Blood Moon's Birth

In the heart of the bandit camp, where the shadows danced in the flickering light of torches, a profound moment unfolded. Sparrow Branwen, known for her steely resolve and unwavering strength, lay upon a makeshift bed, her body contorted in the throes of childbirth. Beside her stood Hawk Branwen, the formidable leader of the bandits, his stoic countenance belying the turmoil within.

Though unable to express emotions in the conventional sense, there was a silent intensity in Hawk's demeanor as he observed his wife's ordeal. Every fiber of his being was attuned to Sparrow's needs, a silent guardian in the tumultuous storm of childbirth.

Sparrow, her face etched with pain yet radiant with determination, clung to Hawk's hand, finding solace in his silent presence. In the bandit camp where the strong thrived and the weak perished, Sparrow and Hawk embodied a bond forged in the crucible of adversity—a bond that transcended words, rooted in a mutual understanding of survival and strength.

As Sparrow's cries echoed through the camp, Hawk remained steadfast by her side, his silent vigil a testament to the unspoken bond between them. In that moment of vulnerability, amidst the chaos of childbirth, Sparrow and Hawk stood as pillars of resilience, united in their unwavering resolve to defy the odds and usher new life into their world.

Sparrow's brow furrowed with exertion as she pushed with all her might, her determination unwavering even in the face of agony.

As the moon cast its eerie glow upon the scene, a new life emerged into the world. Sparrow's cries of pain gave way As the tension in the room reached its peak, a cry pierced the stillness, signaling the arrival of new life. Hawk's stoic countenance softened ever so slightly as he gazed upon his daughter, cradled in Sparrow's arms.

"Raven," he spoke, his voice carrying a weight of determination and pride. "We shall name her Raven, for she is born of the night, a creature of intelligence and strength. Like the bird that soars high above, she shall embody the spirit of resilience and freedom in the face of adversity."

As the echoes of Raven's cry still lingered in the air, a sudden surge of pain tore through Sparrow's body, eliciting a guttural scream that pierced the tranquility of the bandit camp. Hawk's eyes widened in alarm as he realized that the birthing was far from over.

In a whirlwind of chaos and urgency, the midwife rushed to Sparrow's side, her hands moving with practiced precision as she assessed the situation. Hawk's stoic demeanor faltered momentarily, his brow furrowing with concern as he watched Sparrow's agonizing struggle.

And then, as if summoned by the tumultuous upheaval, another cry echoed through the room—a cry that was not Raven's. Hawk's gaze darted towards Sparrow, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

"It cannot be..." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

But his words were drowned out by Sparrow's anguished cries, as the realization dawned upon them both—the unexpected arrival of another child, a twin to Raven, whose existence had caught them completely off guard.

In that moment of chaos and revelation, the bandit camp was engulfed in a whirlwind of emotions, as the Branwen family grappled with the unexpected twist of fate that had brought two precious lives into their world. And as Sparrow's screams filled the air, signaling the birth of their second child, Hawk could only watch in awe and disbelief, his heart overflowing with a newfound sense of wonder and uncertainty.

Hawk's gaze shifted to the newborn child cradled in her arms—a second daughter, unexpected yet precious, born into the world alongside her twin sister, Raven.

Hawk approached the infant, her features delicate and her cry echoing through the room. In a voice filled with both reverence and uncertainty, he spoke the name that had come to him in a moment of revelation.

"Qrow," he declared, his voice carrying the weight of a decision made in the heat of the moment. "We shall name her Qrow, for she is born of the night, like her sister Raven. Together, they shall embody the spirit of resilience and cunning, soaring above the trials that await them."

In the aftermath of Qrow's tumultuous birth, another wave of agony gripped Sparrow Branwen with relentless force. The midwife's hands, still stained with the aftermath of the previous delivery, moved with renewed urgency as she rushed to attend to Sparrow's distress.

With each contraction, Sparrow's cries filled the air, a haunting symphony of pain and desperation that echoed through the night. The midwife, her brow furrowed with concern, exchanged a silent glance with Hawk Branwen, their unspoken understanding a testament to the gravity of the situation.

Realizing that time was of the essence, the midwife made a swift decision—one that would save both mother and child, but at a cost that Sparrow could scarcely comprehend. With a solemn nod from Hawk, the midwife prepared to perform an emergency C-section, her hands steady but her heart heavy with the weight of the task before her.

As Sparrow's cries grew more frantic, the midwife offered her a crude implement to bite down on, a makeshift solution in the absence of anesthesia. With a final, resolute breath, Sparrow braced herself for the inevitable, her body a battleground of pain and determination.

In a blur of motion, the midwife made the incision, her movements swift and precise as she worked to deliver the final member of the Branwen family. As Sparrow's cries of agony filled the night air, a profound shift occurred in the heavens above. The broken moon, a fractured symbol of both power and discord, cast its eerie glow upon the bandit camp, its pale light suddenly tinged with a crimson hue.Amidst the chaos of childbirth, the moon's transformation went unnoticed by all but a select few—a subtle yet significant omen.

-

As Sparrow's anguished cries echoed through the night, the broken moon cast a crimson hue upon the desolate landscape, its fractured surface a stark reminder of past conflicts and looming darkness. High atop her obsidian tower, Salem, stood cloaked in shadow, her tall and regal figure commanding attention even in the darkness.

Salem's presence was as imposing as the tower itself, her silhouette defined by the flickering light of nearby torches. Her long, flowing robes billowed around her, adorned with intricate patterns that seemed to writhe and twist like tendrils of shadow. Beneath the hood of her cloak, her features were obscured by darkness, save for the faint glint of her piercing eyes—eyes that held the secrets of centuries past and the ambitions of ages yet to come.

Her skin was pale as moonlight, a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounded her, and her hair fell in long, ebony waves that cascaded down her back like a waterfall of shadows. Every movement she made was deliberate and calculated, as if she were orchestrating a grand symphony of chaos and destruction.

Salem's presence exuded an aura of power and authority, commanding obedience from those who dared to serve her. Her voice, when she spoke, was smooth as silk yet laced with a subtle undercurrent of menace, carrying the weight of centuries of knowledge and manipulation.

As she stood atop her obsidian tower, surveying the landscape Salem's mind buzzed with plans and schemes, her ambitions reaching far beyond the broken moon that hung in the sky. She was a force to be reckoned with, a puppeteer pulling the strings of fate, and as the crimson light of the moon bathed her in its otherworldly glow, Salem's presence loomed large over the desolate landscape, a harbinger of darkness and despair.

As the crimson light bathed her surroundings, Salem's lips curled into a wicked smile, a sinister glint dancing in her eyes. With a predatory gaze, she turned her attention once more to the crimson sky, where a symbol began to take shape amidst the shifting shadows.

"There has been a change in the air," Salem murmured, her voice carrying across the desolate landscape as if carried by an unseen force. "A new player has joined our little game, Ozma."

Her words were laced with a venomous edge, a subtle mockery of the ancient being she addressed. "I hope this one will entertain me more than you," she continued, her tone dripping with disdain and anticipation.

As the symbol in the sky solidified, a silent testament to the unfolding phenomenon, Salem's presence loomed large over the desolate landscape, a harbinger of chaos and strife in the world of Remnant.

-

The symbol in the sky solidified, a silent testament to the unfolding change of the moon, a child of tender age awoke within the confines of a modest house, their gaze drawn inexorably towards the celestial spectacle unfolding outside their window. The crimson hue of the moon's transformation cast an eerie glow upon the sleeping city, bathing its streets in an otherworldly light.

Within the child's young mind, a sensation stirred—a faint echo of the turmoil felt by Salem, a figure of great importance stirred from slumber. Ozma, or Ozpin appeared as he once did during those tumultuous seasons, with tousled hair the color of chestnuts and eyes that shimmered with an ageless wisdom. Despite his youthful visage, there was a weight to his presence, a sense of responsibility that belied his tender years. As Ozma rose from his bed, the weight of centuries of memories pressed upon his mind.

He gazes into the broken red moon, its fractured surface casting an ominous glow upon the world below. Within its crimson depths, Ozma senses a stirring. As he stares into the fractured expanse, a sense of foreboding settles over him, mingling with a quiet resolve. The broken moon serves as a silent witness to the tumultuous events unfolding on Remnant, its crimson hue a stark reminder of the chaos and strife that permeate the land.

As he hears Salem's whispered machinations echoing in the depths of his mind, Ozma's expression remains steadfast, his resolve unyielding. In response to her unseen presence, he speaks with a calm determination.

"The game we play has received a new player," he intones, his voice carrying a weight of centuries-old knowledge and determination. "And though the pieces may shift and change, the rules remain the same."

His words are a quiet declaration of defiance, a testament to his unwavering commitment to protect the world from Salem's dark influence. With a steady gaze towards the broken red moon, Ozma stands firm in his resolve, ready to confront whatever challenges lie ahead in this age-old struggle between light and darkness.

-

As the moon completes its transformation into a eerie symbol, a silent portent of the unfolding events to come,

In the dimly lit chamber, Sparrow's cries of agony pierce the air, filling the room with a primal intensity that reverberates off the stone walls. Her voice wavers between anguish and determination, a testament to the trials she faces in this moment of profound transition.

With practiced hands, the midwife moves swiftly, her focus unwavering as she performs the delicate task before her. With a final push from Sparrow, the baby emerges into the world, a tiny bundle of life amidst the chaos of childbirth.

The midwife's hands are steady as she reaches down, her fingers finding purchase as she carefully guides the newborn out of Sparrow's abdomen. The baby's cries join Sparrow's own, a symphony of raw emotion that fills the room with an overwhelming sense of urgency and relief.As the newborn is cradled in the midwife's arms, a hush falls over the chamber, broken only by the soft sound of the baby's cries.

Sparrow's exhausted frame trembles with a mixture of pain and elation as tears stream down her cheeks. Her weary eyes, tinged with the weariness of childbirth, shine with a radiant happiness that belies the physical toll of the ordeal. Despite the ache in her body and the exhaustion that weighs heavily upon her, there is a fierce joy in her heart as she gazes upon the tiny form cradled in the midwife's arms.

"She's so small, Hawk," Sparrow whispers, her voice a mixture of awe and wonder. The baby, though smaller than the average newborn, seems impossibly fragile in comparison to the towering figure of Hawk Branwen.

Hawk, a formidable presence in the chamber, stands at a towering height of 7'1, his massive frame resembling that of a bear. Despite his imposing size, his form is all muscle, His rugged appearance, reminiscent of a Viking warrior.

As Sparrow's tired eyes meet Hawk's, there is an unspoken understanding between them—a shared joy in the arrival of their newest addition to the family.

Despite his stoic demeanor, a rare flicker of emotion crosses Hawk's rugged features as he gazes upon the tiny newborn cradled in his arms. His calloused hands, more accustomed to wielding weapons than cradling delicate infants, tremble ever so slightly as he adjusts his grip, careful not to jostle the tiny form.

In the depths of his piercing gaze, there is a glimmer of tenderness that belies his gruff exterior. It is a moment of vulnerability, a rare glimpse into the depths of his heart that he rarely allows others to see.

As Sparrow watches, a soft smile tugs at the corners of Hawk's lips, a silent acknowledgment of the overwhelming love and pride that fills his heart in this moment. And though his words may be few, his actions speak volumes, as he cradles the tiny bundle with a gentle reverence that speaks of a father's unconditional love.

Sparrow's tired but radiant smile illuminates her delicate features as she gazes up at Hawk, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears of joy. With a gentle nod, she whispers softly, "I know what to name her, Hawk."With her petite stature standing in stark contrast to Hawk's towering frame(if she would to stand), Sparrow exudes a quiet strength that belies her diminutive size. Her delicate features, reminiscent of an ancient Asian beauty, are framed by deep black hair that cascades in silky waves down her back.

As Sparrow lies in the makeshift bed, her body still recovering from the ordeal of childbirth, a sense of relief washes over her.

The midwife's skilled hands work diligently to close the incision from the cesarean section, a delicate procedure that requires precision and care.Despite the lingering pain and discomfort, Sparrow's gaze remains fixed on the tiny bundle cradled in her life partner arms.

Her heart overflowing with love for her newborn daughter. She knows that the road to recovery will be long and arduous, but in this moment, all she can feel is an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the new life her life partner holds so tenderly in his embrace.

As Hawk carefully lifts Robin into his strong, yet gentle arms, a sense of awe washes over him. Cradling her close to his chest, he marvels at the delicate features of his newborn daughter, her tiny fingers curling instinctively around his calloused thumb."Sparrow," he says softly, his voice tinged with wonder, "what would our little bird's name be?"Sparrow, exhausted but radiant, smiles up at him from her bed, her eyes sparkling with love and pride.

"We would name her Robin," she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. "Our little Robin."With a tender smile, Hawk nods in agreement, his heart overflowing with love for his newborn daughter. With a tender smile, As he gazes down at her, he is struck by the intensity of her eyes. As Hawk gazes into his newborn daughter's eyes, he is struck by their striking appearance. Unlike the familiar red eyes that have been a trait of the Branwen lineage for generations, Robin's eyes are different, unique in their own right.

Deep crimson in color, with a hint of black, her eyes hold a mesmerizing quality that sets them apart. Hawk notices a distinctive comma-like pattern in each eye, a subtle yet captivating detail that adds to their allure. For a moment, Hawk is taken aback by the unexpected sight before him. He knows that the eyes of the Branwen family have always been red, a trait passed down through the generations. But as he looks into Robin's eyes, he realizes that she is different, special in her own way.

As Robin closes her eyes, Hawk's gaze lingers on her serene expression. In that moment, a sense of solemnity washes over him, and a single word begins to echo in his mind.

Sharingan

With a deep breath, Hawk's expression turns serious as he ponders the significance of his daughter's unique eyes. As he holds Robin close, a sense of foreboding fills his heart, a silent understanding of the power that lies dormant within her.

As the scene fades to black, the broken moon of Remnant looms in the distance, its surface bearing the same pattern as Robin's eyes—a trio of comma-like marks gazing down upon the planet below. And in that moment of quiet contemplation, the word lingers in the air a portent of the challenges and mysteries that lie ahead for the Branwen family and the world of Remnant.