"Uh...huh..." Eight leaned in, thinking over her words. Usually when mothers said they wanted to give the children the stars, it was a figure of speech. But Della wanted to try to give her children that.

Eight was just happy to have a mama.

Suddenly, a memory. A large hand holding tight to a small magenta one. A stern silence through cold tunnels of stone and steel. Dodging patrols. A shaft of light cutting through the darkness. The hands encircle a tiny waist. A quiet lift up to a pillar of pouring light. Up above a metallic grate guarding an endless ceiling carpeted with glistening gems set within the endless sky.

Happy birthday a voice echoes, bringing the Octoling back to Della's story.