[A/N] – Chakra in This Chapter
Raika begins sensing chakra trails, not just pressure. These are memory-like impressions — what someone once did with chakra in this space. Not genjutsu. Not real. But terrain can echo past chakra motion. This introduces the concept of Fold Trails — not for use, but for reading the battlefield like a living scroll. Only Raika interacts with the fold logic in this chapter. Her squadmates remain unaware of its true depth.
I wake up with dust in my throat.
Not a dream. Not even a nightmare. Just... dust.
The kind that settles in places left undisturbed too long. Like memory. Or grief.
The scroll from last night sits open beside me. Its glow has faded, but I don't need the light to remember the message it left:
"Pressure Fold is not terrain-only. It remembers people, too."
Great. So the earth holds memory now. Terrific. That's all I needed — sentimental dirt.
I sit up, stretch until my shoulders pop, and breathe in through my nose. The air tastes like old ash and cedar bark.
I tap the scroll once. No reaction. But something inside me itches, like chakra humming under my ribs.
Not a warning. A whisper.
When I reach the training field, Genma is already there.
He's sitting on the collapsed tree again, chewing that senbon like it owes him answers.
Takkun shows up cartwheeling. Damu follows behind trying to read from a field tactics book upside down.
"Morning," Takkun says, too cheerfully.
Damu looks around. "Why does the grass feel judgmental today?"
"It's not," I mutter. "That's just your guilty conscience."
Genma doesn't laugh. Doesn't smile. He points to a patch of ground.
"Raika," he says. "Walk the fold."
Crack. Pull. Hold.
My chakra slides into the dirt like warm breath on glass. No resistance. No welcome.
The field holds something. Old. Aligned.
I step in.
The first position takes me without hesitation. My feet shift, knees bend. My back straightens in a rhythm that's not mine.
"Uh… that's not your stance," Takkun observes, squinting.
"No kidding," I mutter, focused.
Damu fidgets behind me but wisely doesn't step forward.
This is not for them.
The fold tightens.
And I feel it — not chakra, not pressure — presence.
The posture guides my limbs. A half-palm lift. Elbow twist.
And then — resistance.
I stop.
The trail flickers. I step wrong.
Snap.
The feedback kicks me backward. Not hard. But sharp. Like getting scolded by a teacher you respect just enough to listen to.
Genma remains still.
"You forced the sync," he says.
I shake out my wrist. "Wasn't trying to."
"That's worse."
Takkun whistles low. "That patch just threw you like a bad substitute sensei."
Damu holds up his book. "Terrain backlash — page 57."
Genma side-eyes them both. "Neither of you can read this field. Don't pretend."
They go quiet.
I kneel. Press my fingers to the dirt.
The field doesn't open. It waits.
I exhale. Fold my chakra not into control, but observation.
And it happens.
Not vision. Not illusion. Just... guidance.
The trail beneath me pulses once — gentle. Then still.
I mimic the motion. Nothing explodes.
But something... aligns.
I shift left. Let the stance adjust me.
A ghost movement. A memory step. No chakra flares. No wind. Just my body syncing with something already written in the dirt.
I finish the form.
And the field breathes.
A soft exhale of dust and grass.
Genma finally moves.
"You walked it correctly."
"What did I just match?" I ask.
He doesn't answer directly. He walks the perimeter once, dragging his heel subtly.
"There was another before you. A long time ago. They moved with the field, not through it."
I look down at my feet.
"And the field remembers."
That night, the scroll writes again.
Fold Trails do not echo chakra.
They echo intention.
The body remembers what the mind released.
And a second line appears, slower:
You do not own the fold. Not yet. But it has acknowledged you.
I stare at the words long after they fade. Then whisper:
"Good. Then I'll earn it."
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Every bit of support keeps the Void walking forward.
— void_chakra