Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The book was old. Dust clung to its corners, but the ink on the pages remained vibrant, as if the knowledge contained within refused to fade with time.

Flip.

The history of their clan. Glorious, terrible. Names she didn’t yet know how to pronounce. A sea of white-haired figures adorned in intricate robes stared out from the illustrations. Their clan’s emblem—celestial, spiralling—repeated like a chant across the pages.

Flip.

A new page now, with diagrams. She didn’t understand all the words, but she followed the flow. Patterns. Cycles. Lineage. She traced the symbol with her tiny fingers.

Flip.

Another book lay beside her. This one was thinner; its pages curled with age. Handwritten. Not printed. The ink was rich, dark, and deliberate. She opened it reverently. The first line was a question: What is chakra, truly? Below it, an answer that made her pause. She couldn’t read it all, but she could feel it. There was a rhythm, a hum. As though the words themselves had chakra.

The girl leaned closer.

Someone was calling her. A muffled voice. Distant. It echoed faintly in the quiet chambers. She didn’t respond. Not yet. She had to finish the paragraph.

“...the life current that flows from the stars to the soul…”

So fascinating.

What kind of strange, beautiful world was she reborn into?

Then—light. Brilliant, sudden. The room flared with illumination as if the ceiling itself had opened to the heavens. The scrolls and books shimmered under the pale glow. She winced, lifting a hand to shield her eyes, scrunching her tiny face in discomfort.

And then came the voice. A gentle voice. Familiar. Stern, but soft around the edges. A boy’s voice, still touched with youth, yet already too mature for his age.

“You lost track of time again.”

She turned.

Standing at the doorway was a figure clad in pale robes. His hair was silver-white, and his eyes—closed as always—still seemed to see everything. He stepped in with quiet grace, not quite angry, but clearly exasperated. He called her name.

“Nemi.”

Yes… that was it. That was her name. In this new life.

Nemi blinked slowly, the haze of the words in her mind finally fading. She closed the book with a small thud, sheepish. Her little legs swung as she adjusted her posture, suddenly all too aware of the mess she had made across the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured in a soft, childish voice, brushing hair from her face as she looked up at him. She was only three, and her hands were still too small to tidy the taller shelves. But she was quick to learn. Always had been. Even now, in this life.

Her brother—older by three years—sighed and walked over, kneeling beside her to help stack the scrolls properly.

“Tone-nii,” she said gratefully, her lips curling in a small, sincere smile.

He didn’t say anything at first, just offered a knowing smile as he placed the final scroll back into its case.

“You’ll burn out your eyes if you keep reading under the moonlight,” he said, ruffling her hair.

Nemi giggled and leaned into his touch.

This was her new world. One bathed in starlight and ancient knowledge. She had lived once before—she knew that much.

But now… she was here.

And the story had only just begun.

Chapter Text

Nemi held her brother’s hand tightly, her tiny feet padding alongside his across the polished white floor of the corridor. The palace shimmered under soft light, as if the moon itself glowed from inside its walls.

Her brother walked slowly, gently matching her shorter steps. His hand was warm. Familiar. She looked up at him—white robes brushing the floor, long lashes resting against his pale cheeks. His eyes never opened.

She frowned a little.

He’s six. Just six… and can’t see. Did he always…? Why?

She did not know yet. There were many things she did not know. But she wanted to. She would learn them all.

“Tone-nii,” she said quietly, “you smell like tea again.”

He gave a small laugh. “Do I?”

Nemi nodded once. “Yes. The leaf one.”

That seemed to satisfy her, and she turned her attention to the high archways they passed under, her head tilting up, gaze sweeping everything like a little owl.

This is the Moon, she thought again.

She still wasn’t used to it.

No wind. No trees. The air was too still. But the walls hummed with chakra—old chakra, cold and clean and weightless. It buzzed faintly at her skin like static. It was strange… but not unfamiliar. 

(A new sensation in a new world.)

Her brother led her to the dining hall, where strange puppet-like servants drifted in from the shadows. Nemi’s brows pinched. The way they moved—too quiet, too smooth—always made her uneasy.

A puppet reached out, and she flinched a little as it picked her up and placed her into her seat.

She stared at it, frowning.

“I can climb myself,” she muttered.

The puppet didn’t respond. It never did.

She adjusted her sleeves, then reached out to pick up her utensils with small but practiced fingers. But just as she lifted her spoon—

A low cough.

She paused.

Her eyes widened slightly, and she set the spoon down again, carefully. Her small back straightened as she turned toward the towering figure now entering the room.

Their father.

His robes were long and layered like snowfall. His presence was cold. Distant. He said nothing as he walked to the head of the table.

Nemi opened her mouth, then cleared her throat softly.

“...Good evening, Otou-sama.”

She spoke politely, her voice small but deliberate—like someone trying to match the tone she'd heard adults use. She waited for his nod before daring to reach again for her food.

Only then did she whisper, not to him, but to her brother beside her.

“I didn’t forget today. I say it right.”

Toneri placed a hand on her head, his expression gentle.

“You did.”

That made her smile, just a little. She looked down at her bowl.

Moon rice again. And steamed… root things.

She picked one up with her chopsticks, quietly inspecting it.

Tastes like… nothing. But it’s warm. That’s enough.

“Do you think,” she murmured, “tomorrow we can go library?”

Toneri turned his head slightly, amused. “Again?”

“Mm. The chakra book was missin’ a page.”

She frowned.

“I wanna know what it said.”

That night, Nemi lay nestled beneath the silver sheets, tucked against her brother’s side. His breathing was soft and even, his presence warm and steady. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the palace’s chakra veins, pulsing gently like a heartbeat.

In her old life—a life that felt far away, blurred by time—she never would have let herself do this. Cling so closely to someone. Depend on anyone. But she was three now. Physically, anyway. And three-year-olds needed cuddles. Lots of them.

Her older brother never pushed her away.

So she stayed, curled up beside him like a kitten.

Toneri’s arms were loose around her, patient, still, as she flipped the pages of the storybook resting between them. It was thick and wide, with softly glowing script and textured dots along the edges—a kind of braille. Her reading was slow, uncertain at times, her tongue stumbling over unfamiliar syllables. But she tried.

“Once upon a… a time, there was a princess who… who sleep in the sky castle,” she read, brows furrowed. “She… she was guardin’ a secret flower… that could heal any… any sickness…”

Her finger traced the text, then paused.

“What’s this word again?” she mumbled, nudging Toneri’s hand.

He moved his fingers across the raised dots, his expression calm.

“Perish.”

“Per… ish,” she echoed carefully. “Means… die?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Oh…”

She kept reading, but more softly now, her voice thick with sleep.

Toneri corrected her gently when she got words wrong, guiding her back with quiet patience. He never teased. He never got frustrated. Just waited, and helped, and listened.

Eventually, her eyes began to droop.

But then—she blinked.

Her gaze landed on a picture in the book. A round, blue and green sphere, floating against a field of stars.

She reached her hand out, her small fingers pointing at it.

“What's that?”

Silence.

She looked up, wide-eyed.

Then she froze. Oh. Right.

Her brother couldn’t see.

“Ah—s-sorry,” she mumbled, pulling her hand back.

Toneri tilted his head toward her. “Was it the Earth?”

“...Yeah,” she said quietly. “The round thingy. With clouds and green and water…”

She trailed off. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the page.

“It's pretty,” she said after a moment. “I mean—I think it is. I saw it once in a dream. Maybe.”

Toneri didn’t answer right away.

Then, he said, “I think it’s beautiful too. Even if I can’t see it.”

Nemi blinked.

“How do you know?”

He placed a hand over his heart.

“Because I can feel it. Like you feel stories.”

That made her go quiet. Her throat wobbled a little.

Toneri shifted, brushing her hair away from her face.

“Sleep now, little star.”

“I’m not little,” she whispered.

He smiled. “You’re very little.”

She puffed her cheeks but didn't argue. Just nuzzled in closer and muttered:

“Tomorrow, we read the chakra book again. You promise.”

“I promise.”

And under the soft light of the Moon, the two children—who weren’t really just children—drifted into sleep. One dreaming of a world below she’d never seen. And one dreaming of flowers that could never perish.

Chapter Text

Nemi sat cross-legged on the floor, fidgeting with a small stone she had found while playing earlier in the garden. The feeling of it—cold, smooth, and hard—was oddly comforting in her tiny hands. Her thoughts wandered again, as they often did.

This clan was weird. She decided that much. Her young body, though limited by the lack of vocabulary, still felt her confusion with a clarity only someone who had lived before could know.

She didn’t know what it was like to be born into a family like this—one with so much history, so much weight, where people didn’t seem to even see each other, literally or figuratively. Her past life was filled with bustling crowds, noise, and a world full of technology that kept people connected. Here, in this vast, sterile space on the moon, there were no screens, no digital faces—only silence and the quiet hum of the compound’s strange, mechanical servants. The puppet servants.

Shudder.

And those eyes. Or rather, the lack of them. All of her family members were blind. Her father, Toneri, the elders—all of them walked around with their eyelids closed, as if they had never seen light in their lives.

She had seen her brother, Toneri, sitting silently, often feeling his way through the rooms. His face was expressionless but his movements graceful. He used to see, that much Nemi could tell. But how did someone lose their vision so young? And why?

Nemi chewed on the thoughts in her head.

Is there some kind of gene that makes you blind at birth?

And if so, does she not have it? Will she go blind one day too?

She had wondered it every day since she had arrived here, in this strange new life. Her mind, still tinged with the knowledge of her old world, had never been able to find an answer that made sense. Maybe it was just how things were. Maybe it was... normal, here.

The elders, the clan members, all blind, all acting like it wasn’t odd. The compound itself—massive, silent, and stark—was clearly made for hundreds of people. But... there were so few of them.

Just her family. And the servants. That was it.

It doesn't add up, Nemi thought, curling the stone into her palm, her fingers pressing into the edges. This is wrong. Something's wrong.

And yet, as she sat there in the quiet of the compound, watching the shadows move as the light flickered outside, it was beginning to feel normal. The lack of sight didn’t bother her anymore. She was getting used to it. Maybe too used to it. She barely noticed the stillness anymore—the way Toneri would sit in silence for hours, or how her father’s voice seemed to come from nowhere, a steady stream of calm, always absent of any trace of confusion or surprise.

But the more she thought about it, the more the emptiness around her seemed... hollow.

And yet, she could never bring herself to ask her brother about it. Every time she would open her mouth, she would catch herself. What was the point of questioning things she couldn’t change? And he, her older brother, didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong.

For now, Nemi let it go.

It was a quiet afternoon, the light from... wherever the sun was, casting long shadows on the walls of the compound. Nemi sat on a plush cushion, her small legs tucked under her, a picture book abandoned by her side. Her eyes, now more focused on her brother, watched Toneri as he fiddled with something on the low table in front of him.

She had been quiet for a while, too quiet even for her. Her thoughts had been turning again, swirling around the same question that had poked at the back of her mind ever since she had first woken up in this new life.

"Tone-nii," she started, her voice small, yet strangely certain for a child. "Where's... Okaa-san ?" The words felt strange as it rolled off her tongue.

She didn’t look up from where she sat, but her fingers played with the edge of the book, picking at the corners absently. It wasn’t a question that had a simple answer. She’d read enough books in this strange, unfamiliar language to know that much. A mother was a person, a title, a role, a figure. But Nemi didn’t understand. She had no memory of the woman who should’ve given her life. She could guess, though.

Death. The concept wasn’t foreign to her. She had lived it once before, and she had felt its cold touch. She had seen people die in her past life. She’d seen enough death. So why did the question sit heavy in her chest?

She watched as Toneri's hands froze mid-motion. He was usually so steady, even despite his blindness, but now, his fingers seemed to falter. He didn't say anything for a long moment, as though he were trying to find the right words. His face, which had been neutral, slowly softened with a sadness that made Nemi's stomach twist.

She felt the tiniest pang of guilt, but didn’t know why. He was her brother, her only family here. If he was upset, then maybe she was the one who had said the wrong thing. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked.

“I…” Toneri began, his voice soft but steady, as he worked through the answer in a way that would make sense to her. “You were... born. And... Okaa-san was very, very tired. She gave everything to bring you into this world, Nemi. She... she didn’t make it. She’s gone.”

Nemi nodded quietly, her thoughts ticking over the words. Gone. Her mother was gone. And yet, she didn’t feel any of the grief she expected. There was no sharp pang in her chest, no tears that came to her eyes. Her mind, more adult than her small body could express, simply accepted the truth.

I figured as much, she thought, her heart still heavy, but not with sadness for the loss of her mother. She wasn’t sad about that. She had no memory of her, no connection to the woman. What was there to miss?

What made her feel guilty was the sadness in Toneri’s voice. He was her older brother. He had already lost so much. It wasn’t fair, she thought. She didn’t know what it was like to lose someone, but she could understand that it hurt. And now, she had hurt him.

I’m sorry, Nemi thought, quietly to herself.

She sat still for a moment, biting her lip as she processed it all. Maybe it wasn’t something she should dwell on. She wasn’t a child who needed comforting (not mentally, at least). She didn’t need to be sad about something she couldn’t change. But she also couldn’t stop herself from wondering if Toneri would be sad forever.

"Tone-nii..." Nemi said, after a pause, her voice softer now. "It’s okay, right?" She looked up at him, her big eyes wide, asking for reassurance.

Toneri smiled softly, though his expression was tinged with sadness. “It’s okay, Nemi. You don’t have to worry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She nodded slowly, feeling a weight lift off her chest, even though the ache in her heart still lingered. It was a strange kind of guilt; one she didn’t know how to explain. She wasn’t sad about the loss, but she was sad for her brother. That was the thing she couldn’t quite make sense of.

But for now, she was quiet. She didn’t need to say more. She just stayed beside him, letting him hold her hand, offering what little comfort a three-year-old could give.

It was enough for now.

Chapter Text

The day Nemi turned four was uneventful, a day that felt much like the others. No cake, no decorations, no party hats or balloons. The only thing that marked the passing of time was the tiny square on the calendar, a reminder of another year gone by. In this strange world, birthdays were not as big a deal as they had been in her old life.

The only thing she got was a question from her father.

“What would you like as a gift, Nemi?” he asked, his voice gentle as he sat beside her.

Nemi blinked, her thoughts a bit hazy. Gifts. She was supposed to want something, right? Like any child her age, she knew the usual answers: toys, clothes, a party. But none of those options felt right to her.

Toys? No, she didn’t need them. She had never cared much for playing with dolls or action figures, and the thought of more books crossed her mind, but her father might think she wanted more picture books, and she wasn’t sure that was what she truly desired. Clothes? The outfits here were simple, functional, but plain—no colors, no textures that made her heart race with excitement like the fashion she used to admire in her past life. It made her a little sad, thinking about how unremarkable the clothes were, and how far away Earth’s fashion industry felt from this strange, austere place.

Her eyes flickered to the calendar. It was a mark of time, and yet nothing had changed. Not for her, at least.

She shook her head slightly, her brow furrowing in thought. She wanted something real, something that would feel different, something that would remind her of the world she had left behind. Something she could appreciate.

“A big meal,” Nemi said finally, her voice steady, though there was a certain excitement in her words. “Something good. Not moon rice, please... Something better.”

Her father nodded. “As you wish.”

Later that evening, as the sun dipped low behind the crescent edge of the moon’s horizon, Nemi was seated at the long table, her small hands neatly folded in her lap. She had grown used to this—this silence that hung in the air, punctuated only by the soft clink of utensils and the occasional murmur of conversation.

Toneri sat beside her, his face calm and content, though Nemi could always sense when he was upset. Today, he seemed to be in a rare mood of quiet understanding, probably aware that today was different. But for Nemi, it wasn’t the moonlit evening that made her feel a sense of change—it was the meal that had been set before her.

She stared at the dish in front of her, her expression slowly shifting from curiosity to disappointment. The food was nothing more than the same moon rice she had eaten countless times before, only with a few strange additions. The rice had been formed into a clump of odd shapes, like a mold that didn’t fit the taste. A strange yellow paste was drizzled on top, and some kind of unfamiliar root was placed beside it, looking far too bland for her refined taste.

Nemi’s mouth went dry. She had asked for something better—hadn’t she? Her thoughts flickered back to her request. More flavor, more variety, something that didn’t taste so bland and... unappetizing.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the rising sense of frustration. She had asked for a feast, hadn’t she? But this? This wasn’t a feast.

As she pushed the food around with her chopsticks, pretending to take a bite, she couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit of bitterness in her chest. Was this all that existed here? Moon rice, bland and simple? She glanced over at her father, who was eating with quiet dignity, his hands moving expertly despite his blindness.

She would never say it aloud, not with him or Toneri beside her. It wouldn’t be fair. They couldn’t see what she saw, couldn’t understand the dissatisfaction growing in her stomach. They wouldn’t even know how much she longed for the flavors of the world she used to know.

At least they didn’t have to see the disappointment in her face.

Toneri, in his usual gentle way, placed his hand on her arm, his fingers brushing lightly over her skin. “Is the food not to your liking, Nemi-chan?” His voice was soft, the question more of an observation than an inquiry.

Nemi blinked and then put on her best smile, the one she had practiced in the mirror. “I’m fine, Tone-nii,” she said quickly, in a voice that was still more mature than she let on. “Just... didn’t expect this much rice, I guess.”

She didn’t want to complain. She didn’t want to make Toneri worry.

Toneri smiled faintly, though Nemi could sense the concern behind it. “I’m sure it’s just... what we can have here. The moon’s resources aren’t like Earth’s.”

That was true. She knew that much. The moon didn’t have the same abundance, the same diversity of food that Earth did. Still, Nemi couldn’t help but long for a real feast, a table full of rich dishes, flavors she couldn’t even name. Something that would remind her of her past life—a small taste of something other than moon rice.

But in this life, she was a child again. A child who couldn’t express the yearning of her soul, not without seeming ungrateful. So she ate, slowly, thoughtfully, trying not to let her displeasure show.

The meal, as disappointing as it was, was enough. And that was all she could ask for here.

At least Toneri didn’t seem to notice. That was a blessing, she supposed. 

The library was quiet, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and ink. It was Nemi’s favorite place, the vast shelves filled with countless books that seemed to stretch on forever. She had spent hours here before, poring over picture books, trying to decode their strange, foreign words with her limited vocabulary. But now, at the age of four, she was making progress. Small, but noticeable steps.

Her little fingers traced the edges of the pages as she flipped through a book of short stories. The words had begun to make sense, one at a time. It wasn’t quite perfect, but it was better than before. Instead of simple stories about dragons, she was now reading about a " big, bad, mean, ugly dragon." Progress. She smiled to herself at the small victory. Words, no longer a barrier, but a tool—if only she could unlock them all.

But Nemi knew she still had much to learn. Her vocabulary had expanded, but the world in her book felt so distant, foreign, and strange. Her soul carried the knowledge of Earth—things like rabbits, grass, flowers, and forests. But her current life? Her eyes had never seen these things. Not on the moon.

Armed with an encyclopedia in front of her, she sought to fill the gaps in her knowledge. The book’s large, bold print called to her, urging her to understand.

“Tone-nii,” she called out softly, barely looking up from the pages as she turned another leaf. “What’s grass?”

Toneri, who had been sitting across from her, turning the pages of his own book, paused. His expression softened as he realized what she had asked. He always took the time to explain things patiently, despite her persistent questioning.

“Grass…” he began, his voice slow as he thought for the right words. “Grass is... green. It grows on the ground. You see it when you walk outside, under your feet. It’s soft... and when the wind blows, it moves like this.” He made a gentle sweeping motion with his hand, like the wind itself. “The grass is important for many animals.”

Nemi nodded slowly, trying to picture it in her mind. Grass. She could almost imagine the softness under her feet, though she had never felt it herself. It was a strange thing, re-learning about the world she was supposed to be a part of but had never actually seen.

“What about flowers?” she asked next, her brow furrowing slightly as she turned another page of the encyclopedia.

Toneri’s smile was warm, though his eyes remained closed, as they always did. “Flowers are... colorful. They bloom in the ground, and people like to look at them because they’re beautiful. They come in many shapes and colors. Some smell sweet, and some attract animals like bees.”

Nemi leaned in closer to the page, though there was nothing there but a vague description of flowers. She could picture them vaguely in her mind— beautiful, colorful blooms, like something from a dream she’d never had. The memories of her past life were getting foggier. She feared she was getting early childhood dementia. Was that a thing?

Her thoughts drifted for a moment before she asked, “What’s a rabbit?”

Toneri paused again, sensing the curiosity in her voice. He knew she had seen nothing of Earth, not really, and he did his best to answer her questions, as best as he could.

“A rabbit is a small animal,” he said, “with long ears, and it hops around. It likes to hide in the grass and eat plants.”

Nemi let out a thoughtful hum, her fingers idly tapping on the pages as she imagined a small, furry creature hopping around in a field. It was strange. She knew what a rabbit was supposed to look like, what it was supposed to do. But her mind hadn’t truly witnessed these things—only the knowledge she carried from another life.

"Do... you think I'll see these things someday?" Nemi asked quietly, glancing up at her brother with wide eyes.

Toneri’s face softened, though he didn’t answer immediately. He sat quietly for a moment, as though considering his words. “Maybe. Maybe one day, you’ll see them. But for now... we live here. We live on the moon, Nemi. There’s nothing here like those things. But you have your books. And you have me.”

Nemi’s heart swelled, and she smiled, albeit a little sadly. She was learning more every day, expanding her understanding of the world—though she had yet to truly experience it for herself. The moon, the place she now called home, had no grass, no flowers, and certainly no rabbits. The only thing she could truly experience was the endless silence, the coldness of the surroundings.

But at least she had Toneri. At least she had the books, and the encyclopedia that would slowly fill her mind with new wonders. The world might be small to her now, but she had time. She would learn. She would understand.

For now, she could only ask questions.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t often that she heard her father raise his voice. In fact, Nemi couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever truly yelled at her. He was distant, yes, cold even, but never harsh. He often seemed stern with Toneri, though. Perhaps that was because of his blindness. He seemed to worry about Toneri in ways he never worried about Nemi. As if the blindness was something to be overcome, something to constantly address.

But this? This was different.

Nemi stood quietly outside the door, her tiny hand resting on the cool metal of the wall, straining to hear the muffled words coming from the other side. The argument was sharp, tense. Though her father’s voice was low, it was unlike his usual calm tone. There was a rare anger in it, a crack in his usually composed demeanor.

Too young. Byakugan. Ritual.

Nemi frowned, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar words floating through the door. Byakugan. She had heard that word before, hadn’t she? It was one of those strange terms that lingered in her memory, like a whisper from another life. Something she had read, perhaps? Or heard in passing?

The word Byakugan seemed to gnaw at the edges of her thoughts, and she struggled to place it, but the more she tried, the more elusive it became. She pressed her small hand against the door, but it did nothing to help her hear clearer. She heard another voice, sharp, demanding. The elder—Futaba, if she recalled correctly—responded in a tone that matched her father’s.

“…she doesn't have the eyes, but the ritual must go on…”

There was more, but it was muffled, fading into inaudibility as the voices moved farther away. The conversation, whatever it was, seemed to drift off, swallowed up by the labyrinthine halls of their home.

Nemi frowned, her thoughts swimming. A ritual? Byakugan? She could sense there was something more beneath the surface. Some secret. Something hidden away, tucked under the veil of quiet family life. Her mind wandered to darker places, thoughts that had no clear answers.

Is this a cult? she wondered quietly to herself, her small brow furrowing in confusion. A clan with rituals, blind family members... what kind of place is this?

She shivered despite herself, turning away from the door. The voices faded, leaving only an uneasy silence behind. Nemi shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. It was too much. She wasn’t supposed to understand any of this yet. The adults—they were always so cryptic, always speaking in ways that didn’t make sense to her.

Forcing herself to move on, Nemi turned and walked out of the room, her small feet padding quietly along the stone floor. There was a courtyard she liked to visit, a bench by the edge where she could sit and watch the distant horizon. It wasn’t much of a view, just the endless expanse of the moon's cold, barren landscape, but it was something she found strangely comforting. The stillness of it reminded her of the quiet she felt inside.

As she walked through the empty halls, her thoughts spiraled, but she couldn’t quite pin them down. What was this place? What were these people? Was she really just a child here? Or was she something else, something that didn’t quite fit in?

Her footsteps slowed as she stepped out into the courtyard. The bench was just ahead, the stone cold beneath her small fingers as she climbed up to sit. She stretched her legs out, watching the far-off globe. The Earth.

Her heart stirred at the sight of it, even though it was so distant. She had been born on this strange moon, surrounded by people who felt more like strangers with every passing day. She didn’t know what she was—whether she was part of something important, or just a piece in a long, twisted story.

But the Earth—her Earth, the one she knew from before—looked so far away, so unreachable. The sight of it was both comforting and heartbreaking. She wondered, with a quiet sadness, if she’d ever be able to go there. To see the grass, the flowers, the rabbits, the things she’d read about in her books.

Could she ever go there? Would she ever be free of this place?

The weight of it pressed on her small chest, and for a moment, she just sat there, silent, as the cold wind brushed against her cheeks.

Then, without warning, her thoughts drifted back to her father’s argument. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—something she hadn’t yet pieced together. And, for the first time, the vast expanse of the moon felt less like a comforting solitude and more like a prison, one she might never escape.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until her fifth birthday that Nemi finally began to understand.

The day started off well enough. Suspiciously well, in fact.

For once, breakfast wasn’t moon rice. That alone made her tear up in relief. Moon rice had become her eternal enemy over the past two years—bland, mushy, and deeply traumatic. But this morning? A miracle. Something else entirely. It was… moon potato. A real advancement in cuisine technology. It was slightly firm, vaguely seasoned, and had texture.

She had never wept harder over a starch in her life.

If that wasn’t enough, one of the elders—Futaba, the one who always scared her a little—appeared in the morning with folded clothes in her arms. Actual clothes. With patterns. Pretty ones. With silver threads that shimmered under the pale moonlight. Her jaw dropped. She touched the fabric like it was spun gold, eyes wide as she soaked in the delicate embroidery and flowing sleeves. Later she would learn it was a kimono, but right now it was just: “fancy dress. pretty.”

They dressed her carefully. She squirmed under their careful hands, but when they stepped back and she caught a glimpse of herself in the tall, polished mirror, her breath hitched.

She looked like a princess. No—she was a princess.

Excited beyond words, she ran to her brother’s room, small feet padding quickly against the stone floor, the sleeves of her kimono flapping with each step.

“Tone-nii!” she chirped, sliding the door open with more force than grace, “Look, look—I look like… like, like those pretty ladies in the scrolls!”

She spun in place with the clumsy glee of a five-year-old, expecting her brother’s smile, maybe even a compliment, forgetting momentarily that her brother was blind (opps). But what she saw instead made her spin stop mid-turn.

Toneri sat on the edge of his bed, still and quiet. His face was tilted slightly toward her voice, but his expression was not one of joy. It was tight, pained.

She blinked. “Tone-nii…?”

He opened his arms, and she went to him without hesitation. His hug was firm. Too firm. As if holding onto something slipping through his fingers.

“It’ll be over soon,” he said softly, brushing her hair.

Nemi frowned. “What over soon?”

He didn’t answer.

“Silly,” she said with a pout. “Birthday come every year.”

He chuckled faintly. But there was no real joy in it. Just sadness.

That was the first time her heart dipped beneath the surface of her perfect birthday. And the unease only grew.

Dinner came, and it wasn’t just dinner. She was led not to the usual dining room, but down a different path—one she’d never seen before. The halls felt older, colder. She clutched Toneri’s sleeve as they walked.

Then the doors opened.

She was led into a chamber so massive it made her feel small in ways she hadn’t since waking up in this body. The ceiling stretched higher than any other room she’d been in. Pale blue light poured in from unseen sources, illuminating the room in a soft glow.

And there, at the center of the chamber—

She stopped breathing.

She didn’t have the words. No five-year-old would. Not even one with the mind of an adult.

It floated. Not resting, not anchored. Just there. A great sphere of interlocking magatama, softly spinning, radiating a light that wasn’t quite light. It shone, but it wasn’t bright. It pulsed, but not like a heartbeat—more like it breathed. In and out. Alive.

It was beautiful. And terrifying.

She took a step forward. “What… what’s that…?”

No one answered.

Not right away.

But she could feel all the eyes on her. The elders. Her father. Toneri.

Even though most of them were blind, she felt their gaze.

She stared at the glowing thing before her. Something about it clawed at her memory. A name. A whisper.

Tenseigan.

But she didn’t know how she knew that. Or why the moment she thought the word, her entire body shivered.

She turned to her brother, searching his face. But he had already turned away.

She didn’t understand everything.

But she understood enough.

This wasn’t just a birthday.

This was something else.

And now, the day she’d looked forward to most… suddenly didn’t feel like hers anymore.

She was in denial at first.

Even as they led her toward the center of the chamber—toward the strange altar-like table—she told herself it was just decoration. Part of the ceremony. Maybe some tradition she didn’t know about yet. Maybe she'd be asked to sit there and smile while they gave her some kind of blessing. That made sense. Right?

She was still in denial when she saw the chair. Cold and metallic, with armrests too wide for comfort. With leather straps hanging loosely from the sides.

No. It’s… it’s just a safety thing. For posture. Maybe it moves. Maybe it floats.

She was still in denial when someone gently pushed her down onto it. When her long, pale hair was carefully pinned back, exposing her neck. Her face. Her eyes.

She was still in denial when the straps were fastened—click, click—tight across her wrists. Ankles. Chest.

“It’s okay,” she mumbled to herself. “Maybe they—maybe I’m getting, like… a chakra gift. A moon blessing. Yeah.”

She flinched when she heard the metallic clatter behind her.

A puppet servant wheeled something in.

A tray.

Surgical tools.

She was still in denial.

Even as her heart hammered in her chest. Even as her breath started to shake.

She turned her head sharply toward her father. “Otou-sama—?”

He didn’t answer. He wasn’t even facing her.

Her brother stood far away, fists clenched, lips pressed in a thin line.

Still in denial.

Then Elder Futaba stepped forward. Her wrinkled hands moved with calm precision as she picked up a strange instrument—something slender and hooked, with a pronged end. A tool that looked like it was meant to extract something. Something round.

Like a—

No.

No.

No.

Nemi’s breath caught. Her body froze. Her vision narrowed until all she could see was that tool. That gleam.

No.

Her small voice trembled. “No…”

No one moved to stop it.

No one moved at all.

“No—no—no! ”

Her screams echoed across the chamber—

—and were swallowed by silence.

Chapter Text

He knew what today was.

He had known the moment he woke up, long before the soft footsteps of puppet servants arrived to dress him, long before the scent of cooked tubers reached his nose. He didn't need eyes to see what this day meant. The quiet of the halls had shifted. There was a hush in the air, too heavy for a birthday.

He had smiled when he heard her little feet patter toward his room, her voice full of wonder and pride. “T-Tone-nii! Look! I look like… like, like those pretty ladies in the scrolls!”

He hadn’t needed to see to know she was glowing. She had been thrilled—giddy, even—at her new kimono, the first she’d ever been given. Her excitement radiated like warmth, clinging to his chest like sunlight.

He smiled. He hugged her. But he could not lie.

“It’ll be over soon,” he whispered.

And she had only giggled, like the sweet child she was, and called him silly.

She didn’t know.

Of course she didn’t know.

But he did.

He had overheard it all. The night talks. The whispered plans. The ritual. Her “defect.” The way the elders spoke of her like an object, not a person. The way they talked about her eyes.

He had fought. As much as a child could fight adults that wouldn’t listen. He had argued with his father—their father—begged him to stop it. That Nemi was too young. That it wasn’t right.

They told him it was for the clan.

That it was necessary.

That he should be proud.

Proud?

How could he be proud when he could feel her terror through the walls?

He stood behind the partition; fists clenched so tightly his knuckles burned. He couldn’t see what was happening, but he didn’t need to. He could hear the scrape of tools on metal trays. The low murmur of the elders. The panic in her tiny voice.

“Otou-sama—?”

She had called out.

Not to him.

To the man who sat silently with his back turned to her.

Coward.

Coward.

Toneri wanted to scream. To run. To rip the straps off her and carry her far away from this place—from this clan, this fate, this cursed bloodline that devoured its children in the name of survival.

But his legs wouldn’t move.

He was eight. Just eight.

And Nemi was only five.

He hated how small they both were. How helpless.

He heard her scream.

Toneri wished—perhaps—the elders should have taken his hearing, too.

He didn’t want to hear his sister in pain. His sweet, innocent sister.

But then—

Something changed.

The cries of a terrified girl suddenly stopped.

In their place came a harsh, guttural growl. Not hers.

Not a child’s voice at all.

It was lower. Deeper. And pained.

Toneri’s head snapped toward the sound on instinct, even though his blind eye sockets could not see. He heard a shuffle, a crash—metal clattering to the floor. A chair dragging. Elder Futaba gasping.

He froze.

“What…?” he whispered.

And then—footsteps. Unsteady. Rushed.

The air shifted again. And before he could react—

Something collided into him.

Small arms. Trembling hands. Breath warm and ragged against his chest. He didn’t need to ask who it was.

“Nii-san—don’t!” Nemi’s voice cracked. “Don’t—don’t let them take my eyes—!”

She was sobbing, shaking, trying to drag him backward with her tiny fists.

Toneri held her tighter than he ever had.

“I won’t,” he whispered, even though he didn’t know how to stop it.

He tried to move with her—anywhere, away—but his back hit something cold. Unmoving.

The puppet guards.

They were blocked in. Trapped.

And Toneri knew—if he fought, if he screamed, they’d take her by force.

So he did the only thing he could.

He wrapped his arms around her. Curled around her small form like a shield. Held her as if that alone could protect her.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again. “I’ve got you. I promise.”

And he prayed—to the moon, to fate, to any god that would listen—

That it wouldn’t be a lie.

Chapter Text

Cult.

This clan was a goddamn cult.

They sacrificed their own people’s eyes.

It made sense now. All the strange things that never added up in her young mind. The cryptic murals on the walls. The vague texts in the scrolls she wasn’t supposed to read yet. The reverent tone used when speaking of “purity.” Why everyone around them was blind.

That’s why Toneri was blind.

That’s why he had hugged her like he was mourning her before anything even happened. That’s why he had been quiet all day, holding her with that sad smile. Because he knew.

She wanted to scream. To rage. To thrash like she did earlier when they pinned her down. She wanted to bite someone again—like she did to that hag Futaba, her teeth sinking into wrinkled flesh in pure, animal panic.

But now, all she could do was cry.

Nemi clung tighter to her brother, her tiny fists tangled in his robe, her body trembling with tear-streaked cheeks. Her breath hitched as she begged again, voice breaking, “Don’t let them take my eyes, Nii-san… please… please…”

Toneri didn’t speak. He just held her, arms around her, so fiercely tight she almost couldn’t breathe. He trembled, too. She could feel it in his hands, the way his fingers gripped her like she was something precious slipping through them.

She heard the shuffle of footsteps.

The elders.

Coming back.

She could feel them reaching for her, cold fingers trying to separate her from him. She resisted. Kicked. Thrashed wildly. Her small limbs flailed with everything she had, her legs slamming into the floor, into robes, into Toneri—and maybe, just maybe, she hurt him too. But she couldn’t let go. She wouldn’t let go.

“Don’t take me!” she wailed. “Don’t take me—don’t take me—Toneri!!”

And then—

A voice.

Stern. Deep. Unmistakable.

“Enough. ”

Everything stopped.

Hands recoiled. Silence fell.

She didn’t dare look up. Couldn’t. But she heard it. The quick, sharp hush of the elders pulling back. Their sudden intake of breath. The whispers that followed, low and furious, too fast for her to follow. But her father—their father—was unmoving. Calm. Final.

He spoke again, tone clipped.

“Toneri. Take your sister to her room.”

There was no arguing with that voice. Even Nemi knew.

Her fists, once clawed tight against her brother’s robe, finally loosened. Her body sagged. She couldn’t stop crying, but the sobs turned soft. Shaky. She wasn’t being dragged away.

She was safe.

She was safe.

She let herself believe it. Even if it was only for now.

She was…

… alive.

That night, she begged Toneri to sleep in her bed.

She hadn’t done that in months—not since she'd proudly declared she was a big girl now and   could sleep alone. She had insisted back then. Wanted her own space, her own room, her own silence.

But tonight, she would’ve said anything.

“Another story, please?” she’d offered.

“Brush my hair again?” she’d asked.

“There’s a monster under the bed, I heard it breathing—!”

She would’ve thrown a tantrum, rolled on the floor, wailed until the moon cracked open—but she didn’t have to.

Toneri had simply said, “Okay,” and held out his hand.

Now they lay quietly in her bed, nestled together beneath the thin, silken sheets. Nemi had pressed herself against him, her back facing the wall, needing to feel as far away from the rest of the world as possible. Her brother’s arms were around her, warm and solid and real.