Lessons of the heart and Earth

Various places of the Akarihoshi palace, spanning several days.

The palace corridors shimmered under soft ambient lights, their surfaces reflecting the gentle hues of twilight and the occasional glow from hovering lanterns. Aiko’s wide skirts swished softly as she walked, the fabric brushing lightly against the polished floor. Each day, the rhythm of court life became a little more familiar—yet it still carried a weight of formality that reminded her she was a guest, even as she began to feel a growing sense of belonging.

She found herself learning new patterns of movement, subtle gestures that conveyed respect without stiff formality. Naoru’s teasing remarks often accompanied her lessons, adding a playful tension to her days. Mika guided her through secret gardens, hidden alcoves, and technological wonders, explaining their purpose and the history behind each intricate detail. Evenings were dedicated to learning the delicate etiquette of Auralis, each bow, each posture, carefully observed and repeated until it felt natural.

Clothing, too, became a language of its own. Aiko received several new ensembles, each designed to honor the palace code while remaining comfortable. The stylist’s handheld scanner hummed lightly, folding futuristic fabric over her body in gentle waves. Every outfit was a quiet masterpiece: soft shades, flowing patterns, and subtle accents that caught the light without demanding attention. With each new garment, Aiko felt her connection to this world strengthen—a strange mixture of alien elegance and personal comfort.

Sometimes, when the palace quieted at twilight, Aiko would linger by a window, her gaze drifting across the horizon, imagining the distant skies of Earth. She reminded herself again and again: she was only a temporary visitor here. And yet, each day she adapted, each gesture and movement becoming a small thread in the tapestry of life on Akarihoshi.

Aiko quietly walked down a palace corridor, her steps echoing on the floors. Suddenly, she spotted Akihiko leaning against a wall, his gaze directed at her.

“Hello, Aiko,” he said calmly, with a faint, playful smile. “Could you come to my chamber tonight? I could use your help with a report on Earth.”

Aiko blushed slightly, her heart skipping a beat. “Of course, I’d be happy to help,” she answered softly, trying to keep her trembling voice steady.

When evening came, Aiko carefully made her way through the palace. Her footsteps echoed softly through the hall. The corridor was bathed in warm, amber light, yet she soon felt an unfamiliar uncertainty. Every turn looked alike; each hallway seemed endless. She paused, tightening her grip on the folds of her skirt.

“Where am I now? Did I go too far?” she said to herself.

A shadow detached itself from the walls—a familiar figure, smiling with mischievous warmth.

“Looking for someone?” Naoru’s voice was teasing, yet gentle, as if he already knew the answer.

“Yes… where is Akihiko’s chamber?” Aiko asked hesitantly, her wide eyes tracing the polished corridor.

Naoru tilted his head and gestured ahead. “Of course, follow me.” His steps were effortless, deliberate, each movement confident but not overwhelming. Aiko’s chest fluttered slightly, a mixture of relief and nervous tension in his presence.

At the door, Naoru stepped aside with a playful bow, his smile lingering. “Enjoy yourselves,” he whispered, the words carrying both warmth and a teasing undertone.

Aiko stepped across the threshold and slowly approached the table, where Akihiko had already prepared holographic documents and notes. His calm, focused expression let her know that the work would be serious — yet there was a thin thread of unspoken tension between them.

Akihiko’s blue eyes met hers, and Aiko felt a flutter in her chest. Every glance, every gesture he made, carried weight. He pointed to specific areas on the hologram.

“I need your help with this task,” he said, voice quiet but commanding. “Understanding Earth—especially Japan—is essential to the accuracy of this report.”

Aiko nodded, trying to focus on the task. Her heart raced not from the work itself, but from the subtle awareness of Akihiko beside her.

“First, we need to review the planet data,” Akihiko said, his voice quiet but firm. Aiko nodded and immediately began examining the documents, when she noticed something unusual — Naoru was still standing in the doorway shadow, smiling as if watching a performance.

“You’ll need some privacy,” he said playfully, almost whispering. “I’ll just observe… from afar.”

Akihiko turned to Aiko.

Aiko’s fingers brushing the holographic interface as she studied the images of Earth projected in midair: mountains, rivers, and the bustling streets of Tokyo. Naoru lingered in the doorway, observing quietly before slipping away with a wink.

“How can the atmosphere affect the body like this?” she asked softly, curiosity threading through her voice. “I can breathe, so it feels almost the same as Earth. Is there a way to adapt faster?”

Akihiko’s gaze softened as it met hers. “Some medicines help. But even then, the body needs time. The medicines only shorten the process slightly.”

Aiko absorbed this quietly, her thoughts shifting briefly to the dream from the previous night, the one in which she had felt his presence even before meeting him here.

As the hologram shifted, Aiko began explaining the culture, her words painting the familiar streets, traditions, and landscapes of Japan. Akihiko listened intently, sometimes raising an eyebrow, sometimes letting a faint smile tug at his lips.

She spoke of Kyoto’s cherry blossoms: “In spring, the air smells sweet. The ground is covered in petals, soft as clouds beneath your feet.”

He studied her expression, noting the subtle sparkle in her eyes, the way her words carried both nostalgia and passion. “Kohana didn’t mention this,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Just… ‘a popular tourist destination.’”

Aiko laughed softly. “Artificial intelligence doesn’t smell flowers, apparently. But maybe someday it will!”

Their conversation flowed easily—laughter punctuated by earnest curiosity. They spoke of festivals, food, tea ceremonies, and mountains, each detail layered with emotion and memory. With every story, Aiko felt her voice settle, finding a rhythm that allowed her to be both herself and a guest in this strange, beautiful world.

The hologram focused on a towering mountain, and Akihiko asked quietly, “What does Mount Fuji mean to you?”

Aiko’s gaze lingered on the image. “For me it is more than a symbol. When I was little, I believed an old goddess slept at the top… listening to every wish whispered to the wind. I never saw it up close. But I felt it. Every time I looked east.”

Akihiko’s gaze softened, his usual composure giving way to something warmer, something that mirrored the gentle weight of her words. “And did you whisper a wish to her? Did it come true?”

Aiko smiled, playful yet shy. “Wishes shouldn’t be spoken aloud, otherwise they don’t come true.”

For a long moment, they sat in quiet understanding, the holographic images casting a faint glow on their faces. Then Akihiko shifted, regaining his disciplined composure.

“Thank you for coming,” he said softly, almost personally. “You’ve been very helpful.”

Aiko blinked, surprised by the intimacy in his tone. She nodded, and as she stood, their eyes met once more. His gaze lingered—not on duty, not on responsibility—but somewhere deeper, at something he himself had not yet named.

The door closed behind her with a soft hiss. Aiko froze in hallway, taking a trembling, deep breath. Her heart was racing uncontrollably. She was only helping with his report, yet his presence felt overwhelming.

“Why can’t I calm down…? Why are his blue eyes the only thing I see…? Come on Aiko… focus…”

She slowly made her way toward her chamber.

Akihiko remained alone in his chamber, fingers lightly resting on the table. His mind wrestled with thoughts he could not yet reconcile: the warmth of her presence, the clarity of her words, the strange, unfamiliar flutter in his chest.

He clenched his fists briefly, inhaling deeply. “I must gather myself,” he thought. “There is no time for… distractions. Responsibilities first. Protect the people… complete the academy… and soon, she will return to Earth.”

Yet even as he spoke the words aloud in his mind, a part of him lingered on the memory of her voice, her laughter, the world she carried with her. Aiko’s presence, though fleeting, had already etched itself deeply into his thoughts—a quiet, persistent echo of what might be, if only for a short while.