Satoru Nation
The Satoru Nation garden stretched quietly behind the mansion like a dream half-remembered. Roses bloomed in every shade—from fiery crimson to the gentlest pink—some petals already drifting onto winding gravel paths, soft as whispers. A small fountain murmured nearby, its moss-speckled stone basin catching the glow of the late afternoon sun. Ivy curled lazily along a low iron fence, wild daisies blooming in the gaps like shy children. The air was thick with warmth and the scent of flowers, the breeze light and drowsy, rustling the leaves like a lullaby.
"Liora! Liora, my baby girl, where are you?"
Lady Luna's voice drifted through the garden like a lullaby carried on wind. Playful. Warm. Bright. It filled the air with the kind of light only a mother's love could cast.
She paused by a patch of roses, the sunlight catching the soft shimmer of her lavender gown. Her golden-blonde braid swayed behind her like a thread of sunlight, catching on the breeze with each step. A few petals clung to the fabric, unnoticed.
She looked around slowly, her eyes a brilliant, calm blue—eyes that had known laughter and loss, and somehow still carried grace.
There was no fear in them. Not yet.
Just the kind of mischief that came from knowing her daughter too well.
Her lips curled into a smile, faint but unshakable.
Behind her, hurried footsteps crunched on the gravel path.
Sylvie stumbled into view, breathless. Her once-crisp uniform sagged with wear, the collar loose, her sleeves wrinkled from pushing past hedges and flowerbeds. A streak of dirt smudged her wrist. Pollen clung to her skirt like the garden had tried to keep her.
Her chest rose and fell as she caught her breath.
"My lady, I'm so sorry—the young mistress isn't in the mansion," she said at last, her voice low and frayed around the edges. Her hands were clasped tight in front of her, a gesture meant to steady herself—but they trembled just slightly.
Luna turned to face her, her expression softening like evening light spilling across warm stone.
She didn't speak right away.
Instead, she stepped closer, one hand brushing lightly against Sylvie's arm—fingertips barely grazing fabric, like reassuring a startled bird.
"Oh, Sylvie…" Her voice was low now, kind and lilting. "You've really tried your best, haven't you?"
Her eyes searched Sylvie's face, not for blame, but for the weight she knew the girl carried. And finding it, she only smiled—brighter this time, like a lamp in a window at dusk.
"Don't worry—she's out here somewhere. I can feel it."
A breeze swept through the hedges behind them, ruffling Luna's braid and tugging at the loose strands near her cheek. Her gown fluttered like flower petals caught in wind.
Then she let out a small, knowing giggle.
Not forced. Not theatrical.
Just light.
Like the sound a mother makes when she knows her child is hiding—somewhere near, waiting to be found.
"Liora's always been a little whirlwind."
Sylvie lowered her gaze, a slow breath leaving her lips. Her shoulders sagged, not from defeat, but from the ache of effort finally acknowledged.
"Yes, my lady," she murmured, her voice steadier now. "The young mistress has been… especially energetic today."
She managed a faint smile, but her eyes flicked toward the bushes—warily. Not with fear, but memory.
Luna caught it.
She laughed again, this time richer. "You've been ambushed again, haven't you?"
Sylvie said nothing, but the look on her face said everything.
Luna's laughter chimed, bright and infectious, like a bell tossed in the wind. "Well, that's my girl! Always keeping us on our toes."
With a mock-serious frown, Luna turned back to the garden, planting her hands on her hips. "Liora, where are you? If your mama catches you, no cookies for you tonight—and Papa won't save you this time!"
Her footsteps crunched softly along the gravel path as she bent to peer behind a rosebush, her gown trailing in the dust.
Unseen behind a clump of flowers, a tiny girl crouched, barely able to contain herself.
Liora. Her platinum-blonde hair, streaked with white, shimmered where it caught the light. She was no older than three or four, and yet her mischief burned like a secret sun. Her mismatched eyes—one ocean blue, one emerald green—sparkled as she peeked from her hiding place.
Her mother's game brought her delight. Every movement, every call, made her heart flutter with glee.
Luna checked another bush and called, "Found you!" only to shake her head dramatically. "Oh, you aren't there."
Behind her, Sylvie stepped lightly, but not without hesitation. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. Her voice came soft, uncertain.
"Lady Luna… I don't think the young mistress is in the garden…"
Luna didn't turn. Not right away.
Her eyes scanned the hedges ahead, shining with a flicker of something quiet and clever. Mischief, yes—but also certainty. That unshakable, whimsical knowing that only a mother could carry.
Then, slowly, she lifted a fist—dramatic, playful, utterly unserious.
"Of course she is!" she declared, her tone light as clouds. "I'm her mother, and a mother's intuition is always right."
She spun halfway toward Sylvie, eyes twinkling beneath her lashes.
"Isn't that so, Sylvie?"
Sylvie parted her lips to object, just barely.
But—
A sound fluttered from the bushes. Soft. High. Delicate as birdsong.
A giggle.
They both froze.
Even the wind stilled.
Luna's lips curled, slowly, into something wickedly triumphant.
She didn't speak. She didn't need to.
She only tilted her chin—just a little—toward the hedges.
Sylvie caught the signal. Her breath hitched, but she gave a tiny nod, the corners of her mouth twitching despite herself.
She straightened.
"My lady," Sylvie said, her voice louder now, exaggerated, like a line in a play. "I don't think we'll find the young mistress here. I'll go check the kitchen—maybe she's sneaking pastries again."
Luna gasped, hand to her chest as if scandalized.
"Yes, yes, you should!" she said, every word dripping with feigned urgency. "I'll follow to make sure she doesn't slip away."
But her feet didn't move.
Not yet.
Her gaze stayed fixed on the hedge, where the leaves rustled ever so faintly… as if a certain someone were trying very hard not to giggle again.
She cast a wink over her shoulder.
Sylvie bit back a laugh, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, eyes glinting with quiet amusement as she slipped behind a nearby bush, vanishing from sight.
Behind the hedge, Liora blinked.
Huh?
She peeked through the leaves.
Gone already?
Her little fingers pressed into the earth as she crawled forward, slowly, like a kitten stalking something it didn't understand. A leaf clung to her hair. Her eyes narrowed, squinting toward the path ahead.
She didn't see anyone.
Were they really gone?
Liora frowned, then shuffled closer—until one foot slipped out of the bush, crunching lightly on the gravel path.
Just as she began to rise—
"Boo!"
Luna burst out from behind the roses, arms flung wide.
Liora screamed. Or squealed. Or something in between. Her whole body flailed, limbs flapping like startled wings before—
"Mama!" she cried, her voice breaking into wild laughter.
Her feet barely touched the ground before she took off, legs pumping in full retreat, laughter trailing behind her like flower petals in the wind.
Luna was already chasing, her steps deliberately exaggerated, dramatic. "Oh, no you don't, my little escape artist! Mama's got long legs and zero mercy!"
The garden came alive with the sound of Liora's giggles. Her little form zigzagged through the path like a whirlwind—until—
She didn't see the figure crouched just ahead.
Sylvie, kneeling by a cluster of flowers, had hidden herself with the quiet poise of a well-practiced maid.
Liora crashed into her.
"Oof—"
She tumbled to the grass in a blur of arms and tangled skirts.
But before she could roll twice, gentle arms scooped her up, firm and steady.
"Young mistress," Sylvie said, her tone perfectly proper—but her eyes were warm, and her smile betrayed her fondness. "You've played enough for one afternoon."
Liora gasped, twisting in Sylvie's arms like a caught fish. "No, no, no!" she wailed, dramatically, flailing. "I wanna play with Mama and Sylvie more! More! "
Her voice cracked with desperation—part real, part theatrical.
But mostly real.
Tiny fists tapped Sylvie's shoulders. Not hard—just firm little taps, barely there, but filled with meaning. Liora's pout trembled as she kicked her feet, still determined to wring more play out of the afternoon.
Sylvie sighed, though her smile gave her away. "Young mistress…"
A warm presence stepped beside them.
Luna.
The sunlight kissed her face as she leaned in, her blue eyes softened with radiant affection.
"Liora," she said gently, her voice a delicate thread of amusement, "what did I say about hitting your elders?"
She raised an eyebrow, just a little. "Even when they deserve it."
Liora twisted in Sylvie's arms to face her, wide-eyed and innocent. "But Mama, I wanna play more! With you! With Sylvie!"
Her voice rose like a bell, trembling with the sweet urgency only children knew. Her lip wobbled, her pout deepening in theatrical waves.
Luna stared for a long second.
Then melted.
"Ohhh… how could I say no to my baby girl?"
She stepped in, pulling Liora into a hug, cradling her like something precious and fragile. Her arms wrapped around the girl's small form, and she nuzzled her cheek with a giggle. "My baby girl is just too cute."
Sylvie gave an exasperated sigh. "My lady, the young mistress is playing with your heart—again."
Luna turned dramatically, feigning scandal. "What, my baby? Is that true?"
Liora clapped her hands and giggled wildly, joy spilling from her like sunlight on still water.
Luna narrowed her eyes, smirking. "Bad girl. Bad, bad. No cookies for you tonight!"
She lifted Liora high, spinning her in the air before pulling her close and peppering her face with kisses.
"Mama! Stop it!" she cried, kicking her feet. "It tickles!"
Luna didn't stop. Not yet.
The sound of their laughter filled the garden. It echoed through the trees, spilled over the hedges, and made the air feel lighter.
Sylvie's hand came to her chest. She watched them—those two radiant souls wrapped in warmth and love. Her lips parted, the beginnings of a thought resting just on the edge of speech—
Then…
Rustling.
A breeze.
Soft, sudden.
Then—something strange.
A flutter.
One page. Then two.
Then a flurry.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Sheets of paper began to fall from above. They twirled as they descended, like autumn leaves riding invisible currents.
Sylvie looked up, her mouth falling open. "What in the—?"
The pages danced around them, settling in the rosebushes, drifting onto the stone rim of the fountain, brushing against Luna's lavender gown. One landed softly in Sylvie's hands.
She blinked.
She stared at the page.
At the scrawled ink.
And her breath hitched.
"My lady…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Look…"
Luna's laughter faded—not abruptly, but like a flame dimming in a quiet room. She glanced up, her daughter still held close.
Liora's eyes were wide with awe. "It's raining paper!"
She reached up with both hands, spinning once in her mother's arms. "Look, look, Mama! They're flying!"
Luna took the offered sheet.
Her eyes moved across the lines—slowly, then more still. Her fingers, once firm, began to loosen around the page.
It slipped from her hand like silk, fluttering to the grass.
Liora blinked at it. Her brow furrowed. "Mama?"
She leaned forward, trying to read the fallen words.
"What's a… reaper?"
The word hung in the air.
Luna didn't answer right away.
Instead, she brought Liora close, holding her small frame tightly against her chest. Her lips pressed gently to her daughter's hair, eyes still fixed on the falling pages—silent, unreadable.
And then—softly, gently—she spoke.
"My baby girl is going to see her big brother soon."
Liora's mouth made a small "o."
She blinked fast. Once. Twice.
Then her face lit up with sudden realization. Her arms lifted again.
"I'm gonna see my big brother!" she shouted. "Like how I met my big sister!"
She laughed, clapping her hands. "Big brother! Big brother!"
Sylvie's breath caught. Her eyes shimmered with quiet emotion. She knelt beside them, her voice soft and steady.
"Young mistress…" she said. "You're going to love him."
Luna laughed. It was light and unburdened, a sound full of love and something else—something like hope.
She spun gently with Liora in her arms, her dress catching the breeze in flowing ripples of lilac and light.
"Yes, my baby, yes you are."
Their laughter mingled with the wind as the pages kept falling around them—quiet, strange, beautiful.
And for that moment—
Not even fate could touch the joy that bloomed in their hearts.