The Lighthouse

Hengawa didn't stop until the two of them stood before a lighthouse – at least, what used to be a lighthouse. The long, cylindrical body of its tower was partially caved in, obscuring most of the wiry corpse of its somehow-not-shattered light, and its blue paint peeled and sagged with age. Yet, it was still taken care of; clean. Cerulean crystals of hard light danced over the entirety of the lighthouse’s weed-ridden courtyard, and more occupied the air within it as Hengawa led Himeko in and turned on a light.

The inside was cramped. Broken stairs took up most of the foyer. Himeko backed away from her classmate, afraid. What on earth was Hengawa going to do to her?

Peeling her shoes off, Hengawa put them on a small rack already holding another pair of larger sneakers before slipping into a pair of black…ballet shoes?

She looked back at Himeko. “I don't have a pair for you. Sorry.”

“I don't…want a pair?” Himeko asked, though more to herself than to Hengawa. Did she want a pair? No, she didn't think so, but would the original her have wanted to dance? If she did, would “she” be upset?

Was she going to have to ask a box if she needed to dance? It almost made her laugh. What a strange way her life was going.

“I have a spare somewhere,” began Hengawa, her shoes now fully laced as she walked past the stairs and deeper into the dilapidated lighthouse. More crystals were here, too. “I’ll bring them for you, if you come again.”

“I don't think I want to dance, though. Am I still invited to come back?”

She didn't reply until after they reached a hollowed-out doorway, passing through it to get to a new room that was full of props, a desk with sheet music and unfinished poems stacked neatly into two, and silent speakers. Its large window was open. More hard light creations floated here, though they were not just crystals this time. They were cubes, and hands, and snowflakes, and stars of all shapes and sizes. Many of the props too were made from hard light.

“You can still be a dancer as part of the audience, and every dancer starts as an audience member.” Said Hengawa, en pointe as she tiptoed to an open door at the edge of the room. Himeko followed her as she slipped through it. “I had a feeling you’d be here.”

“The sea’s the best place to go for inspiration.” Said a quiet voice beyond the door. Himeko walked through it.

There, on an old bench facing the ocean pounding against the shore, sat a boy. He lifted a hand to wave at them. He didn't look back at them as he did, so Himeko couldn't see his face yet, but his hair was the same blue as the sea. Hard light constructs surrounded him. A clipboard full of diagrams sat against his hip, and he tapped a mechanical pencil and an elongated stylus against his legs in tandem.

Himeko recognized the technology: a prototype design of a hard-light stylus from her time, in development so architects wouldn't be limited by projections and unstable holograms. She wasn't surprised to see it had eventually found success, but to use what was surely an antiquated design…she wanted to know why.

“You weren’t at school today,” said Hengawa, sitting beside the boy.

Ah, thought Himeko. This must be the missing Kōrō.

“Sometimes I’m not.” He said in response.

“That isn’t true. You haven’t skipped a day since you moved back here. If something’s wrong, you can tell me-”

“-Nothing’s wrong. Really, Midori. I just didn't want to go to school today. Everything is fine.”

Though she obviously didn’t believe him, Hengawa sat next to him on the bench. She looked out at the water, her hair only a few hues greener than it. Himeko looked at her first, then the boy who was surely the missing Kōrō.

What was she supposed to do here? Stand awkwardly? Introduce herself? Talk about the lighthouse or school? She settled on looking at the sea with them.

“Someone besides you stood up for me today.” Hengawa said eventually. “I brought her here as thanks. I hope you don't mind.”

“You brought someone here?” The boy looked sharply and suddenly in Himeko’s direction. Their eyes met, his eyes at first panic-stricken before his whole expression changed. “Oh. Hi, Himeko.”

“Hi, Kōrō,” Himeko parroted, surprised but not upset by the use of her name. Two pairs of blue eyes met each other, one organic and the other engineered, and she willed herself not to look away.

“Come sit with us?” the boy asked, patting a spot next to himself on the bench. He’d pulled his stylus from behind his ear, twirling it in his hands like he was nervous.

“Sure. I don’t see why not.”

The bench had just enough space for Himeko to squeeze in, and she held her bag on her lap as if it was a shield. Maybe it was inexperience from her past life, or perhaps terror over the reaction to her own artificiality, but she was more afraid than even introducing herself to her classmates right now.

Kōrō began drawing with his stylus. Light projected out of the nib of it and was pulled from the world to make up for what the stylus itself was lacking (the biggest flaw of the prototype pens was that they couldn't contain enough light reserves for even small constructions, thus requiring use in already illuminated parts of the natural world. Himeko had worked on hard-light research concurrent to her own project. She was glad to see both succeeded.) and solidified into concrete lines after a few seconds of “drying.” He worked for minutes, weaving light into intricate shapes and patterns, the burning stench another unfortunate byproduct of its nature, and soon handed Himeko a hefty and solid object that shone pearlescent.

It was a four-pointed star, like the ones present in New Urania’s logo or her eyes, and covered with hundreds more, impressive for its small size. It was smooth to the touch like most hard-light constructs, except for the seams that were only a tad rough, and surprisingly cold for how hot the process of using hard-light usually ran. She turned it in her hands a few times, looking over to Kōrō.

“My tribute to you as a hard-light architect. It’s not much, so I’ll make you something much better soon. In fact, I already have ideas for what to do brewing.” he said, grinning.

“I think you just want to show off your skills,” teased Himeko, holding the star up to the late afternoon sun. It would make a fantastic bag charm. She’d have to ask Dr. Nakamura for the tools to make it one. “Consider me thoroughly impressed.”

“You caught me, but it's not enough. I can make something way more complex.”

“Kōrō makes the majority of our props,” said Hengawa, looking up from the book she’d managed to pull out without notice.

Himeko nodded. “I saw. Were they all made with that stylus?”

“The majority of them, yes.” Kōrō said, tucking the stylus back into place behind his ear.

“Why use that and not a modern design? Surely there must be one better than something designed in my time.”

The boy smiled, though Himeko couldn’t tell if it was enigmatic on purpose. “I have my reasons.”

“He’s just pretentious.” Hengawa said.

“I am not!”

“You are.”

“Prove it.”

“You use a hard-light pen from over 130 years ago. We practice ballet in an abandoned lighthouse. Speaking of,” She tucked a bookmark between the pages of her book before closing it with a satisfying thump, looking at Himeko. “Would you like to watch us?”

Himeko nodded vigorously. “Yes, please.”

“Then let’s get going,” said Kōro, taking one last glance at the emerald sea before standing up. He offered Himeko his slender hand, and she took it after a brief moment of hesitation. With the grace of a prince, he pulled her to her feet, and she felt the dots on her cheeks warm as he smiled at her and let go. She followed behind him and Hengawa, lamenting her own inexperience until she sat on a pile of boxes in the corner of the lighthouse’s central room.

Her legs dangled off their edge, and she swung them back and forth as she waited for the show to begin. Kōrō drew with his stylus, but with his back turned, Himeko couldn't see it at all, and they began after music began to play.

It was Kōrō who went first. His steps were light and airy as he darted across the smooth floor of the lighthouse, his form dainty yet full of lithe strength as he bounded into a stop. His arms were outstretched, beckoning Hengawa from stage right. She breathed deeply and joined him.

Himeko gasped. A wireframe tutu made of flexible hard light moved with her, and more holograms projected around her form. It was breathtaking. With one foot en pointe, she pirouetted over until she was center-stage. She spun once, then again, and again until her strong footsteps had carried her to Kōrō’s side. They circled each other. Their expressions were tense, as controlled as their steps, as if in a battle of wills, and Himeko was spellbound. So close they were nearly touching, Kōrō gave with theatrics, holograms bursting into color around the two as he faded into the background so Hengawa could shine.

Both of her feet were en pointe as she began. She breathed deeply, her face angled towards the heavens and brought her arms down in a mock courtesy. She caught Himeko in her gaze, dipping towards her with a hand outstretched before yanking it back with a twirl.

She hopped back once, then tiptoed en pointe, leaning back as Kōrō rejoined the scene and skipped over to her. They started a captivating push and pull, their hands grazing each other but never really touching. As Hengawa leapt into the air with two feet and landed on one, ribbons of hard light twirled around her. They ensnared Kōrō’s wrists and waist and dragged him across the lighthouse’s floor, starting their war of wills again.

He lifted her and she was a sprawling, unfurling flower of limbs and hard light as they spun slowly. He made way to put her down. The ribbons coiled around Kōrō and his expression twisted into fear -but whether it was faux or real was unknown to Himeko – as he threw Hengawa high into the air. Himeko nearly screamed.

Hengawa spun and spun and spun until she was surely out of spins to spin. Hard and soft light alike erupted around her like the Stars of the Apocalypse did above Old Urania, dazzling radiant as their nearly invisible threads held her from the ceiling so she could continue her dance midair. Hengawa didn't just spin. She tiptoed across the makeshift heavens, dipped, and jumped, and holographic glitter dusted her dark skin as her form slowly descended into Kōrō’s waiting arms. He put her down and they bowed. Himeko clapped so hard her hands ached.

“What did you think?” Kōrō asked a second after Himeko’s applause ended.

“It was…magnificent!” she exclaimed. “Though, I thought Kōrō would be more involved.”

Hengawa brushed away the light particles still clinging to her skin, watching as they dissipated into scattered rainbow cubes. “We’re still working on the choreography. The show's only about a third of the way done.”

“When's the performance?”

“…The end of next month,” muttered Kōrō, sheepish. “But I’m stumped on where to take the story next.”

Himeko thought for a moment, pushing herself off the boxes with a little hop. “Why don’t I help? I can’t promise to know much about ballet, but I can help you figure out the story.” she asked.

“It would be a lot of work, and we’d need you here almost every day. Are you sure you really want to, Zaiyabōto?” Hengawa asked.

“Yes. I think it’ll be fun, wouldn't you?” said Himeko, catching a glimpse of the evening sky. How late was it? Was Dr. Nakamura worried? She’d forgotten to tell him where she was. Would he be upset? She checked her phone with a gasp, jumping into action. “I’ve gotta go! See you both tomorrow!”

“Wait, Himeko!” called Kōrō, but Himeko was already flying through the building and out the door. “You forgot your shoes!”