🌌 THE LAST PILLAR OF TOMORROW
Episode 1 — Upgraded Emotional Expression Scene
Night.
Platform 9 was always quieter than the rest of Aerolith.
Not officially.
Just… people didn't come here much.
Maybe because this was the only place where the city lights didn't fully hide the sky.
He stood at the edge.
The metal floor beneath his shoes hummed softly — the sound of anti-gravity engines keeping forty-two million lives suspended above an ocean that had already swallowed the old world.
Cold wind touched his face.
Real wind.
Not climate-controlled air.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
The city behind him breathed in perfect rhythm — lights pulsing together, drones gliding in organized routes, distant music rising and falling like a programmed heartbeat.
It was beautiful.
And it scared him.
Because beauty shouldn't feel… this precise.
He opened his eyes and looked down.
Far below, waves crashed against the forgotten ruins buried beneath the ocean surface. For a split second, moonlight reflected off broken skyscrapers underwater.
Ghosts of a time when humans made mistakes freely.
His fingers tightened around the railing.
"Why does that look more alive than this?" he whispered, not expecting an answer.
"Because chaos looks honest."
The voice behind him was calm. Sharp. Controlled.
He turned slowly.
She stood a few steps away, silver Mind Dominion badge catching the moonlight like a second eye watching him.
Aria didn't walk closer immediately.
She studied him first — the way scientists study storms from satellites, curious but careful.
"You were staring at restricted territory," she said.
"You were watching me stare," he replied.
A small silence formed between them.
Not empty silence.
The kind that feels like two thoughts colliding quietly.
She stepped closer now, the soft glow from city lights outlining her face. There was confidence there… but also something hidden underneath. Something trained to stay hidden.
"The Balance will help with that feeling," she said.
"What feeling?"
"The one where you think the world is lying to you."
He laughed once. Not loud. Just air escaping.
"What if it is?"
She inhaled slightly, as if her response was already written somewhere inside her mind… but for a moment, she couldn't find the page.
"The Balance reduces irrational emotional spikes," she said finally.
He turned back toward the ocean.
"What if emotions aren't spikes?" he asked quietly. "What if they're… signals?"
Wind grew stronger, pulling at their clothes, pushing strands of her hair across her face. She didn't fix it immediately. She just watched him.
"You're not afraid of tomorrow?" she asked.
He thought about that.
Images passed through his mind — his father's perfect smile, his teacher's flawless tone, the celebration drones dropping silver dust over children who looked happy in the exact same way.
"I'm afraid," he admitted.
Her expression softened just enough to almost be human instead of official.
"Then why not accept help?"
He touched his wrist unconsciously.
"I'm not afraid of losing fear," he said slowly.
"I'm afraid of losing the reason fear exists."
For the first time, she had no answer.
Behind them, the city lights synchronized into a bright pulse — the nightly System Harmony Check.
The glow reflected in her eyes.
Perfect.
Measured.
But when she blinked… it looked like she was trying to clear something out of her vision.
Or maybe… out of her thoughts.
Suddenly, his wrist burned.
Not sharp pain.
Warm.
Like something inside his veins remembered him.
He stared at the faint glow spreading under his skin, blue light moving like liquid starlight beneath his pulse.
Her breath caught slightly.
"That's impossible," she whispered.
He didn't respond.
He was staring at his own hand… like it didn't belong to him anymore.
Above them, satellites shifted silently.
Below them, waves struck buried buildings harder, as if the ocean itself felt something waking.
And for the first time since Aerolith was built…
The city lights flickered out of rhythm.
Only for a moment.
But he noticed.
And strangely…
He smiled.
Not because he was happy.
Because something in the world finally felt imperfect.
And that felt real.