Chapter 3.1

"A Jinchūriki," I began, drawing two circles into the sand, "Is, when realised to its fullest potential, a perfect symbiosis of human and tailed beast." I raised my hand to stop Gaara from interrupting. The red-haired boy – well, I wouldn't say he pouted, but I wouldn't not say he pouted. "No, I do not think the tailed beasts would feel kindly about it. No one would if they were taken against their will and put into the soul of someone else."

I took a moment to close my eyes, clearing my head. Wasn't that effectively what had been done to me? What had been done to the Maiar that now was part of me?

I continued. "But, it is not only possible for the tailed beast and human to reach an accord, not only has it been done before, we have a living, breathing example of such a relationship."

I found my lips quirking up on their own when I caught Gaara's questioning look. "I'm referring to the Jinchūriki of the Eight-Tails. He, as far as I know, is the only Jinchūriki currently alive to have perfected his relationship with his Biju."

I'd gathered a bit of an audience by this point. Gaara and Baki sat in front of me, the latter holding a notebook and a pencil. It was incredibly amusing to imagine that we'd been at each other throats just a few days ago, and here he was, writing down everything that I was saying. To their side sat the Kazekage, who had insisted on attending the lessons despite the fact that they were taking place miles outside Suna, and a woman who had simply been introduced to me as Chiyo. I knew who she was, of course, but I didn't let that on. There was no need to create more questions for the sake of it. Chiyo, Counsellor to Rasa and the Kazekage before him. Master of poison, puppetry, and a fair hand at the sealing arts.

I didn't think, contrary to popular wisdom, that simply because the seal was inferior to Naruto's or Bee's that allowed Shukaku to exert such influence and control over Gaara. Yes, the seal was by all means worse than theirs, but I was increasingly suspecting that there were other reasons for the state Gaara found himself in. Suna had had Jinchūriki before Gaara – one of them, a monk whose name I'd never learned, had even been on good terms with Shukaku. It didn't make sense for Sand to lose such a critical piece of information or not have said skills passed down at all.

The theory I'd come up with – guesswork, really – was that the fact that Shukaku had been sealed into Gaara before he'd been born had messed with something vital to the proper functioning of the seal.

It wasn't all too relevant now. Shukaku and Gaara seemed to be getting along, which truly was the most critical step at becoming a so-called 'Perfect Jinchūriki'. From what I understood of the process, three things had to take place for a Jinchūriki to attain that state.

One, the host and the Biju needed to form some kind of understanding with one another. This formed the foundation for everything else. More simply, the host and the Biju needed to engage in a free exchange of chakra without the intention of luring the other in a trap. They had to move past the phase where the host calling on the Biju's chakra played out as a tug-of-war between two beings.

Two, they had to learn to use that trust. For a Biju, little was more precious than the chance to escape their prison, and understandably so. If the understanding formed between the two beings was too weak, it would shatter the moment the host attempted to use their powers freely. The very essence of a seal, beyond displacing the physical frame housing the chakra and consciousness of the beast into the body and soul of a human being, was that it put limiters on the amount of power that a Biju could push through. A Perfect Jinchūriki denied that reality. They unlocked the gate, trusting that the Biju would choose to stay and aid them instead.

And three, they had to train. A lot. Even if a host and Biju shared an exceptional relationship, even if the host understood the Biju on a fundamental level and the Biju refused to escape the moment it got its chance, without practice, all that would end up happening was the body of the Jinchūriki burning to ashes as the chakra of the beast inside ended up inadvertently consuming it. The only way to fix that, insofar as such a thing could be fixed, was the same way any kind of physical training worked.

You had to expose yourself to it in small doses at first, slowly ramping it up until enough chakra could be drawn out to reach what I called the 'Imperfect Chakra Mode'. You had to build your body's capacity to tolerate such high chakra loads, but also strengthen and hone your mind to resist the crushing weight of an existence simply greater than your own.

I didn't know what needed to be done beyond that, only that the Biju had to relinquish something, just as the host had to sacrifice something. I'd never really paid much attention to the specifics in my first life, so perfect recall or not, I couldn't reproduce said information. For now, though, this would have to be enough.

I explained the process, as well as I understood it, to Gaara, doing my best to ignore how Chiyo's eyes bore into me. Baki seemed uncertain of the whole thing, but that was understandable. He didn't know what I knew, nor what Gaara knew. Surprisingly, even the Kazekage seemed hesitant. I could not recall a single instance of the man ever being shown to prioritise the safety of any of his citizens over the mere possibility to increase Suna's strength or improve its prestige.

I guess it is a miracle if I'm technically an angel, I thought dryly.

"How sure are you that this will work?" Rasa asked me.

I turned to look at him blankly. The lack of trust was starting to grate on me, but I didn't really benefit from antagonising him. I was solidly Pre-Chunin Exams currently, before Orochimaru had even gotten a chance to convince Rasa to attack Konoha. The best way to avert a great deal of the issues that the world had faced was to enable Sand to stand on its own. That in and of itself would prevent said attack. I had given my plans much thought since finding out when exactly I'd landed in this world, and had concluded that the best way to prevent Infinite Tsukiyomi was to prevent the debacle of the Chunin Exams. A Suna that got its shit together earlier and a Konoha that didn't lose the Third Hokage would form powerful bulwarks against the Akatsuki.

I was sure my actions had had ripple effects beyond what I could observe already, but if I became concerned with everything, I would lose everything. I had to keep my head clear.

"Tell me when you and Shukaku are ready," I told Gaara, summoning up every last dreg of disposable energy I had, retaining only the amount I'd need so I wouldn't immediately collapse into a heap.

Gaara nodded at me after a moment.

I smiled at him reassuringly, placing a hand on his shoulder. I used every bit of the control I had over my mind to focus, envisioning exactly what I needed to catalyse the process. If I succeeded, Gaara would have a taste for what it meant to be a Perfect Jinchūriki, knowing how to reproduce it in the future. Perhaps even more importantly, he and Shukaku would finally be at peace.

Then, I sang.

It started out low, like a gentle humming that seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once. Slowly, it grew in volume, rising through the air, drawing sand away from me slowly. A many thousand grains of it hung around me, as if they were suspended by some invisible force. I hadn't been sure of my path of action until I'd begun, but here, now, as I became a conduit for something I still scarcely comprehended the scale of, I knew what to do.

The song rose and fell like the mightiest of waves, settling once all notes were in place. I plucked at one particular chord, then, and found myself kneeling in the sand, hands outstretched to both sides. Gaara had fallen to the ground by then, lowered gently in Baki's hands.

I was reaching out to two souls at once and lifting away the veil that all living beings dressed themselves in. It hurt like no pain I had ever experienced before. The weight of a child and a Biju's pain slammed into me, attempting to crush me. I accepted the pain, hoisting it upon my shoulders. Had Shukaku or Gaara been unwilling, had they wished upon me any harm, I could've been incapacitated utterly.

And then I beheld a vision of a giant garbed in purple hues, whose tresses were silver and whose eyes glowed brightly. I smiled through the pain. To look at him was agony, to look at him was bliss, to look at him was despair, to look at him was hope. The vision wasn't real, I knew, but a concept as paltry as reality could not deny Irmo, Master of Dreams and Visions. Something settled into my heart, warm, twinkling, reassuring, and I found the strength to carry on.

For with the heart one believes and is justified…

If the foundation of a Perfect Jinchūriki was the bond the host shared with their Biju, then I had to show Gaara and Shukaku who the two of them truly were – not merely so the other could see, but so that they may themselves know what life had made of them. I could not impress their true selves on each other, for the truth of one's soul was only their own to share. If I tried, I would invariably taint it with what I felt about either one of them. They would show each other not only what they were, but who.

For the briefest of instants, the aggregate of their lives – their dreams, hopes and ambitions, their worries, fears and anxieties – was laid bare. A Biju and a child beheld each other in the purest way any living being could and found that they knew all there was to know of the other.

I pushed on, wrenching the agony of existence away, singing through it all. I was determined not to fail either of them.

But it wasn't enough for them to understand each other, for understanding did not presage peace. Without compassion or empathy, understanding was empty, cold, devoid of meaning. Shukaku and Gaara had to not only understand one another but accept them for all they were – two beings who had caused each other much pain and grief, one unintentionally, the other because the centuries had been long and cultivated much hatred.

I readied myself, letting my song reach a crescendo. It made the air near me shimmer and tear, as if nature could not accept that Creation was once more being breathed into a world. And then I reached forwards with the Song, forcing Gaara and Shukaku to confront every wrong they had ever done one another – it wasn't enough to merely know, it had to be said, it had to be borne witness to, before there could be even a modicum of acceptance.

It was a clashing of minds as it was a clashing of souls, and I found myself nearly thrown back from the pressure of it. Deep gouges marred the sand, as if the Reaper had swung his scythe carelessly. I sang, resolute, shouldering its weight once more. I hoped, I prayed, that the two would do what was necessary.

…and with the mouth one confesses and is saved.

I did not know what Gaara and Shukaku saw in that moment, nor would I have ever asked them, but I could feel the pain and resentment wafting off of them. I changed melodies, twisting the air till it was alight with Irmo's grace, borrowed and loaned, but true all the same. The pain and resentment didn't fade, but was supplanted. Not with resignation, and perhaps not with true acceptance – for not even my Song could replace the necessity of time – but a facsimile of it shone through. A possibility of a future where the last embers of hate had been set aside.

For a brief, terrible moment, I saw them both hesitate to reach it, their anger swelling around them like a chain. And then the moment ended with a swipe of Gaara's hands as he lurched forwards, bathing in the glow of peace. The sheer shock of it made Shukaku recoil in disbelief, as if he couldn't trust that a human would choose to accept him in spite of all he had done to them. Not a second later, his gargantuan head bowed in silent acceptance.

I felt the Song dying, felt the vision fading. I let it, breathing weakly. My mouth tasted coppery, and I'd somehow found myself staring at the others from the ground, one cheek pressed to the sand.

And then I saw Gaara. He rose from the ground and the sands rose with him, an ephemeral cloak the colour of sand surrounding him, protecting him. Two translucent clawed hands sprouted from his back, coloured in the same shade as his cloak. He turned towards me, teal eyes lit with an emotion I would forever struggle to describe. I nodded at him weakly, smiling. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that Gaara had reached it – the Imperfect Chakra Mode was his for the taking now so long as he practiced it often and well. It wouldn't be easy, it would take time to understand its limits and push beyond them, but he now knew the route he had to take to get there. From here on out, I could do nothing but encourage him to embrace it.

I smiled, the sweet taste of victory lulling me to sleep.

AN: Man ykw, idgaf, here, have another chapter. What even is burnout, right? There are three more chapters available at p.a.t.r.e.o. .m / andurielslight if you want to read ahead, or if you just want to throw a few bucks my way, I'd appreciate it a lot. Anyway, comments and feedback are always appreciated.