The morning after the cradle, I wake up to silence.
Not the peaceful kind. The heavy kind. Like the village itself is holding its breath. My body hums with residual chakra—low, rhythmic, patient. It doesn't burn or sting or pulse out of control.
It waits.
I drink tea. It ripples.
I sit on the floor. The wood creaks beneath me like it remembers how I shifted it once before.
My chakra has stopped screaming.
Now it listens.
Genma shows up thirty minutes early. No warning. No knock. Just a dry cough outside my door like punctuality is a personal attack.
"On your feet," he mutters.
I blink. "Wasn't I supposed to be off duty?"
"Still are." He tosses a scroll onto my table. "This is extracurricular."
Of course it is.
He takes me, Takkun, and Damu across the rooftops to the southeast district. Old part of the village. Half of it's been rebuilt twice. The other half looks like it's waiting for the next excuse to collapse.
He unrolls a map.
Five red circles mark the area.
"These are pressure leak zones," he says. "Last checked six days ago. Stable."
"And now?"
"Not stable."
Cool cool cool.
The first site is a construction zone.
Broken concrete, faded chalk lines, scaffolding that sways even when there's no wind. Looks abandoned, but the ground tells a different story.
I crouch. Place my palm down.
Crack. Pull. Hold.
The pulse ripples outward—sluggish. It feels like pushing chakra through a swamp.
"Sinkhole signature?" Genma asks.
I nod. "Pressure density's warped. Could collapse inward."
Damu scribbles notes like his pen is being chased.
Takkun finds a loose pipe and uses it as a pretend sword.
"Are we sure this isn't just bad plumbing?" he asks.
I glance at Genma.
He doesn't even bother to answer.
Second site: an old training field. Burnt grass. Uneven ground.
This one responds faster. The chakra ripple snaps back at me like a coiled spring.
"Whoa," I mutter. "Echo response."
Genma kneels beside me. Presses his own hand down. Frowns.
"That's not natural recoil," he says. "Something's harmonized here before."
"Like me?"
"Not exactly. Cruder. Less balanced."
I narrow my eyes. "Someone's trying to mimic the cradle rhythm."
Genma doesn't confirm. He just stands up and moves on.
Which is confirmation enough.
Third site: alleyway behind a closed-down bakery.
Takkun mutters something about cursed bread. Damu investigates a moldy crate.
I focus.
This one's different.
The pulse doesn't return. It absorbs.
The moment my chakra hits the ground, it's swallowed. Like the terrain was thirsty. Like it hadn't been fed in a while.
"What the hell?"
Genma tilts his head. "Drain point."
"Like… a siphon?"
He nods. "Someone used chakra here and left a signature trail. Faint, but lingering."
I trace it. Follow the thread. It curves behind a wall, down a back step, and ends abruptly…
At a scorch mark.
"Somebody tested a suppression seal here," I say. "Recently."
Genma exhales through his nose. "Try not to sound impressed."
I don't. Not really.
But a tiny part of me is.
Because it means I'm not the only one reading from the same silent textbook.
Fourth site: abandoned well.
Damu wants to throw a rock in.
Genma doesn't even blink.
"Do it," he says.
Damu beams. Tosses one.
Nothing.
No splash. No clink. No sound.
Takkun leans over and frowns. "Is that… mist?"
I reach down again.
The pressure signature is faint, but consistent.
Crack. Pull. Hold.
It doesn't echo. Doesn't return.
But the well hums softly in reply.
Not loud enough for anyone else to hear.
Just me.
I write a note in the margin of my scroll:
Location 4: passive sync field
Possible anchor residue
Response level: low but pure
Something about it feels sacred.
Or cursed.
Honestly, same thing these days.
"Want to go down there?" Damu asks.
"No," I say. "Want to go down there?"
"Kind of," he shrugs.
Genma gives him the kind of look you give someone moments before a lightning strike.
We leave it alone.
For now.
The fifth site is a park.
A civilian park.
Children play near the benches. A shinobi couple eats dumplings under a tree. There's a fountain. And a chakra leak so loud I feel it before we get within thirty feet.
I stop walking.
Genma raises an eyebrow.
"It's here," I whisper.
He nods. "Where?"
I point to the sandbox.
Beneath the sand, a single glyph rests on the metal support frame.
Old. Rusted. Hidden.
But functional.
Takkun shivers. "That thing's been under there with kids walking over it?"
"It's not harmful unless it activates," I mutter. "But if it does…"
Genma finishes the thought. "We get a radius-wide chakra sync spike."
"Disorientation. Sensory scramble. Memory bleed."
He nods.
I kneel beside the sandbox and barely touch the edge.
The ground vibrates—just once. Just enough.
There's no mistaking it.
The rhythm is familiar.
But not mine.
That night, I sleep on the floor again.
Not because I need to.
But because the wood remembers how I moved the first time. And it's easier to sync when it's not fighting me.
My scroll has a new header:
Pressure Notes – Volume III
Field resonance detected in five locations.
At least one was reactive to prior users.
Harmonics are spreading. Quietly. Not randomly.
There are echoes beneath our feet.
I stare at the ceiling and whisper the pattern.
Crack. Pull. Hold. Release.
And feel the room answer back.
Only this time, it echoes.
From more than one direction.
And it's not asking permission anymore.
Next mission's going to be different.
Because I'm not just following pressure anymore.
I'm tracking memory.
And the people who left theirs behind.
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Every bit of support keeps the Void walking forward.
— void_chakra