Hinata wakes up with fuzzy memories

Hinata stirred, her head heavy and throbbing, a dull, insistent ache pulsing behind her eyes as she slowly opened them. The familiar soft glow of morning light filtered through the curtains of her bedroom, casting gentle warmth against her skin, but the silken sheets clung to her sweat-damp body like a lover’s **** grasp. The air carried the faint scent of lavender, undercut by something sharper—something metallic, like blood kissed by rain. Her vision hazed, her body sluggish as she blinked slowly, her mind wrapped in a thick, disorienting fog. Something felt… off. Wrong.

She pushed herself up with effort, fingers gripping the blanket as her memories scattered, slipping through her grasp like grains of sand—or eels, wriggling beyond reach. Yesterday… walking through the village, the bustle of the market, seeing Kurenai—her smile too wide, her eyes too glassy. A prickling unease had tugged at Hinata’s senses then, a wrongness she couldn’t name, but now it was gone, swallowed by a void in her mind. Her stomach tightened, a shiver crawling up her spine. Why couldn’t she remember what happened after that? Naruto would know what to do, she thought, her heart lurching toward him—his warmth, his unshakable light—but he was still away, chasing shadows on some distant mission. She was alone with this gnawing uncertainty.

A knock shattered the silence—sharp and deliberate, like a blade tapping bone, yet softened by familiarity. Hinata flinched, her Byakugan flickering to life instinctively, veins bulging around her pale eyes as she scanned beyond the door. Hanabi stood there, her younger sister’s silhouette crisp against the morning light, her stance poised yet oddly still, like a puppet awaiting its strings. “Hinata-nee?” Hanabi’s voice called, light but probing, cutting through the haze.

Hinata hesitated, her breath hitching as she staggered to her feet, the floor cold and unyielding beneath her toes. “Come in,” she managed, her voice a fragile thread unraveling with each step toward the door. The door creaked open, and Hanabi stepped inside, her sharp lavender eyes flickering with quiet concern as they scanned Hinata’s face.

“You slept in,” Hanabi noted, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorway, her tone casual but edged with scrutiny. “That’s not like you. Are you feeling okay?” She tilted her head slightly, her presence steady yet unnervingly composed.

Hinata **** a small smile, nodding slowly. “I just… had strange dreams,” she admitted, pressing a hand to her temple as the ache pulsed again. Dreams didn’t explain the sweat, the metallic tang in the air, the void where her memories should be—but she couldn’t name it, not yet.

Hanabi’s gaze lingered, piercing yet gentle. “It must’ve been some dream,” she said, her voice soft but probing as she stepped closer. “You look like something’s bothering you.” Hinata wanted to brush it off—to say she was fine—but the nagging unease in her chest refused to fade.

Hinata’s voice trembled as she **** the words out, her hands twisting in her lap like trapped birds. “It wasn’t just a dream,” she murmured, rubbing her temples as she met Hanabi’s sharp lavender gaze. “It felt too real. I saw Kurenai in the market yesterday… her eyes were hollow, and her chakra—it twisted, like something alive was crawling inside her. After that, everything goes blank. I woke up feeling… wrong.” Her breath hitched, the confession spilling out raw and jagged as she searched her sister’s face for understanding. Hanabi sat cross-legged on the floor, her expression softening into a mask of empathy—too soft, perhaps, but her touch was warm as she rested a hand on Hinata’s knee, steady and reassuring.

“A dream like that… it’s no wonder you’re shaken,” Hanabi said, her tone smooth as silk, wrapping around Hinata’s frayed nerves like a caress. “I’d feel it too, if I saw what your Byakugan does.” She tilted her head, her lips curling faintly with quiet concern—or was it anticipation? “You think something happened to you?” she asked, her voice laced with gentle probing.

Hinata hesitated, nodding slowly. “I don’t know… but something feels off. It’s like… I was supposed to forget something.” The words hung heavy between them, and Hanabi’s eyes flickered with a mix of curiosity and resolve.

“That’s unsettling,” Hanabi replied, her tone darkening slightly. “We can’t ignore this, can we? Let’s go see for ourselves—Kurenai’s house. If something’s off, we’ll catch it.” Hinata’s chest flooded with relief at her sister’s unwavering support, though a splinter of doubt lingered, sharp and cold. “Thank you, Hanabi,” she whispered, clinging to that familiar resolve as they slipped out into the crisp morning air.

The village of Konoha hummed with life—merchants calling out their wares, the rhythmic clatter of sandals on stone, the distant chatter of civilians wrapped in routine. Yet for Hinata, there was a dissonance in the harmony, a subtle discord only she could hear. They crouched in the underbrush near Kurenai’s home, the scent of damp earth and pine thick in their lungs. Hinata’s Byakugan flared, veins bulging around her pale eyes as she cut through walls to the scene within: Kurenai sat cross-legged on the floor, her laughter ringing out as she tossed a wooden toy to Mirai. The child giggled, snatching it from the air, while Naomi lingered nearby, pouring tea with a serene smile. The tableau was painfully normal—too polished, perhaps, every gesture rehearsed to a sheen. Hinata’s pulse quickened, her fingers digging into the dirt. “They look… fine,” she whispered, but the words tasted like ash.

Hanabi hummed beside her, head tilted as if savoring the moment. “They do, don’t they? Picture-perfect. Let’s keep going—check the others.” They moved like ghosts through Konoha, shadowing Kurenai’s recent steps. The merchant she’d haggled with grinned as he stacked his wares, his hands steady, his chakra clean. The old woman she’d helped with groceries chattered brightly to a neighbor, her laughter untainted. The shinobi she’d sparred with at the training grounds struck and dodged with precision, his breath measured, his chakra disciplined. Each visit yielded the same: ordinary lives, untouched by the corruption Hinata had glimpsed—or thought she had.

By the time they returned to the treeline, the sun hung low, painting the village in hues of amber and blood. Hinata’s shoulders sagged, exhaustion warring with unease. “Maybe it was just a dream,” she said, her voice small, almost pleading. Hanabi leaned in close, her scent a heady mix of jasmine and something faintly sour, her whisper laced with quiet amusement. “Nothing. No strange chakra signatures, no odd behavior. Unless your dream’s hiding under the ground, I think you’re safe to let it go.” She squeezed Hinata’s shoulder, her touch possessive yet grounding.

Hinata inhaled slowly, letting the air settle in her lungs, steadying the lingering discomfort in her chest. Everything was normal—no unnatural chakra, no red eyes, no hints of manipulation. And yet—the weight in her gut remained, a formless dread she couldn’t shake. If everything was fine… then why did it feel like something was watching them?