The Unbeating Heart I

When was the last time Graham felt his own heartbeat?

Not the steady, mechanical rhythm that kept him alive, but the kind that burned. The kind that clawed its way through his chest, demanding it be felt.

Joy, excitement, ambition, dreams… They were supposed to make the heart soar, right? That’s what they said. That’s what everyone believed—what everyone made him believe.

Graham stared at the ceiling of his room, counting all the interesting shapes of dirt and lint stuck on it. He wasn’t doing anything. Couldn’t do anything. The moonlight seeped through his curtains, bathing his room with a blue silence.

He placed a hand over his chest, only to feel a beatless void within.

How long had it been since he’d felt his chest burn?

Such a feeling had faded… withered. Its ashes scattered to the wind, across the unending blue sky.

So he did what he could to bring it back.

To feel something, anything.

He reached out for his bedside table, grabbed his phone and a pair of earphones, and slipped them in, one side at a time.

He opened his music app and scrolled through his playlist, thumb running on muscle memory more than intent—until it hovered over one song among hundreds.

He tapped it before he’d even registered the title, as if his heart had chosen it before his eyes could.

“I love you.”

The song's very first line hit him like a truck.

Same as the first time.

Same as the third—the seventh—maybe more.

It wasn't just the words, nor the message that spoke to him—but her voice, and the way it connected all the beautiful melodies within.

A girl’s voice, graceful and delicate, but not fragile. Controlled, practiced, but still clinging to a raw youthfulness. It wasn’t perfect—but that’s what made it beautiful.

The melody would swim in his mind, and her voice would run a comforting warmth through his veins. He never knew why her voice stirred something in him, but it did. Every single time. Like a memory he never lived; a voice from a dream that never ended properly.

And each time—even now—that warmth would bloom in his chest, almost filling the void where his heartbeat should be.

A furnace without an engine. A flame without a purpose.

But still, it burned.

Maya Hamasaki.

A young actress turned diva from the far east.

She was a phenomenon from the far east, a rising star who began with a camera and a dream, climbing from content creator to rising diva, a global sweetheart.

The first time he heard her voice, he was entranced, like a witch had cast her spell on him. He kept listening and listening, following every release.

But this one was his favorite.

‘Blue Bird’.

A song of peace, hope, and love—of a home that he would wish for himself. The song gave his empty chest a certain warmth—filling the void where a heartbeat should’ve been.

Graham closed his eyes.

If only he could feel like this forever.

His mind drifted, not to dreams, but to something distant—memories half-forgotten, a future he couldn’t quite see.

Maya’s voice overlayed itself on top of them all, growing fields of flowers in what he thought were barren thoughts.

“If I became a Solaris Knight, could I reach you?”

He was here. She was there—in a faraway land.

Life in the city kept him static. Graham lived far, far away from her. Crossing the wastelands was dangerous, nothing anyone should and can do on a whim. And if he were to reach her, what then? He’d just be another in a sea of thousands, possibly millions, reaching out to her.

But if he were to become the Solaris Knight, he wouldn’t be a nobody.

He’d be somebody.

And so, he fought and fought to become part of the Mobile Chivalry. It was the best place to start his journey on becoming a Solaris Knight.

Like his father before once was.

…And yet he failed. Again and again.

That dream—that life—would soon become inaccessible to him. A distant memory, a shattered hope. And so Graham turned to the only other thing that made him feel alive.

“I must fight.”

####

The heat of his cheval's cockpit stung his skin.

His friends warned him. His sister—who also happened to be his teacher, warned him. His opponent was brutal, relentless, and unpredictable. Forget victory—they didn't want to see him hurt.

But Graham, son of Siegfried Akkwood, doesn't back down from a challenge.

“On your feet, Gram! Move!”

A mature young woman’s voice crackled over the radio.

Graham’s body jolted from the impact. His vision blurred, rattled by the sheer force slamming into him.

The heat of his Ryzel-model cheval warmed his seat. His sweat dripped down his chin, wetting the bottom cushion of his helmet. His blood ran through his fingertips, its flow electric and rejuvenating as he gripped the control levers to his sides.

Even if his heart didn’t beat, its mechanical functions remained.

And this tension—this pain? It was a reminder that he was alive.

His unit’s viewfinder locked onto the opponent ahead.

A green, heavily armored cheval. Angled shoulders. Thick plating. A broad-edged axe. The exact same model he was in.

Juri Lorrander—the man he’d feuded for his entire high school life. First he bullied the weak, and then when he stopped, he’d fight Graham for fun. And fight they did—in and out of Honor Battle. But that ends today.

He had just slammed Graham to the concrete arena barrier like he was nothing.

The arena, way too small for the ferocity of eight-meter-tall machines, enclosed them like a stone prison. Big enough for a single man to run out of breath crossing, but small enough for them to flash across in a moment.

His fingers curled around the controls. Graham forced his machine back on its feet. The Ryzel’s massive solar-bladed axe hummed to life in his grip.

Then he charged.

Threads of dust kicked up in his wake. The axe came down in a blur of sunfire—

An explosive clang.

Juri blocked it with an axe of his own.

The impact sent a tremor through his frame, but he didn’t feel it. Their weapons’ energy blades sizzled against each other. Graham clenched his teeth, pushing the levers near their breaking point.

“I knew you wouldn't back down from a challenge, Gram. And still I find you lacking,” Juri taunted over the comms, his voice coarse yet seemingly deadpan as usual. “Show me a good time, will ya!”

He threw Graham’s own momentum at him, forcing him off-balance before bringing his axe down in a brutal chop.

Graham slid back. He turned, dodging it. Another attack. He slid again. He strafed again and again, slipping through flurry after flurry—A dance of narrow escapes.

Then—an opening!

Or so he thought.

Juri’s stance left space. Just enough to bait him in.

Graham took it.

He boosted forward, full thrust, axe raised high—

Too slow.

Juri moved faster. His axe swiped at his opponent's head. Graham ducked, but not fast enough. The blade scraped his cheval’s Feather, shaving an inch of metal.

Graham pulled his cheval back, giving him much-needed space. Cold sweat trickled down his back. One inch lower, and that would’ve been it.

“Dammit. Move!”

The Ryzel wouldn’t respond the way he wanted. It was sluggish, disjointed even. And Juri—no, he wasn’t going to wait for him to get used to it.

“Not bad, Juri.” Graham barked over the comms. “You’ve been getting better, not gonna lie. But if you think I’m gonna go down that easy, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“I’d be disappointed if that took you out.”

Juri stretched his axe-wielding arm back, and held his cheval’s other hand in a taunt, beckoning Graham forward.

The same woman from earlier called out over the radio. Coleda—his sister, spoke.

“I told you not to take this fight. Juri’s volatile. Dangerous. That’s why he’s failed the Mobile Chivalry exam twice now. He might hurt you!”

Graham recalled that he himself failed the exam thrice. So he and Juri—they weren't so different.

He smirked, so much that his sister could hear it over the radio. “We both know I'm no stranger to pain. So let me oblige him just this once.”

“Gram, stop!”

Graham locked his sights back on his opponent. His grip tightened around the solar axe. He shifted forward, taking an offensive stance.

“That’s much better,” Juri mocked over the cockpit speakers. “Don’t let your sister tell you what to do. She doesn’t understand, does she?”

“Doesn’t understand what?”

“Your condition. I know you can’t feel it, Gram.”

How did he…?

The state of his heart was a well-kept secret—not even his own sister knew, nor two of his closest friends. And he sure as hell hadn’t told Juri. Did he know, or was he just grasping at straws, looking for something—anything to rile him up, like usual?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Graham stepped to the side, fishing for an opening. “But you keep yapping, and you’ll regret it.”

“Ooh. I’m quaking in my boots.”

Graham dashed forward, thrusting the top of his axe straight at his unit’s Feather—

Miss.

Juri sidestepped.

Then came the counter.

His axe cleaved into Graham’s unit’s arm joint, like a hot knife through butter. The impact sent thunder through his cockpit. Warning lights flared. His arm, and his axe, dropped uselessly to the dirt.

—What?

Training chevals’ weapons shouldn’t be capable of dealing that much damage to anything outside a Feather. Should a training weapon hit a joint, the most he should expect was some minor breakage, maybe a fall and tumble.

Not this.

Did he reprogram the training weapon…?

But there was no time to think.

Juri spun, his blade arcing straight for his enemy’s head.

Graham roared, twisting at the last second. The solar axe scraped along his cheval’s back instead.

The stench of burning liquid Solarium hissed into the cockpit.

Battery breach.

Alarms screamed in his ears.

If he didn’t know any better, Juri must’ve been trying to kill him.

Frustration flared in his throat. Graham lashed out—a desperate kick aimed at Juri’s cheval’s chin. The impact sent metal shards scattering across the arena.

With his remaining arm, Graham picked up his solar axe, and slammed it right into Juri’s shoulder. The axe cracked through the joints. Sparks flew from the damaged wires—though, unlike Graham’s unit, his axe didn’t cleave through it.

Graham thought he had the edge. If he raised his axe one more time, and aimed for the Feather—

Then Juri recovered.

His axe flashed again.

It jammed into Graham’s chest plate.

Though the cockpit was protected, that didn’t stop the solar axe’s sizzling heat from emanating through the black Solarium-alloy metal.

“Gram, I’m stopping the fight!” His sister’s voice echoed from the comms.

“Not yet—I can still—”

With one final, mighty outburst, he lifted his unit’s solar axe, raised it into the air, and thrust it downward.

Juri mirrored the movement. He dislodged his own axe, and swiped it not at the Feather—but at the cockpit.

Fire flew from the monitors of Graham’s cockpit. Sparks flew all over. A shard of metal scraped his chest, ripping the shirt, then the skin, drawing blood. The cockpit shook, and then—

Darkness.

The last thing Graham heard was a buzz ringing his ears. The familiar sound of a bell: The signal of a battle that ended.

And the only thing he could think of at that moment was:

“Did I win?”