She knew her father was thinking. Knew he did not like to talk when thinking.
She left the garden quietly.
Sanada remained alone with the tree. Thinking about Enel. His cold eyes. His long journey. His defeat. His persistence.
"If he participates..." he thought again. "We will know the truth."
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If you're enjoying the story, don't forget to add it to your library !
What do you think will happen next?
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