Private Mist at First Light

[Niijima Izumi]

The hour before sunrise belonged to ghosts.

Mist curled through the narrow streets of Jar’kai, soft and silver in the dim light. Roof tiles glistened with dew, and paper lanterns still burned low from the night before, their glow flickering in the breeze. The city hadn’t yet woken, only the quiet rush of the river and the drip of rain from the eaves filled the silence.

Niijima Izumi moved through it with calm, unhurried steps. Her geta clicked softly against the stone, steady and measured. She wore a travel-worn indigo kimono, the edges darkened slightly by the damp. Beneath its folds rested the twin blades of her daishō, one long, one short, hidden from sight but close enough to draw if needed.

No one looking at her would have guessed where she’d spent the night. The white powder, the painted lips, the graceful poise of the geisha, all of it had been washed away hours ago. Her face was bare now, her hair tied loosely, and her expression unreadable. Only her eyes showed the fatigue she carried, the quiet kind that sank deeper than sleep.

She had been walking for a while, cutting through empty alleys and silent streets, until she found it; an old ryokan tucked between two narrow lanes.

A wooden sign hung from a beam, swaying gently in the wind. Faded lanterns glowed above the doorway, casting soft amber light across the entrance. The noren curtains were marked with a single white character “rest”; its ink cracked from years of weather.

Izumi stopped at the threshold, letting her eyes take in the scene. A stone basin sat nearby, water dripping rhythmically from a bamboo spout. The air smelled of cedar and rain. She slid the door open.

Inside was stillness.

The floor was laid with smooth tatami, cool beneath her feet as she stepped out of her sandals and placed them neatly by the door. Paper shōji screens glowed faintly in the lantern light, blurring the outlines of the rooms beyond. Somewhere deeper inside, she heard the soft sweep of a broom.

The innkeeper appeared soon after, an older woman, small and quiet, with kind eyes and careful hands. Izumi bowed politely and asked for a room, her voice low. The woman nodded, no questions asked. Travelers came and went at strange hours in Jar’kai. Some preferred to remain unseen.

The room she was given was simple. A futon laid neatly on the tatami. A folded blanket. A single lantern hanging from the beam, its paper trembling in the faint draft. A clay cup sat on a low table, steam curling from the tea the innkeeper had left for her.
​

 

[Junko Ike]

Niijima Izumi

The sounds of Jar'Kai were always something wonderful. The kazue stone streets, the jade paneling and glass on the buildings. Designed to give a traditional yet sophisticated design. The large mountain spire the city sat on with its high walls was beautiful but the expansion districts across the bridge was her destination. The attack had been something and Miyoung had developed a reverse entrophy field they would be able to use. The massive expansion bridge under foot was beautifully repaired. Guards on the sides of the large bridge allowing heavy traffic as the citizens stirring in the morning were going to their various jobs. Atrisia itself had many reforms and there were many more going as she approached the large gates.

The thick doors were opened for the people moving in the morning and the near silent movement of the train as it moved under the bridge. The high speed rail lines of the smart roads connected areas of the city to the outer villages, towns, walls and beyond that they went to the other cities. Working to develop many of the areas of the city as she walked through. her handmaidens were limited only two following with her here. Miyoung waving to a few while she had her jaade robes on and twin makie drones. THey had been distributing across the cities now the newest things. New defenses and offensive measures but also kits for the buildings to just solidify the work that they had been doing. The strreets of the expansion wards were beautiful and the waterways gleamed.

Channels carved in the kazue stone with it changing the depth in some places where they had parks built that others would sit in. Citizens of the Commonwealth moving around as some had children and some had the more beautiful works being done. "Princess." There were voices as some of the people were there. Offering praise and fruit. Homegrown as the newest self sustaining modules were made to give them all their own gardens and farms. The morning scents of early foods were amazing as always. She moved over and embraced them. "It looks better, I know the rebuilding efforts have been... different." A small smile was on her face as the woman spoke. The blue veins visible for a moment but she thought about it. "A little but the city stood and we defended ourselves much better."

There were trade off and the woman finished with a look. "The older districts I know have been working on things. THey are repaneling the buildings. If you are going to do anything here they would likely love to see you." Junko gave a nod of her head to that as she spoke. "Well we have someplace we could go instead of wandering around aimlessly." Junko said it with a smile on her face while she walked. The fruit trees dropping as they were being collected by the droids. The stone streets leading the way through carefully carved and crafted streets. Designed for security and fighting that always came when the walls of the districts themselves were coming up. She could see them and the wards were beautiful as each one served a purpose.

"Welcome princess." The Royal army guards were there with the yovshin as they are patrolling and aiding where needed. The Imperial palace was still protected. Chitai and the areas between it and the various cities allowed the emperor and empress to be safe. The planetary power grid served them well enough before she entered the street of shops. Inns and springs. Carefully cultivated as the pumps brought the water up from the underwater channels and sea below. The geothermal vents were channeled allowing the water to be heated while she walked. The Lady Wisteria had a tea shop out here but she was looking at several of the buildings as the jade wood was being put over the kazue stone with the kitsugi weave under it for reinforcement in the event of an attack.

She stepped into the ryokan as she looked in. The byo screens were there when she entered with a smile on her face for them. "Princess." The woman said it when she was coming in leading the way towards an area behind several of the screens. THe cushions there so she could sit at a table behind the screens with a small look around.

 

[Niijima Izumi]

The ryokan had been quiet, the kind of stillness that felt earned after a long night. The rain had eased, leaving behind the faint scent of cedar and wet stone, and Izumi had almost drifted toward rest when new sounds reached her ears.

Footsteps. Soft, deliberate. Voices kept low, measured. Not the weary shuffle of travelers but something more practiced, accompanied by the quiet rustle of silk.

Izumi sat up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. Her hand found the shorter of her two blades, fingertips resting lightly against the sheath, not in threat, just instinct. When she had been certain her pulse was calm, she rose and slid open the shōji.

A small procession moved through the hall, a woman in jade robes at the center, her bearing serene and certain, flanked by two attendants who carried themselves with quiet precision. They were not merchants. Not pilgrims either. People of station, perhaps. But Izumi had learned not to ask.

Curiosity was a dangerous habit in her line of work.

She stepped aside from her doorway, bowing low enough for courtesy but not presumption. "Good morning," she said softly, her voice smooth but subdued. "You've come early, the ryokan's halls are rarely this alive at dawn."

Her eyes flicked briefly toward the innkeeper, who hurried to greet the group, fussing over the jade-robed woman with a respect that spoke volumes. Izumi didn't linger on it. Titles, power, family lines, those belonged to another world. She was only passing through it.

She straightened again, offering a faint smile. "The air outside's still cool. The mist hasn't burned off yet, it's a good time to arrive."

Her tone carried the unspoken rhythm of a geisha's grace: careful, measured, offering welcome without intrusion.

"If you've traveled far," she added, "the tea here is worth your time. The water comes straight from the springs below. Clear and steady, like the morning."

She gave a small, polite nod and stepped back toward her room, intending to let them pass. Still, her gaze lingered a moment on the woman's poise; the calm in her movements, the quiet authority that filled the space around her without a single word.

Izumi didn't know her name. She didn't need to.

In her world, faces like that came and went, nobles, envoys, officials, people who lived by command. She, by contrast, lived by silence.

As she turned back toward her room, she murmured just loud enough to be heard, her tone warm but distant:

"If you seek calm, this ryokan keeps it well. Few places in Jar'kai do."

Then she bowed once more, the perfect balance of respect and withdrawal, before sliding the shōji closed, letting the paper door's gentle sound fold the silence back into place.
​

 

[Junko Ike]

Niijima Izumi

The walk though was beautiful and the guest was interesting. Junko stood there and listened to her as she was speaking. Giving her as much information as she could with a small suppressed humor. The jedi princess nodded her head while she was listening intently. THen the woman was walking away and she continued going forward with a grin on her face. "That was interesting." Miyoung said it as she was looking at the princess in the room. "I want to be serious and tell her but at the same time... kind of refreshing." Junko gave her a look when she was continuing to a place to sit. The table laid out with food that was being brought to her.

"Delicious as always." The dishes were benefitted from the resource production stations in the various buildings. THey had developed the self sustaining systems and moved Atrisia with the Commonwealth into post scarcity. The attack only served to showed them what they needed to work on more and they had some new technologies for just that. Junko sat there are teas were brought out. The red, white, black, yellow and greens were the most popular but they had from the colonies the kyberite sugar that could be added as Miyoung ground it with a small device. To sprinkle within the tea.

"Delicious as always." The owner coming there while she smiled at her. "Always nice to see a friendly face." Junko said it while lounging on cushions for a moment. The small cup of tea in her hand while Miyoung found a place to sit with a smile. Adjusting her glasses while the kirano interface overlaid it. Beautifully seated behind the screens while there were a few other guests who came into the dining area. Finding a place to sit while offering compliments. "Princess you honor us with your beauty." The practice something done as the screen allowed them not to see but just hear each other and the words.

 

[Niijima Izumi]

zumi lingered a moment longer this time, allowing the rhythm of the room to settle around her before she spoke again.

The dining hall had filled in quietly, as if each guest understood that loudness would be an intrusion. Paper screens filtered the pale morning light into soft bands of gold, illuminating drifting steam from the tea kettles. Outside, water slipped along the stone channels beneath the eaves, rain-fed and steady, its sound a low accompaniment to the clink of porcelain and the murmur of restrained conversation.

The scent of rice, miso, and grilled fish mingled with cedar smoke. It was a comforting smell; simple, honest. A place meant to restore, not impress.

Izumi adjusted the fold of her sleeve as she knelt, the faint creak of leather at her shoulder the only hint of steel. Her presence did not draw eyes; she had learned long ago how to exist without demanding notice. Still, awareness followed her like a current beneath still water.

“The innkeeper takes pride in balance,” she said, nodding subtly toward the spread of dishes. “Nothing here overwhelms another. Even the strongest flavors know when to yield.”

Her gaze returned to the princess, not lingering, but steady enough to be intentional. Up close, Izumi could see the signs others might miss; the way the woman’s posture remained composed even at rest, the economy of movement, the awareness that never fully slept. Comforted, perhaps, but not unguarded.

“A rare thing,” Izumi added softly, “to sit without watching the door.”

A breeze slipped through the open corridor, stirring the edge of the screens and carrying with it the cool scent of wet earth. Somewhere deeper in the ryokan, a bell chimed once; morning prayers, or perhaps simply a marker of time. Izumi did not ask. Some things did not require knowing.

She accepted her tea when it was offered, the cup warm against her palms. The surface trembled faintly as she bowed her head in thanks, the reflection of light breaking and reforming like thought itself.

“For those who travel with responsibility,” she said, voice low and even, “rest is often measured in moments rather than hours. If so, this is a good place to collect them.”

Her words settled without expectation.

Izumi rose smoothly, stepping back toward the wall where shadow softened her outline. From there, she watched the room resume its gentle flow: attendants moving with quiet precision, guests exchanging courteous phrases through screens, the princess’s table surrounded by an ease that had been earned, not assumed.

She folded herself into stillness once more, tea untouched for the moment, listening to the living silence of the ryokan.

Jar’kai, she thought, offered peace like a blade offered balance; only to those who knew how to carry it.
​

 

[Junko Ike]

Niijima Izumi

JUnko listened to the woman and she spoke oddly as the princess was taking in the food with her own enjoyment. A grin on her face though as she sat poised at the lavish guest table, savoring the familiar yet exquisite hospitality of this distant teahouse. As she looked it over her eyes were drawn to the sounds, she had never encountered these performers before; their names, their styles, their intent all were new delights amid the spiced air and low murmur of conversation. She lifted a goblet of sweet plum wine to her lips, eyes fixed on the open floor where melody came from. The musician provided the initial focus: a graceful woman with cascading emerald hair that shimmered under torchlight like polished jade.

She sat cross-legged upon a cushioned dais, her deep green robes embroidered with silver vines pooling around her. Slender fingers moved across the lute's strings with meticulous artistry plucking delicate, bell-like runs that evoked falling cherry blossoms, then drawing out longer, resonant notes that hummed with quiet melancholy. Her posture remained composed, almost meditative; only the subtle sway of her shoulders and the occasional tilt of her head betrayed the emotion she poured into the music. When the melody turned playful, a small, knowing smile curved her lips, though her gaze stayed modestly lowered until once, briefly, it lifted to meet Junko's across the room, a flicker of curiosity in those dark eyes.

The dancer opposite though commanded the space with elaborate, multi-layered veil work infused with Keisei-like elegance and movement. She wore a fusion of styles: a fitted under-kimono of midnight silk that hugged her form, over which cascaded numerous translucent veils in gradients of crimson bleeding into gold and deepest indigo. The fabrics were gossamer-light, edged with tiny golden bells that chimed softly with each precise step. Her movements blended the controlled grace of traditional keisei dance slow, deliberate fan-like gestures with open palms, tiny shuffling steps on bare feet with the freer, more hypnotic flow of veil performance.

Arms extended in sweeping arcs, wrists flicking to send veils billowing outward like living wings; hips rolled in tight, undulating circles that made the lowest layer cling and release against her thighs. She spun slowly, gathering the silks around her body in a cocoon before exploding them outward in a radiant fan of color. As the lute's tempo built to a sultry crescendo, the dancer glided nearer the princess's table. With a teasing flourish, she selected a long indigo veil from her cascade, twirled once, and tossed it lightly toward Junko. The fabric floated like smoke, landing across the table's edge and brushing the back of Junko's hand cool silk still warm from the dancer's skin.

Junko caught it instinctively, fingers curling into the delicate weave, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. Moments later, the dancer approached again, this time bearing a shallow lacquered cup of wine. She knelt gracefully at the table's side, posture impeccable yet intimate. Tilting the cup, she let a thin stream of ruby liquid cascade from her own collarbone down the smooth curve of her chest, tracing glistening paths over bronzed skin before Junko was catching the flow in her mouth. Without a word, she smiled behind the veil to Junko, eyes lowered demurely in keisei fashion, though the upward glance through dark lashes carried unmistakable invitation.

Junko accepted another cup, their fingers brushing for an electric instant; she drank slowly, tasting wine mingled with the scent of salted skin and the perfume of jasmine that clung to the dancer. The performance continued, veils swirling anew, but the air between them now thrummed with something personal hospitality elevated to quiet seduction. Junko set the cup down, still holding the indigo veil, her pulse quickened by the unexpected intimacy of strangers who already seemed to know exactly how to captivate her. She relaxed but was using the force to nullify the wine as soon as it entered her body and breaking it down quickly she was able to watch and enjoy more.

 

[Niijima Izumi]

The music reached Izumi before the movement did, a soft thread of sound weaving through the low murmur of the dining hall. It blended with the clink of porcelain and the faint hiss of steam from the kettles, subtle enough that most would mistake it for part of the morning itself. She sat near one of the cedar pillars with her tea warming her hands, posture straight and unassuming, the kind of presence that faded easily into the background.

From there, she could see the entire room without turning her head. Entrances. Windows. The princess’s table. The attendants moving in careful lines. It was an old instinct, one that never slept.

She hadn’t meant to pay attention to the performance.

But when the dancer stepped forward, color spilling into the open floor like ink in water, Izumi’s gaze lifted despite herself.

Silk caught the lantern light in layers; crimson melting into gold, then into a deep indigo that almost drank the glow around it. Tiny bells stitched into the hems chimed softly with each step, not loud enough to distract, just enough to leave a trace of sound behind every movement. The effect was warm, inviting, easy on the eyes.

Most people watched the spectacle.

Izumi watched the technique.

Her gaze lowered first to the dancer’s feet, because feet never lied. Bare soles against polished wood left no room for error. A single careless step would echo through the room. Yet the dancer moved with quiet precision, placing each step toe to ball to heel, gliding rather than pressing. There was no drag, no slap, no hesitation in the transfer of weight.

It spoke of training; long, repetitive hours until balance became instinct instead of thought.

Izumi felt a small, unconscious easing in her shoulders.

That alone told her this wasn’t some tavern entertainer dressing up as refinement. This was someone who had been corrected, probably harshly, until her body learned obedience.

Her attention shifted upward to the hands. That was where most veil dancers lost control, confusing large gestures for beauty. They would throw the fabric wildly, mistaking chaos for passion, and the silk would die midair, limp and graceless.

This dancer’s wrists, however, never stopped moving. Even in stillness, the veils breathed. Tiny rotations kept the fabric alive, catching air with the smallest flicks so it floated rather than fell. The motion was continuous and deliberate, like brushstrokes in calligraphy.

It wasn’t seduction.

It was breath control.

Izumi could almost see the rhythm; inhale and the silk rose, exhale and it softened. Body and fabric moving as one unit instead of two separate things.

That kind of unity didn’t come from talent alone. It came from repetition. From sore shoulders and blistered fingers and teachers who demanded “again” long after the body wanted to stop.

When the dancer spun, gathering the veils close before releasing them in a flare of color, Izumi caught the smallest adjustment of her stance, a subtle anchoring of the back foot to steady the turn. It was the sort of correction only someone who had fallen before would learn to make.

A faint, private smile touched Izumi’s lips.

She recognized that correction. She had been forced to learn dozens like it.

Around them, the room warmed with laughter and wine, but Izumi’s thoughts stayed cool and precise. Even the dancer’s glances were measured. Her chin lowered just enough to seem modest, her eyes lifting only at deliberate moments. Nothing about her felt accidental. Not the toss of the indigo veil, not the timing of her approach to the princess’s table, not the way the silk drifted just long enough to invite a hand to catch it.

Everything was placed.

Even intimacy, Izumi noticed, was executed with control. When the dancer moved closer, when the performance shifted from distant beauty to something more personal, her posture never broke. Her back stayed straight. Her knees aligned. Her movements remained clean and economical.

She didn’t lose herself in the role.

She guided it.

That was what separated professionals from amateurs. Amateurs drowned in attention. Professionals steered it like a boat through current.

Izumi understood that distinction too well.

To the other guests, the dancer was charm and color and warmth. To Izumi, she was something else entirely: calluses hidden under silk, muscles trained to hold perfect lines, a woman who had likely knelt for hours practicing the same gesture until it stopped trembling.

Someone who had turned herself into an atmosphere.

Just as Izumi had once done.

The realization didn’t sting the way it used to. It felt almost comforting, like spotting a fellow traveler on a long road.

She lifted her tea at last and took a slow sip, the steam brushing her cheek. For a moment, memory surfaced unbidden; heavy kimono sleeves, the sharp tap of a fan against her wrist, a teacher’s voice reminding her that grace was not decoration but discipline.

Across the room, silk flared again like firelight, and bells chimed softly.

Izumi didn’t stare anymore. She didn’t need to. She had already measured the dancer completely.

Still, in the quiet privacy of her thoughts, she inclined her head the slightest degree, an acknowledgment no one else would ever see.

Professional to professional.
​

 

[Junko Ike]

Niijima Izumi

Junko felt the shift before she saw it in the air when someone in the room wasn't presentat the table. Not the hungry attention of admirers, nor the unfocused curiosity of the staff. This was something quieter in the force. A presence that measured rather than stared. Her gaze drifted, unhurried, past the screens and the drifting steam of tea until it found the woman seated near the cedar pillar. The one who had bowed earlier with the kind of precision that came from training, not habit. The one who watched but didn't bring herself into the conversation or events. Interesting. Junko let the thought warm her expression.

She lifted her cup, sipped, and then with the ease of someone who had never once doubted her place in a room she spoke just loud enough for her voice to carry across the tatami. "Come join us" she said, tone smooth as lacquered wood, "It can be considered rude to just stand off to the side during a meal." Not greedily. Not foolishly. But with understanding. She set her cup down, fingers brushing the indigo veil still draped across her lap, its silk catching the lantern light like a captured sigh. "Come sit with us," Junko continued, her smile soft but unmistakably inviting. "The tea is better when shared, and I would enjoy hearing more from you."

 

[Niijima Izumi]

Izumi had felt it the moment it shifted.

Attention, when careless, was easy to ignore. It fluttered and faded, moved from spectacle to spectacle like moths chasing flame. This was different. This was deliberate. Calm. Searching without grasping.

She did not look up immediately.

Instead, she finished her sip of tea, setting the cup down with quiet precision on the saucer beside her. Only then did her gaze lift, meeting Junko’s across the soft haze of steam and lanternlight.

So, the princess did not simply enjoy the room. She read it.

Izumi rose smoothly from her place by the cedar pillar, every movement unhurried, unbothered. If she had been measured, she would answer in kind; not with defensiveness, but with composure.

She approached the table at a respectful angle rather than directly, stopping just beyond the intimate circle of cushions. Her bow was graceful, controlled, neither shallow nor overly deep. The kind of bow that acknowledged status without surrendering self.

“My apologies,” she said gently, her voice low but clear enough to carry without strain. “Old habits make me favor the edges of a room.”

A faint curve touched her lips; not quite a smile, but close.

“I meant no discourtesy.”

The lanternlight caught in the subtle sheen of her kimono as she straightened. It was understated compared to the dancer’s riot of silk; soft ivory threaded with pale silver patterns that only revealed themselves when the light shifted. Elegant, but restrained. A choice.

Her eyes flicked briefly to the indigo veil draped across Junko’s lap, then returned to the princess’s face.

“You are generous to extend the invitation,”” she continued. “And correct. Tea does lose something when taken alone.”

There was the slightest pause there, as though she weighed more than just the offer of a seat.

Then she knelt with controlled ease at the edge of the table, folding her legs beneath her in one smooth motion. Her back remained straight, shoulders relaxed, hands resting lightly atop her thighs. Close enough to join, far enough to maintain formality.

“I am Izumi,” she said simply. No title. No embellishment. “A traveler, for now.”

Her gaze did not challenge, but it did not lower submissively either. It held steady, observant, the way it had from across the room.

“The performance is… refined,”” she added, her tone thoughtful rather than coy. “It would have been a waste not to appreciate it properly.”” She continued to study the woman, the many mysteries of her peaked her interest more than Izumi was willing to admit.
​

Junko Ike​

 

[Junko Ike]

Niijima Izumi

She offered a bow of her head to that while the others with her had a place opened. Junko took a moment to think about and look at the veil she had gotten. "They are beautiful, it is good to see that many are returning to normal after the attack. We'll be able to do a lot more with all of the reconstruction efforts that we have been doing and restoration." She said it and there was a lot still going while she ate and drank more of the food. This was just one small area in the larger city. One among many but they were redeveloping the walls to be much more protective and Miyoungs systems had been implemented to improve a number of other aspects. She leaned forward a little though while taking in the dancer again. "I will admit that the owner has gone all out but their production units not being damaged was a benefit."

 

[Niijima Izumi]

Izumi listened as Junko spoke of reconstruction and restoration, of walls strengthened and systems improved. She nodded at the appropriate moments, but her gaze drifted back to the dancer as silk flared once more in a careful arc of crimson and gold.

“The owner has done well,” Izumi agreed softly. “Not only to preserve the production units… but to preserve this.”

Her eyes followed the dancer’s wrists as they turned, subtle and controlled, keeping the veils alive even in stillness.

“Art is often the first thing lost after an attack,” she continued. “It is considered… unnecessary.”

There was no bitterness in her tone. Just memory.

“When cities rebuild, they focus on stone, steel, food, security. They forget that people do not return for walls alone.”

The dancer spun, gathering silk inward before releasing it in a radiant bloom. Izumi’s lips curved faintly, almost private. “She is well trained,” Izumi observed. “You can see it in her balance. The way she grounds herself before every turn. The way her breath guides the fabric instead of rebelling against it.” Her voice carried quiet appreciation rather than envy. “That kind of control does not survive chaos easily. It must be practiced through it.”

Her fingers traced the rim of her teacup absently. “In my experience,” she added, tone light but layered, “performance after devastation feels different. Every movement carries proof that one is still here. Still standing. Still capable of beauty.”

She glanced at Junko then, expression composed but thoughtful.

“When I was younger, I was taught that grace is discipline disguised as effortlessness. That no one should see the hours behind a single perfect gesture.” A faint exhale escaped her, almost a quiet laugh. “After hardship, that lesson becomes sharper. You do not perform to be admired. You perform to remind the room that it has survived.”

The dancer drifted closer to the lanternlight again, bells chiming softly.

“She is not merely entertaining,” Izumi said. “She is demonstrating that this place breathes again.”

Her gaze returned to Junko, steady and warm. "My apologies, I get easily carried away when speaking from the heart or of passion..." her voice drifted, allowing the silence to finish the unfinished thought.[/COLOR]
​

Junko Ike​