The delivery is long, painful, and terrifying in all the ways only bringing a reality-warping child into the world can be. Orochimaru stands ready the entire time—clinical, calm, unsettlingly efficient—monitoring every fluctuation in reality as my contractions twist the air around us. Even he looks uneasy, which tells me enough.
But then… with one final breathless push, she arrives.
My daughter.
My Luna.
The moment she's placed in my arms, everything in me goes silent. The world, the Foundation, every danger, every fear—gone. All that remains is the tiny, warm weight against my chest. Her hair is impossibly soft, her skin glowing faintly like moonlight caught in motion. Her little eyes flutter open, and for the first time I meet the gaze of the child whose existence defies everything I knew about possibility.
And she's perfect.
I whisper her name—"Luna."Because she feels like the moon to me. Gentle. Luminous. A miracle hanging quietly in the dark.
The next few days pass in a warm, hazy blur. I barely sleep; I don't want to. I spend every waking hour watching her, holding her, memorising every sound she makes. I keep her close to my chest at all times, wrapped in blankets like she's made of starlight and glass. Every instinct in my body screams the same thing:
Protect her. No matter what.
Orochimaru checks on us occasionally, mostly to ensure her reality field isn't destabilising anything. But Luna is calm—almost unnervingly so for what she is. Whenever she nestles into me, the warping stops, as if she instinctively knows she's safe.
My body changes naturally in the days after birth—my chest fuller, warmer, heavy with milk meant for her. And Luna, tiny as she is, curls against me and nurses peacefully, her small hand always gripping my finger with surprising strength. There's nothing supernatural about that moment. Just a mother feeding her child—the most human thing in the world.
I find myself humming without realising. Soft melodies. Ancient lullabies. Songs I didn't know I remembered.
She responds to my voice more than anything else.Her breathing evens.The air calms.Reality… softens.
She is quiet. She is gentle. She is mine.
And with every hour that passes, one thought grows stronger, deeper, sharper than any instinct I've ever had:
If anyone tries to take her, I will tear the universe apart.