Chapter 1 – Whispers in the Womb of Sleep
The world had not yet begun for her—not entirely. It stirred around her, muffled and warm, like sunlight filtered through mist. In that realm between life and dream, she floated.
She was not Luna yet.
Nor was she entirely someone else.
But there were pieces—memories that weren't hers. Fragments. A flash of white steel in a smoky battlefield. A hand clutching a dying father's coat. The weight of silence in a cold, concrete room. She didn't understand these things, not now—not fully. But they clung to her spirit like thorns on silk.
A woman's voice—gentle and humming—tethered her to the present.
"…she kicked again, Xenophilius," the voice said with laughter, musical and bright.
"I believe she's dreaming," a man replied, curious and distant. "Perhaps of Snorkacks."
Laughter again. And the sense of floating returned. The rhythm of a heartbeat surrounded her. Her heartbeat? No… someone else's.
The dreamscape began to twist, the floating turning to falling. The air tasted like frost. The light dimmed.
Then—darkness cracked open.
A bright spark surged through her spine, and her tiny body jerked in the womb. It wasn't magic. Not yet. It was something else. Something fractured.
❖ SYSTEM CORE INITIALIZING...
ERROR: DIMENSIONAL DAMAGE DETECTED
CORE STABILITY AT 11%
FUNCTIONS: ANALYSIS – LOCKED | STATUS – LOCKED | DREAMWALKER – STANDBY MODE
Then silence again.
She was born two weeks later on a stormy winter night in Devon. Pandora Lovegood held her like she'd found the entire universe in a bundle of soft skin and star-kissed hair.
"She looks... dreamy," Pandora whispered, staring into Luna's pale, wide eyes. "Like she sees something we don't."
"She probably does," Xenophilius muttered, already digging through an old box of enchanted baby socks with constellations on them. "Maybe she sees beyond."
Luna's early years were quiet. Beautiful, but quiet.
She rarely cried.
She barely babbled.
She listened.
Her eyes—those ghostly blue eyes—would often stare into corners where nothing stood. Her father called it "fairy sight." Her mother called it "blessed strangeness." The neighbors called it eerie.
She would often dream—always vividly. Her parents would watch her shift in sleep, murmuring strange words like "tangos" or "grid check," nonsense to most.
But in her dreams, she remembered things—a cityscape lit with fire, soldiers falling, books filled with science and magic mixed. Her body was young, but her soul felt… trained.
And beneath it all, in that inner world where time stood still—
❖ SYSTEM RECOVERY IN PROGRESS
DREAM-ACCESS MODULE: PARTIALLY ACTIVE
USER IDENTITY: LUNA LOVEGOOD (Primary)
UNKNOWN ENGRAM SIGNATURE DETECTED... ERROR: CONFLICTING IDENTITY
She awoke crying that night. Not because of pain. But because she saw her death again.
By age two, her awareness sharpened unnaturally fast.
She understood her name, the colors of the wind, the patterns in her mother's potion recipes. She couldn't explain them, but they made sense. Instinct guided her—reflexes far too smooth for a toddler. When her mother nearly dropped a glass vial once, Luna caught it before it shattered.
"She's gifted," Pandora whispered that night.
"She's remembering," said the voice inside her that didn't belong.
The dreams shifted after that. They became less fragmented—more visceral.
In one dream, she stood on a battlefield, broken buildings and shattered stars overhead. A red and gold suit soared past her. A green-cloaked man was ripping time open like paper. A large man with a shield yelled something she didn't catch—something urgent.
She turned.
There, a mirror.
A girl stared back at her. Short hair. Dark eyes. A black bodysuit. Scar on her cheek.
Luna woke up panting.
Her tiny hand clutched the edge of her sheets as if preparing for combat.
Her mother held her close, rocking her slowly. "It's alright, Moonbeam. Just a bad dream."
But Luna knew better.
The dreams were not just dreams.
By the time she was three, the system spoke again, clearer this time.
❖ DREAMWALKER MODE ACTIVE
ACCESS: ONEIRIC REALMS – LIMITED
WARNING: SYSTEM FRAGMENTED – DATA MEMORY LOCKED
RECOVERY ESTIMATE: UNKNOWN
FUNCTIONALITY: DREAM-TRAVEL, SENSORY BONDING, TEMPORAL VIBRATIONS DETECTED
She could now walk in dreams—drift into other worlds, not just visions of her own past. Sometimes she slipped into her parents' dreams: her father's endless libraries, her mother's garden of fireflies. Sometimes… strangers. Warriors. Scientists. Gods.
But she told no one.
Some instincts from her other life whispered to be silent. To survive.
When Luna was nearly four, something inside her snapped again.
It was a summer evening. Pandora was singing in the greenhouse. Luna was playing with enchanted bubbles that formed constellation shapes.
A loud CRACK echoed near the woods behind their home—an animal trap sprung too close.
The fear in her body hit so fast, so sharp, that her chest ached. The pressure inside her exploded outward.
The world bent. The grass twisted. The wind screamed.
Every glass in the greenhouse shattered.
Pandora came running. She found Luna curled up beneath the moonflowers, eyes wide with shimmering silver light.
"Sweetheart?" Pandora whispered, frightened.
But Luna's mind was drifting again.
This time, she saw a timeline—three timelines—running beside her own. In one, her mother died next year. In another, she didn't. In the last, Luna was never born.
She blinked.
The world was whole again.
That night, as Luna lay between her parents, wide awake and too young to explain, she whispered:
"Mummy, don't go near the red crystal next year. Please."
Pandora stilled.
Her hand reached down to stroke Luna's curls.
"Why, my moonflower?"
"Because I saw you disappear."
Pandora didn't ask questions.
She simply kissed her child's forehead and whispered, "Then I won't."