Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
Sometimes, it only takes one change — a single, delicate tap against the threads of fate — to unravel everything that once seemed certain.
That change began quietly, when Uchiha Mikoto discovered she was carrying not one, but two lives within her.
It was unexpected, yet deeply welcome. The matriarch of the Uchiha clan walked down the sunlit streets of Konoha, her steps measured, graceful. Beside her, a small hand clutched hers — her son, Itachi, his dark eyes calm yet curious beyond his years.
"Mom?" he asked softly, voice tinged with concern.
"What is it, Itachi?" Mikoto replied, warmth lacing her tone like sunlight breaking through clouds.
"Are you… sick?"
His small fingers tightened around hers, his brows creasing in quiet worry.
Mikoto's lips curved into a gentle laugh. "Nothing like that, dear," she said, brushing a hand over his hair. "You see… soon, you'll have a little brother or sister."
Itachi blinked, confusion flickering across his face.
"Huh?"
"That's right," she said, smiling as she knelt slightly to his level. "You're going to be a big brother."
Mikoto guided his small head to rest against her growing belly. Her voice softened to a whisper.
"So, tell me, Itachi — what would you like? A brother or a sister?"
"Brother."
The answer came without hesitation.
Mikoto tilted her head, amused. "Why not a sister?"
Her son's expression didn't waver. "I want a brother."
She studied him for a moment, a mix of fondness and surprise tugging at her chest. Even now, Itachi's answers carried a weight far beyond his age.
Their quiet moment faded as the pair continued home, their shadows stretching long in the amber light of dusk.
That night, the moon hung high — a perfect white disk above the silent Uchiha compound.
Mikoto sat across from Fugaku, her husband, whose face was as unreadable as ever.
"I'm pregnant," she said simply.
For a fleeting heartbeat, a ripple crossed Fugaku's expression — surprise, quickly buried beneath stoic composure. But Mikoto saw it. She always did.
"How long?" he asked, his tone gruff, though there was a subtle gentleness beneath it — one only she could hear.
"Three months now," she replied, smiling faintly. "We're having twins."
Fugaku's thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm — duty, legacy, pride, and worry colliding in silence. Then, he felt the soft weight of Mikoto's hand settle on his shoulder, anchoring him.
"It's happy news, Fugaku," she said softly, her eyes shimmering in the pale light.
"I know," he murmured, his lips curving into the smallest of smiles. "I know."
And for once, his voice carried something rare — peace.
Days passed. Mikoto stood by the sink, washing dishes as sunlight spilled through the open window, painting her in gold. Her expression was distant, contemplative.
She didn't mind whether her babies were boys or girls — but deep down, she couldn't deny the quiet hope for a daughter. Someone she could laugh with, talk with — someone to share the little joys that often slipped away in a shinobi's life.
She adored Itachi with all her heart, yet even at five years old, he was already walking ahead — chasing an invisible horizon. The child who once reached for her hand now sought solitude, driven by a maturity that frightened her as much as it made her proud.
Mikoto's heart ached with both pride and longing.
Elsewhere, Fugaku sat alone in his study, eyes fixed on the clan's emblem engraved on the wall.
He found himself hoping — almost praying — that both children would be boys.
Not because he disrespected women. But because the thought of having a daughter terrified him in a way nothing else ever had.
Not even the battlefield. Not even the elders.
The great "Wicked Eye" Fugaku… afraid. The thought made him smirk bitterly.
A daughter of the clan head would be more than a child — she'd be seen as a symbol, perhaps even a prize. And Fugaku hated that truth more than any enemy he had ever faced.
He could train her as he did Itachi, show her the brutal truths of the shinobi world — but he doubted Mikoto would forgive him for that. She already blamed him for Itachi's cold maturity, for the way their son's smile had grown rarer with every passing year.
He exhaled, leaning back into the quiet. I'll figure something out, he thought. I always do.
That same night, Itachi lay awake in his bed, the moonlight painting silver streaks across his face.
His small hands rested on his stomach as his mother's words replayed in his mind.
A brother… or a sister…
He had said "brother" without thinking. But what if he had a sister instead? Would he love her the same? Would he protect her the same way?
His young mind raced, searching for answers it couldn't yet understand.
But beneath the confusion, one feeling rose clear and steady — determination.
He reached a hand up toward the moon, its cold glow reflecting in his dark eyes.
"Either way… I'll protect you both," he whispered.
And as he drifted to sleep, a lone shooting star streaked across the night sky — silent, fleeting, unseen.
Yet in that moment, something in the world shifted.