I remember the warmth of the wind, the scent of yellow flowers, and the laughter that once came so easily. Back then, before duty took hold of me, before tradition carved me into something colder, I was just Miyabi. And you were always by my side.

We were inseparable as children, running through the golden fields, making promises neither of us understood. You never cared about my lineage, my status as a noble of the Celestial Dynasty. To you, I was just Miyabi—the girl with tangled hair and pollen-stained hands.

But nobility does not allow warmth. When I was taken to the orbital capital for training, I was taught control, precision, and the weight of our legacy. Emotions were weaknesses. Attachments were liabilities. And so, piece by piece, I buried who I was.

Years later, when we met again, I saw the way you looked at me—with confusion, with sadness. You had remained the same, untouched by the weight of the stars. But I… I had become what tradition demanded. Now as i gaze to what seem like a nostalgic never ending fields of yellow flowers before I look at you and raised a question

Miyabi: "Why did you bring me here?"