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Futurum’s cold mornings suited Eva well. Surfaces typically blazed by the Children of the Stars—only identifiable by that obnoxious sphere in the sky, which ruined a sky painted by their God’s careful, meticulous eye for detail—seldom welcomed cool breezes. She would take that time to sort through the potted plants she grew. Their leaves curled as if to ask for it, after all.
In varied pots, painted by the little fingers and toes of all the children born to Futurum’s efforts, sat chipper shrubs and flowers. As the Paragon of Nature, Eva’s heart swayed more at the sight of a blooming bud than spilled blood. This forever placed her in opposition to her sister - not that she minded, much. It pricked her like a bug’s stinging anger on the worse days, where V’ehxness’ hunger for blood blinded her, and Eva could have sworn both of her eyes glowed red, contrary to just the one. Most days, though, V’ehxness would leave her to it.
They both know she lacked the stomach for war. The Children of the Stars angered her, not only due to how they belittled the many children who were part of her nature—the blooming, brewing, brightening minds and eyes of so many Futurans—but because they indoctrinated their own to follow suit once they died. Children were spoonfed tales of the ‘other’ from the day they were born. They would storm the ‘other’ streets, expecting them to become their own. Even in their Commander forms, the Chosen Ones could not save everyone. Many regular Futurans would suffer immense injuries; she would hold the hands of those who begged her to look out for their own, right until they took their last breaths.
She did not consider herself much of a mother, but when her sister lacked any instinct—and refused to grow it from the garden of her womb, much to the horror of the older men who taught scripture and values—she was required to take on that mantle.
Such is what loving the world entailed.
Still, when she had a moment to rid herself of the mother’s crown of flowers, and she could legitimately dote on her floral babies… Well, she appreciated those more than words could say. She sighed as she reached for her gloves.
A voice startled them out of her hands. “Eva, aren’t you supposed to be looking after the young warriors today?” She whipped her head around, hands quivering as they revealed her ulterior motives. The other Commander tilted her head and let out a soft chuckle. Much like her mantle alluded to, Pakron exuded patience, and she was one to often keep a secret. How she saw anything in that brute Addamaque, Eva could not answer - as much as she resented her sister, the word bitch from his mouth sat like bile against her damp tongue, and she had always felt the alien urge to defend her. “Ah, I see you’ve come here to escape… don’t mind me, then-”
“Wait, Pakron,” Eva reached out. She tilted her head and clasped her hands together, forcing up a chipper birdsong from her lips. In truth, her heart clambered for her ribs, desperate to claw out and escape the imminent wrath of her peers for deviating. The way she often evaded fighting left them bitter. Bitterness always morphed. It would grow an ugly head, or three, and reveal sharpened teeth which in turn envied the infamous knife. Soon, it would lunge, and it would not care what blood it spilled - so long as it emerged victorious, and it gained the favour of whichever higher power enabled her that freedom. The men, especially, lacked understanding of how her maternity was essential to the effort. Not even if she weaponised little Kamyuhn’s skills, who currently napped in a bed three times her size at home. “You, uh… won’t be mentioning this to any of the other Commanders, right?”
“What, and risk my darling coming in here and breaking your pretty potted plants?” Pakron chuckled. Her fingers grazed the dried paint against their exterior, and she gently sighed, her voice as warm as the night to come. When a cool day arose, the night would make up for the lost time, and Eva would lose sleep—that is, if the Children of the Stars didn’t strive to wake her up. “These are little handprints, aren’t they?”
Eva’s eyes welled up behind her mask. “It was a little art project… I wanted to keep them all happy. If the children lose morale, what’s the point of fighting at all, you know?” Her fingers were drawn to a particular pair of hands. Kamyuhn’s. Against her own large, bloodied hands, forever mottled by her cursed biology… those small, little hands, pudgy fingers and lines of fate against her palms… They made her feel like all those fights were worth it. Anything to keep those hands clean, to scrub them with the supplies of soap and water she managed to salvage, and to dress the rest of that fragile skin in warm, nice-smelling laundry for the night to come.
It was in her nature to care for little ones, even if she wished she hadn’t been told this by God when she herself was so little. Of all her fellow Commanders, Pakron sympathised, for her gentle spirit unsheathed itself in segments of three. Courage, honesty, patience. All things a mother needed; all things Eva lacked.
If she had anything to comment, she held her tongue. “You do such a good job with the Futuran kids, Eva… I think even Szanshin could learn from you-”
“Oh, gosh, no! She’s a mother, and I-”
“Aren’t you one too?” A giggle escaped the other Commander, as she turned for the door. “Give yourself more credit! And don’t forget to check on the warriors before night falls!” She stared at the door, its glass stained by the steam of her blushing cheeks.
A heart with wings soared at the thought of being a mother. Eva, the Paragon of Nature, and a proud mother of a little girl… maybe it was a mantle she should have had less modesty in claiming.
Sing-song chimed through the skies. Carried by the birds, the warm, sticky wind, and most importantly, by the ultimate morale boost of the Commanders—Turamtammi herself! She skipped side to side, purposefully leaving ambiguous footprints. Hallucinatory music may have been her speciality, but these Children of the Stars, they could be tricky with their tactics. She had to be untrackable, especially when approaching their most vulnerable Commander.
Sweet tunes flowed against her tongue as she hopped towards Eva. Kneeled down with the young Shrine Maiden, who wailed louder than her music could ever reach, she gently hushed her through her teeth. “Darling, darling, please…!”
“It… it hurts…!” Only a little one, Kamyuhn, yet her lungs deceived all who came near her. On her knee lay an open gash, oozing God’s wishes, and Eva frantically gathered white bandages which soaked themselves at the sight of the wound. “Mommy, it hurts…!”
“I know, darling…” she stroked her hand against the salty tears staining the maiden’s face. Her fingers, so tender and slim, struck them away. Their twinkle reminded Turamtammi of shooting stars - had Eva made a wish for many more of these moments, maybe? “But if you cry any louder, your auntie will hear you, and she hurts way more than this little graze ever will…” A stray shiver rippled down Turamtammi’s spine. That was something those two could always agree on—even Eva, who had once got the better end of the stick, would be so easily impaled if she considered looking at her sister wrong. V’ehxness’ sympathy ran out many years ago; rumours stated she hadn’t been born with the stuff, but considering how she used to at least let Eva avoid some fights, Turamtammi had to disagree. Her heart ran with blood that lusted for more of its kind, sure! But, she had some feelings, once upon a time.
Not anymore! Kamyuhn wept harder at the reminder: “No… no…! Not auntie…!”
“Shh, shh, exactly…” Eva wrapped the bandage tightly around Kamyuhn’s knee and raised her mask. What sin! Turamtammi averted her gaze, her hand dramatically poised against her forehead, and she heard a faint pucker noise. A kiss for luck, or for love, she presumed—such was her tactic when she eradicated as many Children of the Stars as her microphone could ensnare. “See? It’s all better, right? It’s not fallen off or anything?”
“No… thank you, mommy…” she rubbed her eyes and squinted. “Who’s hiding behind that tree…?”
That prompt was all the mother hen needed. She whipped herself upright, back as straight as the branches Turamtammi used as a shield, and she bellowed deep from her stomach. “Who’s there?!”
“The one, the only…” Her usual chirpy introduction, downturned to a sad little squeak of a deflated bird, made the mother hen lower her defenses and tilt her head in confusion. Turamtammi emerged with one hand raised in defeat, the other firmly locked behind her back. “It’s Turamtammi…!”
“Wh-” Though her mask concealed her face, Eva’s disgruntled tone gave away the piercing glare that awaited this idol. She did not buy into fanservice—not even a blown kiss—and would protest with noise complaints aplenty. Her heart preferred the songs of the birds and how it whistled through the leaves in her gardens. As an idol, Turamtammi could only respect that to a degree, and she wondered how long until her hypnosis techniques would turn to friendly fire. For now, she had an annoyed young woman whose middle-aged-ness was only a vibe, not a legitimate year of birth. “What on Futuran are you doing here? This isn’t your post-”
“Ta-da…?” From her back emerged the root of her plan. Well, root carried some irony to it… she wasn’t exactly the most literate, given how the Children of the Stars loved to attack places of education. V’ehxness claimed it was to prevent the next generations of Futurans from knowing their own history—not that she sought to teach it herself. If someone even mentioned religion around her, she would reach for her blade and tremble, her nerves struck like a guitar’s strings. Anyway! The ‘root’ of her plan had cut stems, wilted petals dipped in melancholic tones, and a sad little ribbon around them. “I… wanted to bring you some homegrown flowers, from one morale booster to another, but I don’t know anything about growing them… and then I accidentally interrupted a nice little mother-daughter moment, so…”
“Oh.” Eva stepped forward. Her tender hands cradled the drooping heads of these flowers, and she laid them close to their heart. “They’re beautiful…”
“They’re really not, they’re kinda ugly-”
“I don’t care that they’re wilted, Turamtammi,” Eva laid her hand on her fellow Commander’s heart, inciting many skipped beats with it. A small squeak danced from her agape mouth like a flat note. “What matters is that they come from here. The heart. I’ll cherish these for as long as I can.” For all that Eva lacked, the sincerity in her gentle tone never let her down - Turamtammi knew, truly, that Eva would keep those flowers until she physically could not.
For weeks after that, they sat next to Kamyuhn’s bed. Her growing child with fully grown flowers; every night, her stare would linger, and she’d lay at least one more kiss on her baby’s forehead for good luck.
It was not everyday that the Commanders welcomed a young child into their ranks. Let alone two. Though V’ehxness did not gain a personality transplant—somehow, Addamaque was the only one to be surprised by that—the others all did their best to dote on the little ones where they could.
Turamtammi would dance and sing her own rendition of lullabies, with Nyewgank on side if she messed up or the baby cried.
Pakron would play ‘roughly’, by tossing him up in the air and waiting for him to giggle so hard he nearly threw up. Addamaque tried once. After the baby’s head nearly hit the ceiling, he wasn’t exactly allowed to try again, much to his chagrin.
Quenzelle attempted a party trick where the eggs revealed ‘toys’, but once another Commander realised these toys were still the minions, he too found himself forbidden from his unique playtime.
Parmith would ‘brainwash’ those around them and pretend to vanquish them, showing the baby how to be a strong warrior.
Zen’ta would replicate the baby and make him laugh by perfectly mirroring his little faces and giggles. She slipped up, only once, and accidentally let go of her transformation, but Nyewgank had been near the scene and evaded any further trauma for the poor little one.
Szanshin and Valla-Garzo, as the more recent parents (for Muvrum’s father could only be contacted through one’s dreams), focused purely on raising their boy in the proper way.
Eva had watched the two boys grow, one much lonelier than the other, and envied how everyone but her had known what to do. When Kamyuhn got thrust upon her—fate and its cruel plans for her future, even as a teenager, made her faith in God dwindle back then—she lacked any of that knowledge. She couldn’t even play games with her. The two shouted and screamed, their voices in a competition to be louder than the other, and yet no words seemed to be emerging from the noise they caused. They just bickered to bicker. They just fought to fight. And… they just hated to hate, which was the one thing Eva had always promised herself she would never do, for it made her and her older sister too alike for her heart to handle.
Now, however, she had a grasp on it. Part of her wondered if Kamyuhn resented her for all those years of learning, but whenever she reached for Eva during the evenings and awkwardly wrapped her arms around her stomach, she realised she hadn’t messed up too badly. Her baby sought her out for comfort and love alike, and so, she would let it bloom from every crevice of her bones once she inevitably passed away in this war.
So, when Szanshin asked Eva what she wished to offer to her little boy, she had an answer ready. “I’ve made him a flower crown.” She plucked it off of the nearest table, positioned next to the boy’s makeshift cot of tattered fabrics with concealed blood stains, and lowered it on his small curls. The fat of his cheeks stretched as he offered her a gummy smile. Where he’d just learnt how to kick his legs, he almost gestured for Eva to play with his chunky little legs, and she squidged all of him but his stomach. “I thought… it would be a nice little relic for him. Something born of other children’s hands and care, because they all love to help me make crowns like this, and, well-”
“It’s beautiful,” Szanshin stroked her son’s rosy cheeks. “He looks absolutely beautiful. Thank you, Eva… you always know just how to bring out the best in people.”
She scratched her neck slightly and mumbled, “That’s very kind of you…”
“I mean it!” Reaching for a fellow mother’s hands, Szanshin tightened her grip around Eva’s trembling heart. “I’m almost envious of how loving you can be… when I fell pregnant, I feared I would be a terrible mother, but I feel like simply existing with you has taught me so much… so let’s help each other out, mother-to-mother, okay?” Dew stung at the crevices of Eva’s eyes. Not her skull, not her bones - no, her heart was still beating, and yet flowers tried to creep out of her skin regardless. For it was as Szanshin said, and as her conscience forever denied: she offered people love, like the world was her personal garden, and even she needed some of that love to get by.
Still, she couldn’t admit that it made her heart warm; that would make her too soft, and too vulnerable, and her sister would berate her again. “Of course… mother-to-mother, right?”
How many holes in one’s hands would be a sign to stop? According to Eva, however many she’d accumulated weren’t enough. Sewing needles danced around her fingers as she threaded different hues of wool together. Futuran did not celebrate any holidays since the Children of the Stars arrived, but one fateful evening, Kamyuhn had innocently asked about one of them. Technically, Eva believed it was more of a Children of the Stars’ holiday than one of their own, but their heritages blurred as they invaded more and more of Futuran soil.
A mother’s motivation did not care for these details.
What she did care for, however, was how accurate the pattern on this sweater could be. She’d done some reading. The ugliness was the point. She stared down at the spirals of wool and sighed. “Why does it look half decent…?”
“Why are you talking to yourself, little Eva?” From the hallway, Zen’ta peeked her head through the door, making Eva pierce her hands with the needle. A bite of the mouth and a stifled scream from the tongue saved the rest of the Commanders from coming and running. As far as shapeshifters went, Zen’ta had a need to be nosy, but it didn’t stop her from pushing her luck.
For a moment, Eva had the urge to channel her sister’s rage, and to bid this nosy Commander farewell; unfortunately, the threads in her hands gave too much away. “I’m… making my Kamyuhn a little gift…”
“Always doing anything but training, aren’t you?” With a smug shrug, Zen’ta strode forward and grabbed Eva’s first prototype. Her trembling, bloodied hands had focused on the larger of the two first, hoping that any aches would come and go by the time she got to the second attempt. A rookie’s mistake, truly—if her wrist throbbed any further, she feared it would grow legs and run away. “Say, can I try something?” To that, Eva tilted her head and furrowed her brow. Such a sentence from Zen’ta of all Commanders had unsavoury implications. A similarly morally bankrupt Commander would at least be overt about their intentions. Say Addamaque wanted to do something; he would tear through all buildings with bloodied blades and call everyone bitches, whores, sluts and pigs as he did so, with zero regard for if he struck Pakron or another faceless commander with those words. Even after all these years, he still awoke a deep, rumbling rage from a Commander otherwise drenched in kind falsities… She could only pray he didn’t make the mistake of calling her a bitch next time.
Those falsities came in handy. She nodded and replied, “You may…?”
Within seconds, the guise of Zen’ta melted, and in her place arose a familiar face. A small stature complemented by big, bright eyes and little tufts to her reddish hair looked straight ahead at Eva. Particular strands tickled her button nose, and with it, welcomed two orange marks along cheeks still hugged by baby fat that Eva often squished. Around her neck bloomed her teal collar, which danced down her petit build and concealed most of her maiden’s robe. Down to the tips of her toes, adorned with little dark boots like many of God’s Chosen Ones, Zen’ta had replicated Kamyuhn perfectly.
Her first course of action was to reach for the baggy sweater and to drape it over her small stature. Tears stabbed at Eva’s eyes as she mumbled, “My… darling…?”
“Ta-da! A test run of how it would look!” She spun around, allowing for the baggy fabric to flow like a fluffy skirt, and she giggled. “‘Merry Christmas’ is what those Children of the Stars say, right?”
Eva couldn’t reply. Tears wrapped around her throat and choked her, and her trembling hands let go of the needle in her hands. It chimed against the floor - one small noise that broke the dam of her heart. Wails rippled out of her, and the confused ‘Kamyuhn’ gasped at the sight, before rushing forward and embracing her mother. Her little hands tickled Eva’s shaking body.
Then, as their warmth became one, as did a memory in a mind washed clean.
“Nigou…? Nigou!” Takumi sprinted to the War Room, his eyes wider than the Artificial Satellite above their heads. “Please help me…!”
Small little squidges danced across the floor as Nigou answered his plea. “I’m here…! Whatever is the matter, Sumino?”
“I… I gave Eva a gift from the Gift-o-Matic, and it broke her… she won’t stop crying in her cage…!” Dread had wound its hands around his weak heart. For all his attempts to make friends with the brainwashed Commander—he had to prove that she wasn’t a threat—it seemed he had awoken fragments of her true self. Today just so happened to be the final piece of the puzzle.
“What did you give her?!”
He tilted his head and rested his hand on his chin. “Um… a potted plant, dried flowers, an ornamental flower crown and an ugly Christmas sweater… but, like, I was only trying to be helpful because she’s the Paragon of Natu-”
“Oh no!” Nigou squealed. “That’s not good at all!” The little pitter-patter of feet, still as squidgy as when he arrived, scrambled for the War Room door. Takumi could only watch and wonder.
After all, he had only done what was necessary with their tool, right?