Darkness, then panic hit before thought. His chest convulsed as instinct surged through him, and he tried to breathe, but something thick flooded his throat instead. Liquid burned as it forced its way in, not air, not what his body suddenly needs. His lungs spasmed, choking and rejecting, but there was nowhere for it to go. No escape, only pressure, only the crushing walls forcing him forward.
He tried again, but there was only more liquid, more suffocation. His body reacted with desperate panic even as his control was almost nonexistent. The world squeezed tighter around him, compressing his chest, shifting the liquid inside him upward, and making the choking worse. Pain shot through his skull as his head was forced through pressure from all sides, as if it might be splitting apart.
A flicker of something else cut through the chaos. A memory. Air. He remembered breathing, a life where lungs worked without effort. The realization landed hard, but the body he is in now cannot follow that old memory. Everything about this moment feels wrong, and every instinct screams that he is not meant to be here like this.
Then voices reach him from outside, "Breathe… deep breaths…" one of them says, steady and urging. Another voice followed, sharper with urgency. "Push now, madame… come on, you can do it."
The rhythm around him shifted with those words. It is fast, strained, trembling with effort. The connection made the truth clear without needing to be told. His mother is struggling, and her body is being pushed to its limit.
Another strong contraction hit, tightening everything around him and forcing the liquid upward. His throat spasmed as some of it was expelled, but not enough. He chokes again, caught between pressure and resistance, while his awareness sharpens in a way that felt unnatural for a newborn body.
The voices outside grow more urgent. "Again… push… you're almost there." The pressure around him increases with each moment, forcing his head downward and compressing his body through a narrow path. It feels like he is being broken apart, squeezed from every side.
But then something shifts inside him. The rhythm he feels weakens, just slightly, and that change carries meaning. If he does nothing, if he remains here, her condition may worsen. The realization settles deep, anchoring him in a way nothing else can.
Another voice breaks through, louder now. "One more push… now!" The command rings through the pressure, final and urgent.
He stops resisting. The next contraction comes, and he yields to it completely. The force takes him, pushing him forward as his body is compressed and driven through the tight passage. Liquid is forced from his chest as he is pushed toward the end of the path.
Then everything changed. Cold air rushed in. Light floods his senses. The crushing pressure vanishes as his head breaks free, followed by the rest of his body in a sudden release.
Air meets him, but it is harsh. It burns as it fills lungs that have never known it before. His body reacts violently, struggling to adjust to the sudden change. A cough bursts out of him, forcing out the remaining liquid as he gasps.
More voices rise around him now, clearer and closer. "He's out." Another voice follows, relieved. "He's breathing." The tension in their tone shifts into relief, the urgency easing into reassurance.
Hands lift him, turning him carefully. More liquid leaves his body as he chokes and gasps, and then air finally fills his lungs properly. It expands them, painful but necessary, pulling him fully into this new world.
A cry follows, raw and uncontrollable, filling the space around him. It is the first sound his body can truly produce, the first proof that he is alive and continuing to live.
The voices continue softly around him. "Good… he's okay now." "He's strong." Their words are no longer urgent, only calm and relieved.
His small body trembles as he draws another breath, and this time it comes easier. The rhythm inside him steadies, fragile but present. He breathes again, no longer fighting, no longer choking, simply existing in this new, overwhelming world.
And for the first time, he knows without doubt that he has survived.
***
Hila Vivienne de Valenbourg, November 10, 1990, France.
Hila Vivienne de Valenbourg cried quietly as she held her son, her grip just a little tighter than it needed to be.
"If only your father were alive…" she whispered. She pressed a soft kiss to his brow. This seemed to wake him up.
His eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, then settled on her. But his eyes… She could lose herself in them forever.
His eyes were a piercing, luminous blue, like light trapped in a sapphire, clear, deep, and unsettlingly aware.
{A/N: Gojo's Six Eyes from JJK. Just the Looks, not the Ability}
"…hey," she murmured, her voice as gentle as she could manage. She ran her finger along his cheek, but he did not do anything; he just looked at her curiously.
"Hm," she tilted her head slightly. "What should we name you?"
She looked into his curious eyes again.
Her son shifted in her arms, tilting his head as well.
She let out a small, breathy laugh. "Hehe… so cute." She gently pinched his cheek. The joy he brought her was unlike anything else. The closest she had felt it was when her late husband first proposed to her. Her expression softened. Then, suddenly, "Arin?" She tested the name, watching his reaction closely.
He gave a bright, toothless smile. Hila's composure broke. She pulled him close, pressing her face to his cheek in a sudden, tight embrace. "My joy…" she murmured, her voice soft, almost fragile.
"Arin Valmiki Étienne de Valenbourg," she said, looking down at him, her voice steady now. "My joy… and my strength."
She cradled him close, holding him against her chest, her hand resting gently at the back of his head. "I'll spoil you rotten, my son," she said softly.
When her husband died, she felt alone in a way her massive wealth could not fix. It was there, her money and her name, but it meant nothing without him. Then she found out she was pregnant. And that changed something. It was not dramatic. Like, suddenly there was something worth holding onto again.
After that, her decision was simple.
She would keep her child safe. And she would make sure he had a good life, no matter what it took.
"Looks like someone's sleepy," she murmured. She watched his eyes slowly grow heavy, lids fluttering shut. She leaned down and pressed one last kiss to his brow. "Go to sleep, Arin. Mama will be here when you wake up."
Her voice softened as she began to hum, low and steady, the same tune her mother once hummed to her as a child. She rocked him gently in her arms until his breathing evened out, and he slipped into sleep.
She carefully placed him in the crib beside her bed, her hand resting on the edge of it as she gave it a gentle, steady rock.
Her eyes stayed on him for a while, watching his small chest rise and fall. Only when his breathing evened out did her own begin to slow. Still keeping her hand on the crib, she let her eyes close and drifted off to sleep.
***
Five Years Later
"Hm. I thought you'd be German because of your name." Hila studied the girl standing before her. "Cersei Strauss. Age: fifteen." Her tone was measured, unimpressed. "When I asked my agent for a caretaker, I didn't expect her to send me a child." A pause. "You understand why you're here, don't you?"
"Yes, madame." Cersei's British accent was soft, controlled, far too composed for her age. "I am here to attend to Master Arin in your absence." She met Hila's gaze without hesitation. "I may be young, but I was the eldest in my orphanage. I've cared for children before." A slight pause. "I also received formal etiquette training before my arrival."
"I see." Hila's gaze lingered on her. "Do you truly believe you can spend the rest of your life taking care of someone else?" She tilted her head slightly. "Are you prepared to give up a future of your own? A family… a career?"
Cersei didn't answer immediately. "I came here fully aware of what this position demands, madame." Her voice remained calm. "I do not consider it a sacrifice." That caught Hila's attention. "For someone like me…" Cersei continued, measured, deliberate, "This is an opportunity."
"I watched my father kill my mother. When it was over, I understood something." Her gaze didn't waver. "Some lives are not meant for… ordinary things." Another beat. "This is the best path available to me."
Hila paused. For a moment, she found herself at a loss, an unfamiliar feeling. The girl standing before her was composed… more so than she expected. More, perhaps, than she was willing to admit. So Hila did the only thing that she could.
"You're hired."
"Thank you."
Cersei bowed, her movements precise and elegant.
"I will dedicate myself to Master Arin's care." Hila gave a small nod, a hint of approval in her eyes. "Come." She turned, gesturing for Cersei to follow. "It's time you met him." A faint softness touched her voice. "He is… my treasure." A brief pause. "He brought me joy when no one else could."
She glanced back at the girl. "I hope he becomes a source of joy for you as well."
"If he accepts me and lets me close, that's enough for me," Cersei said.
Hila turned to her with a soft smile.
There was a natural elegance to Hila, Cersei realized, pale, flawless skin, dark hair falling in smooth waves, and sharp, sculpted features that held attention without effort. Her gaze was steady, almost unreadable, and there was something in the way she carried herself… calm, poised, completely in control.
Cersei found herself pausing, her eyes lingering longer than she intended.
"You're in for a surprise."