The Unbeating Heart II

In the midst of sleep, Graham dreamt.

He loved the stars. His dreams reminded him of that.

Every night, he and his mother would climb the green hills outside Espada City’s borders, away from the pollution of city lights. She’d set up a telescope, tracing constellations with her finger, naming each one from top to bottom.

“Every star guides a person’s life. The brighter a star, the greater their lives, their dreams. I heard a Chevalier’s stars shine the brightest.”

“Then what about that one?,” a young Graham pointed at the brightest star he could see. “At the heart of Virgo… it’s so warm.”

“That would be Spica.”

In Graham’s memories, his mother’s face was a blur.

She was radiant. Beautiful. He had had no proof, but despite that, the idea was real enough to him.

“Spica… they gotta be a great Chevalier.”

“Hmm?”

“I wonder what kind of guy Spica is watching over. If it’s that bright… they must be awesome.”

His mother smiled. “Spica isn’t just one star. It’s a binary system.”

“A binary…?”

“Spica doesn’t just shine for one Chevalier. They shine for them and the person closest to them.”

Graham’s face fell. “So Spica… isn’t just one great guy? That’s lame.”

His mother laughed. “You think so? I wanna believe it’s quite the opposite.”

“There are people who shine the brightest when they’re cherished—and when they cherish someone in return. Some people are just built to live for others. Being alone can be strength, but it’s not always a virtue.”

Graham gazed at the constellation.

“Oh… Mom, do you think Spica is a Chevalier?“

“Who’s to say?” she mused. “We could be any of the millions of stars out there. And all of them… they’re all equally beautiful.

“I just want to be the brightest,” Graham said. “I want to be a Chevalier. I want to shine brighter than all of them.”

The excitement faded almost as quickly as it came.

“But… What if my stars say I can’t be?” He scratched his head, frowning. “What if my stars don’t think my life will be awesome? What if I’m just meant… to be nobody?”

His mother shook her head. She knew every star was special, but Graham wanted more—he wanted to be captain of his destiny. For a child so young to think such thoughts, she must have felt proud to be his mother.

And so, she told him:

“Change your stars.”

Graham blinked. “Change my stars? Can I really do that…?”

“I believe everyone can. You can.”

The dreamscape lingered, visiting him now and then—almost tangible, almost real. As if each dream was a fragment of time, slipping through his fingers.

But these memories weren’t real.

How could they be?

Graham never knew his mother. After all, it was his birth that had stolen her last breath.

He never even knew what she looked like.

But he dreamt those memories, and each time he met his mother there, it felt real… Tactile.

To stay on that hill with her forever, to never wake up, to make that dream his reality. It could’ve been nice—but it couldn’t be.

He would visit that green hill outside the city’s borders when he could. But like his mother, nary a hint of green dotted the hill. It was barren, eroded, and empty much like the rest of the badlands—badlands that stretched endlessly into Astonia’s dusty horizons.

There, beneath the vast sky, he watched the stars, spotting again and again the twin stars his mother called ‘Spica’.

He wasn’t sure why he had grown attached to the idea of her—a mother he had never truly known. He never spoke about it. Not to his father, who was barely there, nor to Coleda, his sister, who’d been more a mother to him than his imagination ever has.

A few years ago, he stopped coming to the hill.

Life had begun moving on its own, grinding forward like eternal clockwork.

Was that when it happened?

Was that when his heart stopped beating?

And yet, that star continued to shine in him. Graham sought out, through the endless ocean of his dreams, something that would fill the emptiness in his chest. And then, in the middle of that ocean, a song.

Under that binary star, an enchanting melody, and a figure equally as radiant, singing her out for the world.

There, Graham found his Spica.

His star.

But when her lips of rouge parted, instead of a song, she called out to him.

“Wake up, Graham.”

The girl roused him awake.

“Wake up, I said.”

####

Graham stirred awake, his body sinking into the lumpy cushions of an all-too-familiar, battered couch. The scent of motor oil, scorched metal, and day-old burger wrappers hit him before his eyes could fully open.

The warehouse was just as he remembered: Dimly lit by half-life overhead lamps, cluttered with half-disassembled machine parts, scattered power tools, and oil-soiled curtains.

This was the headquarters of the Chevalier Research Society, the school club he’d belonged to since his first year of high school. Officially, they were dedicated to building, fine-tuning, and operating chevals for competition capacity.

In reality, it was more of a refuge.

A place for like-minded gearheads to waste time, talk shop, and tinker with whatever they could get their hands on.

…But why was he here?

His head was murky, thoughts slipping through a hazy morning-like mist. When he sat up, the fog in his mind cleared—only to reveal a deep, aching throb. Bruises flared to life across his ribs, and the tight pull of the reddened gauze on his skin told him all he needed to know.

Right.

The fight.

A few hours passed since his last fight with Juri Lorrander.

Though his injuries weren’t life threatening, the bloodied gauze stretched across and around his torso made him look like a dying man. Touching the red streaks stung. He looked at the old mirror haphazardly bolted on the wall beside the couch.

The sharp angles of his boyish face were lost beneath bruises. His usually tied-back hair had come undone, strands falling over his eyes, shadowing his face like a forlorn ghost. From behind the bandages on his lean chest was what looked like a gash forming into a scar.

That’s… not good.

Though he wouldn’t deny that the idea of having a scar across his chest was awesome. It’d make him look like a badass if he showed it off to a girl or something—if he would ever get the chance, of course.

As Graham’s head cleared, he scanned the clubhouse for any sign of his sister. If he’d gotten into this bad of a scrap, she should have been here, ready to chastise him, right?

But she was nowhere to be found.

Though somebody was there in her place.

A young woman sat nearby, hunched over her phone. Reddish hair, tied into a loose ponytail that draped over one shoulder, with long bangs like curtains shielding her eyes.

Her tank top and shorts made her look less conservative than other girls her age, but if experience told Graham anything, is that she prioritized comfort over modesty. Ironically though, a pair of thick, round glasses obscured most of her face, parting just enough to reveal a dusting of freckles across her nose.

“Leena?” His voice came out rough, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.

She didn’t look up right away. Only after a beat did she lower her phone with a sigh. “Oh. Hammy. You’re finally awake.”

She stood, walked over, and without warning, jabbed a finger against the fresh plaster on his cheek. It burned.

“Ow! The hell was that for?” Graham recoiled.

Leena leaned close, intently unimpressed. “Your sister told me. Fighting Juri again? For fuck’s sake, look at what you’ve done to yourself.”

“Oh… that.” He forced a chuckle. “That was probably the worst we’ve had. But it’s just another fight, at the end of the day.”

“Just another fight?” Leena shot him a glare. “You look like he came at you with a knife and a club. You’re lucky you’re alive.”

“What can I say? Guess I’m made of Solarium.” Graham laughed.

Leena sighed and bit her lip. With those nearly opaque glasses hiding her eyes, it was hard to read her at a glance.

But Graham didn’t need rocket science to tell he was ticking her off.

“Worried for me? I'm honored.” Graham teased, a lopsided grin creeping onto his face.

Leena clicked her tongue, fingers twitching across his bandages, pulling lightly to threaten. “I’m gonna choke you.”

She was never one to mince words.

“But really. Thanks for patching me up. Sorry to burden you like this.” Graham scanned the room again for any trace of his sister. “By the way, where’s Coleda? Didn’t she bring me here?”

Leena scoffed and crossed her arms.

“Anton did. He came into your murder scene hot on its heels. Your sister’s out doing… well, other stuff. Important stuff.”

“What important stuff?”

“It’s about Juri,” Leena shook her head. “He’s a goner. He’s getting expelled, and she’s taking a personal hand in it.”

Graham clutched his chest. A chill ran up his spine. He didn’t expect to be this worried about him—but moreover, he was worried if this incident was going to get him expelled, too.

“Expelled? Why?” Graham asked, trying to hide his concern for his own future.

Leena pursed her lips. “I think you already know. He illegally modified a training weapon. He amped the output up to standards that are just barely legal even for a real Honor Battle. Thank God modern cockpits are too tough even for that. If he used a real blade, well…”

“I don’t wanna imagine it,” Graham chuckled. “I don’t think I would’ve fought him if I knew he was rocking a real sword.”

Leena glared at him skeptically. “I somehow doubt that.”

“No, really!”

Leena let out a breath. “Whatever you say.”

Graham’s tension left his lungs. At least he could rest assured he wasn’t getting kicked out. He wasn’t the one who modified his own weapons. He did accept the fight—which was an entirely different can of worms.

“Oh yeah, is Anton here?” Graham asked.

“Nope,” Leena picked up her phone and started scrolling through it again. “He’s with Coleda, helping. You know him.”

“He still has a thing for her? You know I don’t approve of it, right?”

“You tell him that. I’m not his keeper.”

Graham laughed awkwardly. He stared at Leena’s glasses, watching the reflection of her screen scroll by. When she did this, it was a sign she wasn’t interested in any further conversation. And so, he obliged.

He grabbed his phone from the coffee table beside him, and slipped in his earphones.

When his phone flashed to life, news of yet another chevalier battle greeted him. With passing interest, he opened it. Inside the article were details of yet another team beating another in a formal Honor Battle.

The usual.

The Chevalier War Games: A globally respected sport whose status is close to ‘sacred’. Its long, noble history rooted itself in a great war that took place a century ago. A war that once destroyed the world as humanity knew it.

And now its weapons were nothing more than set-pieces for sport-cum-dramatic recreation—in a world rebuilt in the name of everlasting peace.

The ultimate award for being the pinnacle of sport was being dubbed a Solaris Knight—an honor amounting to being knighted by royalty in ages long past.

It meant having unlimited prestige, and guaranteed wealth for generations to come.

Young men and women, called ‘Chevaliers’, operated humanoid vehicles called ‘chevals’ to reenact mock battles akin to those from the great war.

A cheval would stand tall at around 7 to 9 meters, armed with weaponry powered by the sun. Piloting one would normally be a highly dangerous activity, but over the years, these machines have been engineered to be safe enough to become a standard varsity sport, much like baseball or taekwondo.

Though… accidents do happen.

Back then, chevals were made to resemble giant armored knights as seen in records of a medieval, feudal era long ago. As the years went by, they became more utilitarian in construction, and resembled more human-shaped tanks than machines shaped like men.

His father was one such Chevalier.

Siegfried Akkwood.

The man who became a Solaris Knight for a day, only to lose it the next.

Back then, he couldn't help but be awestruck, inspired even, to become just as good or even surpass his father. It was hard for a young Graham to not be enamored with the achievements of his father, despite also being known for losing his title as well.

Becoming Mobile Chivalry was anyone's best shot at it.

But his heart didn’t beat for it—not like others’ do.

He wanted to feel something. He wanted to love the idea of being a Chevalier, of stepping into a mech and claiming glory like his father before him.

But he just couldn’t.

His family couldn’t shut up about the damn sport.

Being told to do something he already wanted—suffocating.

Just shut up.

He’d already failed the Mobile Chivalry exam—thrice. His hopes and dreams were effectively dashed, killed before it could even come to form.

And his proctor? His own sister, the instructor.

An unequivocal embarrassment.

His only solace was picking fights with Juri, both in and out of the cheval. And with him gone? What was left of Graham but a defective, unbeating heart?

He closed the news tab on his phone, and scrolled with purpose to what he actually wanted:

Maya’s song—played once more to ease the pain of his wounds, both inside and out.

Again it hit.

The song filled the void again, like it always has.

Her voice danced in his mind, like a watchwoman illuminating the darkened lampposts in a moonless night. With each time he listened, a distant feeling knocked at the back of his head.

Her voice wasn’t just enchanting.

It was familiar—like he was supposed to know it, even before he started listening to her.

A soft breath escaped his throat. The sofa cushions embraced him, but not as much as her words and music did.

Eyes still closed, something—or someone, plucked one of his earphones out of his ear.

Then a whisper.

“I love you.”

The girl’s voice wasn’t Maya. It was rough, unrefined, but still undoubtedly—and shockingly gentle—though its warm breath tickled him.

Graham rocketed himself off the couch, almost comically so, and took several steps back. Leena stood where he used to be, a devilish grin making its home on her face.

“W-what the hell, Leena?”

“Pretty good impression, huh?” Leena giggled.

“N-not even close,” Graham said, shivering, ears red. “A far cry from the lady herself.”

“Oof. Rude,” said Leena, as she perched on the couch, and leaned on its backrest, staring impenetrably at Graham. “You like her that much? You know you’re a bit overboard with it.”

“Overboard? Nah, c’mon, she’s the best,” Graham closed his eyes and held the phone close to his chest. “Would be nice to meet her one day. I’d love to talk about all sorts of things. Things she sings about. How her songs touch my heart. All those things.”

“You and the rest of her fans.”

Graham’s pouted, ignoring the pain his sudden movements caused his wounds. “If I become a Solaris Knight, I won’t be just any fan.”

“Careful, Hammy,” The readable part of Leena’s face twisted into a grimace—an expression born more from the burden of knowledge than anything else.

“You don’t know what she’s like in real life. You know what they say. Never meet your idols.” Leena pushed her glasses up.

A silence passed. Graham shook his head—not at her, but at himself. He stashed the phone into his pocket alongside the earphones. He put on his white polo and draped the school’s blue blazer over his shoulder, then

“Where are you going?” Leena stopped him with her voice.

“I’m sorry.” Graham’s face fell.

Leena cocked her head. “Sorry? For what?”

“It’s just that… I think I’m coming to terms with it,” said Graham, shaking his head once again at the thought of failing the Mobile Chevalier exam three times. “I won’t become a Solaris Knight at this point.”

“I mean, did you ever want it?” Leena mused. “You didn't seem like you were going at it that hard. Seemed to me you were content coasting along.”

“Yeah. And maybe I should've.” Graham’s hand curled into a fist, as if to crush a regret long passed. “You and Anton passed the Mobile Chivalry exam. I didn't. And I was the one who roped you and him into joining, wasn’t I? It was my idea, and look at me now.”

Leena pouted, her brow furrowed. “Slow down. I had my reasons for joining the Society, and I sure as hell had my own reasons for taking the MC exam. You don’t get to decide who did what for whom.”

“I just wanted more time with us three. While we’re still young.”

Does he even know what he’s saying, she thought. Then, she focused on the last part of what he just said.

“What’re you, undergoing a midlife crisis, old man?” Leena chided. “Even after we complete the MC, we’re still young. I won’t be going back to Amerika either, during or after my time as the MC.”

“No, it’s just—”

Graham sighed. There was no way he was winning an argument, no matter how little, against her. “—I started it. It’s awful how I’m the one getting left behind.”

“...And whose fault was that?”

Her voice was dripping with venom.

Leena wasn’t an easy read for most part, but she was a pro at making her displeasure known.

Graham’s face fell even further. His head buried itself into his chest. His silence spoke louder than words could. It was then that Leena knew that she may have misstepped.

“Hey. Bite back.” Leena pleaded with a scrunched expression.

“What’s the use?” Graham shook his head, disappointed at himself. “You’re right. I’m quite the burden, aren’t I?”

Leena slid off the couch’s armrest, and stomped forward towards Graham. “Burden? How could you say that about yourself?”

“I’m sure you don’t want someone who breaks promises around you.”

“Screw the promise. I hate hearing you talk like this.”

“I know. You’re disappointed in me.”

“Goddammit. Stop yourself.” Leena’s voice cracked. The words hit Graham like a slap, sealing his lips shut.

He should be the one to leave, he thought.

Graham slung his bag over his shoulder, and slid open the creaky, unoiled door of the warehouse exit.

“You haven’t answered me. Where are you going?” Leena sneered. “You’re still a fucking mess. If you get hurt out there, Coleda’s gonna kill me. And I’m gonna kill you right after.”

Graham chuckled.

What if not everyone gets to change their stars?

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” Graham grimaced. “I'll go to church. Maybe I’ll pray.”

“Pray…?”

“Yeah. Maybe God will give me a miracle—save me from this life I dealt myself with.”

And the next day, someone—maybe not God—answered.