The weight of guilt and grace

The day slowly drew to a close, draping a dark cloak across the sky, gradually lit with stars. Two moons shone, each in its own color. Aiko stood in the garden, gazing at the sky. The memory of the moment when Akihiko had nearly died because of her pressed on her chest like a cold hand. She heard footsteps and quickly stood. She hoped it wasn’t Akihiko. But… it was him.

In a gentle tone, he spoke:

“I had a feeling there was a good chance I’d find you here.”

“Sorry, I was just leaving,” she murmured. Her eyes didn’t meet his. Guilt washed over her. Her legs wanted to flee, but her mind refused.

Akihiko caught up to her and gently but firmly took her wrist.

Concerned, he asked, “Have you been avoiding me lately? Tell me, did I do something wrong?”

Aiko looked away.

“Akihiko…” her voice was quiet, almost broken. Tears welled in her eyes. “Because of me, you almost…”

Akihiko saw the sadness and regret in her eyes. He didn’t let her finish.

He stepped closer, a calm and warmth-filled expression in his blue eyes surpassing all words. He slowly released her wrist, taking her hand in his instead. “No. Don’t blame yourself.”

“Aiko,” he said softly, “it’s not your fault. Don’t hold it against yourself.”

His hand touched hers, as if he wanted to comfort her even more, as if his touch could erase her sense of guilt.

“Kaelrith forced you into that decision…” he paused briefly, “what matters is that we all survived.”

Tears streamed down Aiko’s cheeks, each drop burning as if her sorrow itself refused to be contained. "I’m the cause… I can’t forgive myself for this," her heart cried, heavier than her trembling voice could ever express.

Before she could sink further into despair, Akihiko’s arms wrapped around her. His embrace was gentle, yet steady — a warmth that told her without words that he did not blame her, that the weight she carried was not hers to bear. The storm of her guilt clashed against the calm certainty of his presence.

“Aiko…” His voice was quiet, but unwavering, carrying a strength that cut through her turmoil. “Please. Don’t blame yourself.”

For a heartbeat, she resisted, her hands trembling against his chest. Then, little by little, her body surrendered to the comfort of his hold. The sobs that had wracked her slowly softened, fading into shallow breaths, until at last the tears ceased.

In that fragile silence, they remained together, her cheek pressed to his shoulder, his arms still holding her close — as though, in that moment, the world beyond them no longer existed.

Aiko spoke at last, her voice trembling, soft as a whisper… “Thank you… I haven’t had the chance to properly thank you. You saved me again.”

“And I thank you,” he interrupted with a faint smile, the rare one that always warmed her heart, “for piloting the craft safely back to Akarihoshi. I know how dangerous it was. Without you… we wouldn’t be here now.”

A quiet closeness spread between them, no words were needed. Aiko felt her tension slowly fade. The wind gently lifted her hair, and Akihiko’s fingers remained entwined with hers, not too tightly, but enough to reassure her that everything was fine. His gaze was resolute and warm at the same time, radiating truth.

Aiko closed her eyes, a tear rolling down her cheek. Akihiko gently wiped it away with his thumb.

“Are we okay now?”

Aiko nodded with relief and a gentle smile.

A few meters away, behind a low hedge, Ren and Mika stood with baskets of cut flowers. Ren was about to step closer, but Mika gently held his hand and shook her head.

“Let’s leave them,” she whispered.

Ren looked at her, then smiled and nodded. They quietly continued down the garden path, unnoticed by Aiko and Akihiko.

Akihiko’s birthday and the celebration were almost here; only the night separated Aiko from the event.

Aiko sat in her chamber by the open window. The night smelled almost like autumn, and in the distance, the sounds of the gardens could be heard, where the servants were still preparing the last details.

Her fingers unconsciously touched the chain with the star pendant. Her thoughts drifted back to the last encounter with Akihiko— his voice, his hand, his embrace, the warmth in his eyes… She felt that familiar unrest in her chest, but this time without the weight of guilt.

She quietly rose and wandered through the palace corridors, her steps echoing softly, until at last she arrived at the door of Mika’s chamber. She knocked.

“Aiko?” Mika said, surprised to see her.

“I need… some threads,” Aiko said, slightly uncertain.

“Threads?” Mika smiled. “For what?”

Aiko looked at the floor for a moment, then smiled. “I want to make him something. A bracelet… for his birthday.”

Mika’s eyes held a warm, almost mischievous understanding. “I think we can manage that.”

Aiko entered the chamber, her steps hesitant. Meanwhile, Mika searched the space carefully, until she finally found fine threads in dark blue, white and silver and handed them to Aiko. Mika gave her a reassuring smile. Aiko felt calm determination in her heart. This gift would be something he would wear close to him, not as a symbol of obligation, but as something beautiful and voluntary.

Meanwhile, in the training hall, Akihiko carefully placed his weapons on the rack. His movements were calm, almost meditative. With each breath, he felt his strength returning, but more importantly — he felt balance returning, the balance he had been seeking. He remembered Aiko’s words, and a faint smile curved his lips.

The next morning, the hallways filled with activity. Ren oversaw the delivery of fresh flowers, Mika helped arrange table lights and cloths in the royal hall. Aiko worked alongside her, arranging tables, no longer avoiding glances toward the doors. When they opened and Akihiko entered, dressed in a simple but elegant dark blue shirt, their eyes met.

The glittering lights illuminated the grand hall, casting warm light over the place. Aiko’s hands trembled as she nearly dropped the tiny lamp she was arranging on the table. Only Mika’s soft chuckle broke the tension.

Akihiko walked gracefully through the hall, his sharp gaze following every detail around him. There was a weight on his shoulders, the kind only he could feel. But the moment his eyes brushed against Aiko’s, that burden twisted into something more complicated… something he couldn’t ignore.

“I need some air,” he thought, his footsteps carrying him toward the balcony.

Aiko’s heart skipped. "This is my chance…"

She had stayed up through the night, weaving a bracelet with her own hands, waiting for the moment she could wish him a happy birthday—just the two of them.

She found him outside; the wind was stirring his hair. Gathering her courage, she stepped closer.

“Akihiko…” Her voice quivered, fragile yet determined.

He turned at once. His calm, noble presence made her heart race. Clutching the small gift bag, she awkwardly extended it, her fingers brushing against his hand.

“H-Happy birthday… It isn’t worth much, but… it’s made from the heart.”

For a moment, silence lingered between them, broken only by the breeze. Then Akihiko’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, his blue eyes softening.

“Sometimes,” he said gently, “gifts like these are the most precious of all. Thank you, Aiko.”

Her cheeks flushed crimson as she nodded quickly. Without another word, she turned and hurried back inside to help Mika.

Akihiko’s gaze lingered on her retreating figure long after she disappeared into the golden light of the hall. Only when the door closed behind her did he look back toward the garden, his heart unsteady in ways he dared not admit.