Diana: "momma?"

As Freya walked through the ruined hallways of the old facility, the only sounds echoing through the air were her quiet, steady breaths—and the soft clack of her heels against the cracked floor. In her arms, she cradled the small and delicate Diana, the girl's head resting peacefully against her shoulder.

Minutes passed. It had been about fifteen minutes since Freya left the lab on the 12th floor, and her thoughts churned quietly behind her otherwise blank expression.

She had some theories.

Diana clearly hadn't been conceived through natural means. That much was obvious. Freya had skimmed through some of the old terminal files before leaving—and one name had stood out with an almost venomous glow: Mobius.

That damned serpent.

The same woman who had, time and time again, insisted on locking Freya to an operating table to dissect her "for science." Whether or not Mobius was still alive was another question entirely. Given the high residual Honkai energy on the moon, Freya wouldn't be surprised if Mobius had somehow survived. Theoretically, the woman was persistent enough—and mad enough—to cling to life like a parasite to achieve her goals of Evolution.

Still, Freya had to admit: if Mobius was alive, Freya might finally get the opportunity to tie the woman up and lock her in a room with Elysia for several days. That alone could qualify as a war crime, depending on who was judging. With any luck, Mobius would go completely insane from the pink menace's antics.

From what Freya could gather, Diana had been created through a fusion of both her and Elysia's genetic material. Getting DNA from Elysia? Child's play. But getting samples from Freya—that required a little more trickery. No doubt Elysia had been the one to sneak those samples out. It made sense; Freya had more contact with the pink gremlin than with the two-faced snake.

The result?

Diana.

A child with immense potential. In some ways, the perfect human. The only drawback was her physical development—it would be slower than normal, likely due to Freya's unique biology. After all, Freya's own body had stopped aging back in her mid-twenties. Diana would likely gain her longevity though she probably wouldn't gain the immortality Freya had.

Eventually, Freya arrived back at what passed for her home. The door gave a soft mechanical hiss as it opened, revealing the familiar mess within. Thanks, of course, to Elysia's antics. There was only one bed, not that Freya minded much. Boundaries had never been an issue for her—until recently.

These emotions, this humanity—they were new again. She'd lost them a long time ago, far before her descent into this world. But now… they were back. Unfamiliar. Unwanted, perhaps. But somewhat pleasant.

Her thoughts swirled in silent chaos as she gently laid Diana down on the bed, tucking the girl beneath the covers with practiced care. Freya sat at the edge of the mattress, her hand lightly holding Diana's. Her gaze lingered on her daughter's face—peaceful, serene, utterly innocent. The girl's soft breathing filled the quiet room.

Freya had accepted the truth, whether she wanted to or not.

She was a mother now.

And strangely… it wasn't awful. Having emotions again—it wasn't the curse she had once thought it to be.

Her mind drifted again.

That pink elf.

The cause of all this.

So cunning. So obnoxious. So deceptively round. Honestly, for someone who devoured pastries like they were oxygen, Elysia had claimed she "never gained a single pound." Lies. Bold, sparkly lies.

Still… where was she?

Freya hadn't seen Elysia since leaving the lab. Maybe she'd gone dormant again within the Herrscher Core of Origin. Or maybe—maybe—she just left.

If she had left, then she definitely owed Freya child support.

As the silence of the room deepened, Freya gently rubbed her thumb across the palm of Diana's small hand. The child's breathing stayed slow and even, lost in innocent dreams.

Freya sighed.

She'd assumed it would be easy. Taking care of a child—how hard could it be?

…

Right?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Several days passed.

Nothing too important had happened. No disasters. No pink elf.

Elysia had seemingly vanished. Likely gone dormant again within the Herrscher Core of Origin. Or maybe she'd simply gone to get the milk…

And hadn't come back.

Freya, meanwhile, hadn't gotten the best sleep.

When Diana eventually awoke, she'd bombarded Freya with endless questions—questions which had done little to help with the already persistent headache she was carrying. Eventually, though, things began to settle into a quiet, fragile rhythm over the last few day's.

"Momma?"

A soft, innocent voice pulled Freya from her thoughts. She sat on a worn stool near the kitchen counter, her gaze shifting downward. There, standing with small feet planted firmly on the cold floor, was Diana. The girl's petite face, framed by cotton-pink and snowy-white locks, stared up at her. But it was her eyes—those bright blue eyes, brimming with curiosity—that struck Freya the hardest.

Her stern, tired gaze softened.

Without a word, Freya scooped the girl up gently by the arms and pulled her onto her lap, holding her close.

"Um... yes, dear?"

Her fingers idly moved through Diana's soft hair, brushing it out of her face with quiet care. Diana giggled—a light, airy sound so pure it sliced clean through Freya's defence's. This child… her child… she truly couldn't say no to her.

Diana's small hands played with a loose strand of Freya's hair, before she looked up again with that same innocent smile.

"Can Momma tell me a story?"

The request came with a tilt of the head and a hopeful gleam in her eyes. Freya's lips twitched—not quite a smile, not quite a sigh. The overwhelming desire to pinch those round cheeks, to lean in and hold this strange little miracle close, made her chest tighten. Whether it was the mixing of her own fragmented emotions, or some latent maternal instinct finally blooming, she couldn't tell.

But she knew one thing: this girl had power over her. Not the kind wielded by gods or Herrscher's—but something softer. Deeper. Unknown to her...

"Hm. Very well," Freya said at last, voice tired but steady. "What kind of story do you want me to tell you this time?"

Her voice carried a thread of exhaustion—half-lidded eyes, dark curtains beneath them betraying her lack of rest. Yet despite it all, she held Diana close, arms firm, eyes soft.

"I want to know about that pink elf, Momma."

Diana's beady eyes sparkled with curiosity, her pleading tone melting the last frozen corners of Freya's heart. It was a sweetness too strong to resist—and yet, the mere mention of that pink gremlin made her entire body stiffen. Her arms tightened, just slightly, around her daughter in a silent reflex.

Her tired, half-lidded eyes fluttered closed for a moment. Then, with a sigh of reluctant surrender, she opened them again, meeting Diana's expectant gaze. Her fingers gently caressed the child's soft cheek.

"Very well," Freya murmured. "But listen closely—I won't be repeating this, okay?"

Diana nodded enthusiastically, her small frame pressed close against her mother's as she settled in, ready to listen.

"There was a story from a long time ago…"

Freya's voice took on a rhythm, soft and poetic—like someone reciting a half-forgotten legend. The cadence of it felt distant, yet intimate. Nostalgia clung to her every word.

"He fell from the sky that day. The people on the ground looked up... and thus saw the starry night sky."

Freya's tone shifted into a dreamy lull. Diana sat quietly, enraptured, absently twirling a few strands of her mother's long hair between her fingers.

"The moon and the stars sent God's first daughter, and she was willing to become humankind's companion."

Freya paused, watching Diana's eyes widen in fascination.

"The winds morphed into her chariot. The seas became her garden. Birds carried seeds across the earth, and flowers bloomed wherever she walked—an anthem of love written into nature itself. She descended upon the world like that... journeying, growing, maturing—alongside the people she chose to love."

For a fleeting moment, Freya hesitated. A strange, prickling emotion stirred within her—something between envy and irritation. The sheer admiration in Diana's eyes for that damn elf—Freya shook the thought away with a small grimace, swallowing it.

"And now, when the end is near…"

Her voice grew softer, almost mournful.

"And now, it's time to return."

Her fingers slipped into Diana's cotton-soft locks, gently combing through the strands of pink and white. The child closed her eyes, calm and content.

"She said: Farewell, beautiful world. From now on, the stars will shine—for I have been here. From now on, the flowers will bloom—for I have never truly left.

Please—transform my arrow, my flower, and my love into a seed… and carry it to the wilting Earth. Let it blossom into an eternal and pure flower—of humanity."

Freya's voice caught for a second, quiet and reverent.

"Her name… was Elysia."

"El-Elysia?" Diana echoed. "Such a pretty name…"

Freya flinched. Just slightly. Something sharp twisted in her chest—not pain, exactly, but a tightness. Jealousy? Resentment? She wasn't sure. The boundary between her emotions and her thoughts blurred.

She hesitated, then continued.

"She was… the very first Herr—"

Her voice faltered. Silence fell between them. Freya closed her mouth tightly.

She couldn't say it. Couldn't tell Diana what she truly was—not yet. Not about the pink elf's true nature, her past, or what it meant to carry the title of being a daughter of a Herrscher. Not about that banquet. That farewell.

Not about that infuriating, ever-smiling, insufferably perfect woman.

Freya's jaw clenched as the memory surfaced—the clinking glasses, the laughter, the tears… and that smile. The same one that had genuinely influenced her since the present. Too soft, too kind, too impossible to erase.

She swallowed it back down, letting her fingers stroke her daughter's cheek in silence.

"Maybe… I'll tell you more later," she said quietly. "When you're older."

Diana's curious eyes finally drifted away, though the sparkle within them hadn't dimmed. She puffed out her cheeks in a playful pout, then lifted her tiny arms up toward her mother, silently asking for a hug.

Freya blinked, slightly startled—but not surprised. After a moment's hesitation, she gave in, her arms wrapping around her daughter like a protective cocoon. Diana wasted no time, nuzzling affectionately into her stomach.

A faint blush crept into Freya's cheeks, a small huff escaping her lips as she allowed herself to relax, just a little. The warmth, the weight of the child curled into her—it was grounding. Soothing, even. And utterly exhausting.

"This kid is going to kill me faster than any Honkai beast ever could…" she muttered to herself, voice barely a whisper. The fatigue in her body was less from battle and more from emotional whiplash. Being a parent—being responsible—was more taxing than anything she'd anticipated.

As Diana dozed contentedly against her, Freya's mind wandered.

She had been considering a few plans—long-term ones. As much as she hated to admit it, retirement might not be an option anymore. The world wasn't safe, and Diana… Diana would need to be prepared. Not just emotionally, but physically. She needed to know how to defend herself—how to survive. Freya wouldn't always be there to protect her.

Training her in combat was inevitable.

Still, there was more to life than fighting. Diana could speak fluently, but when it came to writing… well, the last time she'd picked up a pen, she'd accidentally snapped it in half with pure force, resulting in a minor explosion of ink and startled yelling from Freya. It was a mess. But a funny one—in hindsight.

The only upside in all this chaos was clear: Diana possessed a natural affinity for Honkai energy. Even at her young age, she instinctively used it to reinforce her physical strength—without any formal training. Freya had no doubt that, with proper guidance, Diana could become a force to be reckoned with. A true enemy of Honkai... or of humanity, depending on the path she chose.

The girl had potential. Real, terrifying potential.

But that matter could be settled later. After all, human civilization had only just begun to sprout. The year was somewhere in the tenth century, and Freya had yet to leave this ancient ruin she now called home. Sooner or later, she'd have to—bringing Diana with her, of course. Their journey would have to cut through vast regions of Asia before eventually reaching the coast near the Mariana Trench. A long trek, but a necessary one.

Setting aside those heavy thoughts, Freya entertained another far more petty idea.

A form of revenge.

A twisted smile ghosted her lips as she imagined it: building an artificial elf body—similar to that magical construct in the Elysian Realm—and then locking Elysia's consciousness inside it. She could toss it into the Mariana Trench. Or, better yet, hand it over to Diana as a "gift." After all, technically, her daughter only had one active parent at the moment...

The idea of Elysia squealing in protest while trapped in a doll-sized body brought Freya a brief, guilty joy.

Countless schemes and half-formed ideas ran through her mind—until she felt a faint pressure against her chest.

She glanced down.

Her arms were still wrapped around the small, slumbering form of Diana, who now clung to her like a vice. The child's grip was surprisingly strong for someone not even close to adulthood, and Freya found herself thoroughly stuck—entrapped in the most adorable prison imaginable.

With a tired, clumsy motion, Freya gently stroked her daughter's head. Diana's body, tense from whatever dreams she was having, slowly eased. She relaxed into Freya's arms with a soft sigh, like a kitten curling into warmth.

Freya let out a long, exhausted breath. This child… would be the end of her.

Another memory floated into her scrambled, sleep-deprived mind.

It was a few days ago—when Diana had first awoken and, by sheer misfortune, witnessed Freya seemingly speaking to thin air. In truth, Freya had been talking to Elysia. But the problem was… Elysia's consciousness could only manifest in Freya's mind. Diana couldn't see her. Not even a flicker.

And, like any honest child would, Diana came to the only conclusion she could:

"Momma, are you a schizo?"

Freya's heart had shattered in that moment.

The force of that single innocent question made her knees give out as if her soul had been forcibly yanked from her body. Only after several minutes of horror, a lengthy explanation, and a stern reprimanding did she finally manage to convince her daughter that no—Momma was not crazy.

At least… not in that way.

Freya cradled her daughter a little tighter now, her lips twitching into the barest smile. It was exhausting. It was confusing. But she was hers one of her own.

And she wasn't going to let her go unprepared.