Chapter Text
It was surreal.
Too good to be true.
Or at least that's what they thought.
Their eyes, mixed with confusion and fascination, maybe a sprinkle of amazement, bores into the small figure that is wrapped with a white cloth— cotton, as soft as sheep, like it has to be when it comes to something that is so fragile yet so pure than the rest of them. That is the fact. Her eyes, it was pale. A cold, luminous white—like sunlight caught just before it slipped beneath the horizon. It was wide, doe-like, making her appear more cuter than she was supposed to. And her hair was a hundred eighty degrees to her mother's dark hair, it was white, pure more than anything could be.
Perhaps.
When the small pale eyes blinked, once or maybe twice, it's enough to gain everyone's reaction. She shifted her sight from one to another, from face to face, slow and thoughtful, as if she were committing each of them to memory. Tall silhouettes. Strange cloaks. Faces etched with scars, shadows, stories far too heavy for a newborn to bear.
And then—
She let out a small giggle. Soft. Unrestrained. The sound cut through them like a blade.
Everyone froze, before they all gushed over the small, innocent child— too pure from the world's cruelty, pure than the people in front of her, who is more than just a rogue ninja.
A laugh—low and disbelieving—escaped one of them. Another leaned closer, eyes wide. Someone muttered, almost reverently, "She's... real."
This child—this tiny, breathing thing—stood in defiance of everything they were. They were rogue shinobi. Missing-nin. People the world had already decided were expendable. And yet here she was, warmer than blood, gentler than mercy, untouched by the cruelty they carried on their hands.
Too pure for them. Too pure for the world.
Seira lay exhausted but upright, hair damp with sweat, face pale yet alight with something fierce and trembling. She watched them watch her daughter, one arm curved protectively around the small bundle pressed to her chest.
Raien stood at her side, still as stone, hands clenched at his sides as if afraid to touch what he might break. His sharp-toothed grin was gone, replaced by something quieter—something unguarded.
"She's strong," someone murmured.
Raien scoffed softly. "She better be."
Seira looked down at her daughter, thumb brushing over the curve of her cheek, "She's kind," she said instead.
That drew silence.
Kindness was not a trait any of them wore comfortably. Akari—because that was the name Seira had whispered first, breath shaking, voice certain, means light—yawned, tiny fist curling in the fabric near her chin. Her amber eyes fluttered, then focused again, settling somewhere between them all.
Unbothered. Unafraid. As if she had already decided they were hers. No one said it aloud, but the thought moved through them all the same:
This child would change everything.
Outside, far away, another newborn cried into the night—alone, unloved, marked by fate before he could speak.
Two children, born in the same year.
One into isolation.
One into monsters who, for the first time, did not know what to do with something so bright.
And for a while—just a while—the world held its breath.