Morning in Egghead was never truly morning—light here ca from everywhere and nowhere at once.The do above glowed with artificial sunlight, filtered through prisms that scattered soft rainbows across sterile floors.To Shinobu, it looked like heaven trying to imitate Earth.
Her children called it The Sky That Hums.
And today, the sky humd rrily.
"Mother! Hikari took my ribbon again!"
"I didn’t! It fell off and I found it first!"
"Stop fighting," Shinobu sighed, though her voice couldn’t quite hide her laughter. She knelt to retrieve the torn ribbon from the floor—pale lilac, half-drenched in nutrient gel.
Fifteen pairs of wings fluttered and rustled behind her. The children had discovered both pride and mischief in equal asure.
They were a riot of light: feathers in gradients of gold, violet, crimson, and silver. When they laughed, the air shimred faintly—their Lunarian fla organs flickering at random, making the whole room glow like a lantern festival.
"Line up for breakfast," she called, though she knew it was futile.
"Breakfast!" shouted Arashi, the tallest of them—a boy whose fla burned white-hot even when he wasn’t angry. "Does Auntie Pudding make the cream pancakes again?"
Pudding, who stood at the counter in her frilly apron, twirled a whisk with exaggerated pride. "Of course I do! And no one’s allowed to steal the whipped cream this ti."
Five small heads turned guilty at once.
"Hmm," she mused, smiling wickedly. "Especially you, Kumo."
The silver-haired boy pouted. "But it tastes like clouds..."
"Exactly why you’re not allowed near it," Pudding said, flicking his forehead with affectionate precision.
Shinobu leaned on the counter, watching the dostic chaos unfold.It felt impossible that this sa sterile lab had once been filled with the cold hum of incubators and deathly silence. Now there was only laughter, argunts, and the rhythmic patter of small bare feet.
For the first ti in her life, she understood what peace might sound like.
They all had nas now—nas chosen not from lineage or power, but feeling.
Arashi, eldest, proud and loud, the first to challenge and the first to protect.
Hikari, his twin sister, curious and radiant, always asking why.
Kumo, dreamy, quiet, often found staring at holograms like clouds.
Rai, restless, impatient, forever trying to "fly before lunch."
Kanna, violet feathers, mother’s shadow, gentle and observant.
Enyo, red-streaked wings, fiercely intelligent, too serious for her age.
Toki, the smallest boy, who loved to nap on Shinobu’s lap mid-conversation.
Mira, golden-haired, self-appointed leader of "The Cake Patrol."
Seika, who adored tinkering with broken robots.
Noa, thoughtful, who asked questions about "the world outside the do."
Rui, who had a talent for mimicking Pudding’s expressions exactly.
Kai, who could whistle entire songs using his Lunarian flas.
Yori, the quietest, always sketching pictures on holographic slates.
Ren, who loved hugs more than food.
Amaya, the violet-feathered youngest girl who had first called her "Mother."
Fifteen nas, fifteen souls—each an echo of sothing King and Shinobu had unknowingly created from their hearts as much as their blood.
After breakfast ca exploration ti—though it felt more like supervised chaos.
The children adored Egghead’s living technology: the floating pods, the shimring glass corridors, the robots that moved with gentle precision.
Edison’s robot clones—small, cylindrical, endlessly patient—followed them everywhere to record their growth.
"Warning," one droned as Arashi tried to climb its shoulders. "You are exceeding the safe weight limit."
"I’m not heavy, I’m strong!" Arashi protested.
From a corner, Atlas’s booming laughter echoed through the do. "That’s the spirit, kid! But if you break that bot, I’m not fixing it again!"
Rai was already sprinting down the hallway, his wings half-open, wind stirring paper and steam. "Mother, watch! I can glide!"
Shinobu winced as he leapt—then her breath caught. For a mont, he did glide, wings catching the air like sails before tumbling gently onto a padded platform.
Applause erupted from his siblings. Even Vegapunk himself, hovering nearby in one of his drone bodies, made a note."Early muscle-to-fla coordination: 15% improvent. Remarkable adaptation."
Pudding, carrying a tray of pastries, muttered, "They’re not numbers, Doctor. They’re children."
"Numbers are part of all life," he replied without malice. "But yes... perhaps these ones are sothing more."
______________________________________________________________
Robots, Learning, and Play
Lilith introduced them to the robots next—a tallic parade of wonder.
Each Vegapunk body tried to "teach" differently.
Lilith wanted to show them how to dismantle machines—three children nearly took apart her floating pod in return.
Edison taught them equations and was shocked when Kanna solved one faster than his hologram rendered it.
Atlas wrestled with them until Shinobu scolded her for encouraging destruction.
Shaka, calm and composed, read them stories from the Void Century archives (he censored the violent parts).
Pythagoras guided them in drawing geotric art on the holographic floor.
York mainly fed them snacks and then complained about her diet being ruined.
"Mother," Mira whispered once as they walked down a corridor where holographic fish swam through light. "Why are there so many Vegapunks?"
Shinobu smiled. "Because one wasn’t enough for his dreams."
Pudding added softly, "And sotis, when your dreams are too big, you must divide yourself to carry them all."
Mira blinked. "That sounds lonely."
Even Vegapunk paused at that, his drone hovering midair. "Perhaps it is," he murmured.
Afternoons for the past 3 days were Shinobu’s favorite. After lessons, they gathered in the observation garden—a pocket of simulated grass and holographic sky.The air slled faintly of ozone and peaches.
Kumo lay on his back, tracing the faint hexagonal panels above with his fingers. "Mother, do you think real clouds are softer than these?"
Shinobu smiled. "Yes. Softer. Colder too."
"Have you touched them?"
"Yes only recently, your father let touch them. When I was your age, I dread of touching one," she said. "But you—you will touch the real ones one day. You’ll fly in the open sky."
Kumo’s small hand found hers. "Then we’ll take you with us."
Her heart cracked open in quiet joy.
That evening, Pudding organized a celebration—"First Week Alive Day," she called it. The lab’s main floor transford into a banquet hall of sweets.Cream fountains bubbled. chanical arms carried plates of fruit. The children wore new white tunics that shimred faintly under their flas.
Kai played music using his own fire, shaping it into whistles that mimicked wind flutes. Yori projected glowing sketches of their family onto the walls—Shinobu and Pudding smiling amid wings of light.
Even Vegapunk attended in person, his main body looming awkwardly at the doorway. When Mira dragged him in to dance, he tripped over York’s tail of fabric, sending everyone into laughter.
For one perfect evening, there was no science, no destiny, no fear—only joy.
______________________
Later that night, when the children slept in their glass-chamber nursery, Shinobu and Pudding stood together on the observation deck.
Pudding’s reflection shimred faintly in the do light. "They’re perfect, aren’t they?"
Shinobu’s smile trembled. "Too perfect. It scares sotis."
"Why?"
"Because perfection never lasts."
Pudding reached out, squeezing her hand. "Then we’ll make it last. Even if it’s just for them."
Below them, the fifteen children slept curled together, their wings faintly alight, pulsing softly with fla. Like a constellation given form.
Vegapunk’s distant hum echoed from his lab: "Subject group designated as Xi-Class Generation One. Emotional synchronization at 98%."
Shinobu ignored the numbers this ti. She whispered into the do-lit quiet:
"My stars... my miracles... my family."
And for once, Egghead’s cold machines seed to warm in response.
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