Falling Star

Since his sister hadn't come home since last night, Graham thought he'd take a trip down memory lane. And so, the very next day, Graham came back to the Chevalier Research Society’s clubhouse.

While all the old oil and hanging cheval parts remained, everyone’s personal effects had all but disappeared. The warehouses waited for next school year’s batch to inhabit it.

What a mess. The next batch would have their work cut out for them, cleaning all this up.

Or not.

He heard the school might be pulling the plug on the Society.

The club could no longer justify itself, they said.

Two years of little achievements, and dwindling membership, meant the club could no longer justify itself. There weren't even any crosses to bear—just nothing but an empty but messy warehouse.

Graham ran his hand through the dirty, ratty couch, feeling the worn fabric under his fingertips. Just yesterday, he’d woken up here.

The clubhouse came alive in his memory—like pictures from a storybook—flooded with laughter, arguments over video games, lazy afternoons, and the occasional, half-hearted attempts at productivity.

The school grounds were empty now. Silent. The kind of quiet that made the past louder.

Like the echo of a concert long after the music had stopped.

Did I have fun?

Grahan understood fun—at least in theory.

He knew what counted as ‘fun’. He could smile, laugh, cringe, and cry like everyone else. Those fleeting days with Anton and Leena—those were fun. Weren’t they?

But did he actually feel it?

Wasn’t fun supposed to stir something deeper?

His heart didn’t beat all the same.

Was it supposed to be like this?

Was fun something you could decide you had? Or did it have to come from somewhere real?

“...I’m sorry.”

A half-opened arm mechanism rested on a nearby table, its contents still spilled out and rusted over, no thanks to Leena. They’d found it in mint condition when they salvaged it from the local junkyard.

Squished under it was a slip of paper and a cardboard vinyl case. When Graham pulled them out, the words ‘graham forgot this lol’ greeted him, alongside a familiar vinyl case of Maya’s first ever album, ‘First Steps’.

This brings me back.

Graham pulled the vinyl out, then placed it into a vinyl player a now-graduated senior forgot, and now left, by the clubhouse's window.

The vinyl player screeched, twice more than it needed to. Out came the sound of a guitar, a piano—then Maya’s voice. The player stuttered, then died in a mere moment, before the first verse could even finish.

So that was the reason his senior left it there.

Defective.

Once cherished, now defective and abandoned by the one that once loved it.

Without Maya’s song to quiet his thoughts, nothing could stop them from wreaking havoc in his head.

“We’re gonna make it.”

“All three of us.”

“We’re gonna make it to the Mobile Chivalry.”

What kind of man—nay, person—makes a promise like that, only to not just fail to keep it, but be instrumental to its loss?

He was losing grip, and he couldn’t help it.

A defective human.

Like a clock that could never tell the correct time, one that was almost always an hour off, and never rang its bell at midnight.

Graham buried his face in his hands.

“What the hell am I doing?”

The expectations everyone had for him—his sister’s, his friends’, everyone—crumbled one by one.

Was it so much to ask? To live that life without losing trust of those who still believed him?

Graham moved in a daze, stepping out of the warehouse and onto the empty school grounds. The track field stretched out before him, a familiar yet distant place.

“Ah… cherry blossoms?”

A single cherry blossom fell on his shoulder.

There should’ve been nothing to it, but at the moment, he felt the touch of something spiritual. Something divine. Like a distant whisper calling out to him, with words yet to be understood.

A comforting feeling. If the ice in his blood didn’t run so cold, then maybe he could make out the words.

He peered through the grating that separated the school grounds from the rest of city streets beyond. On other side were rustic buildings, though recently built, were deliberately designed to resemble a model town from a world centuries passed. Cherry blossom trees in fresh bloom lined the old European aesthetics of Espada City, shaping it into a canvas of green and carnation. Then, beyond it, just peeking out of sight, the city skyline further downtown.

These cherry blossoms—they were planted as a sign of peace.

Once only found in the far east, they were now genetically engineered to grow at most temperate and subtropical nations in the world. They served as a reminder that war was—and should remain a thing of the past. They weren’t just signs of peace.

They were signs of a promise.

And the city that stretched beyond Graham—Espada City—was one such fruit of that promise. Once nothing but a barren wasteland, governments of the new world built a brand new city over it; a testament to proof that humanity can rebuild and persevere even in the harshest conditions. They made sure it served as a picture of peace—almost like a scene straight out of a postcard.

Graham couldn’t help but be amazed at how humanity could work so hard to end mass conflict as an institutionalized thing.

Conflict on a personal level was something else, of course.

You couldn’t stop the eternal march of the human heart.

How funny.

People carried on—feeling, living, even keeping impossible promises. And yet, he—

Crash.

A thunderous boom shattered his thoughts.

Graham jolted upright. Something had plowed into the gym storage past the field. Concrete and brick crumbled like paper. Smoke and dust billowed outward, stinging his eyes, burning his throat. He coughed, blinked hard, then ran.

By the time the dust settled, he was already there.

A cheval laid amid the rubble, its white armor gleaming beneath the destruction. Unlike the more rugged cross between man-and-tank modern chevals were, this one had a more human shape to it—knightly even, sculpted in the form of an armored warrior.

No threads. No mechanical stilts. Its feet looked humanesque.

Its head—silver, gleaming in the sunlight. Its design was two-eyed, like a man in a helmet—unusual in construction, unlike all the visor-type helmets that were all the rage today.

What was it doing here, within city limits?

Could an Honor Battle be going on nearby?

No, that couldn’t be it. All designated battlefields should’ve been at least 5 kilometers from the furthest city border. If it was one, it couldn’t be legal. Even then, no one was crazy enough to do it near a school zone, right?

Graham scanned his surroundings. He expected movement, sirens, the chaos of panicked pedestrians.

Nothing.

No opponent. No authorities. Just the distant rustling of birds fleeing the treetops.

Strange. Had something already happened while he was mentally checked out?

His gut twisted. He ran to the cheval’s cockpit and rapped his knuckles against the hull. Once. Twice.

No response.

The pilot could be unconscious. Or worse.

Without hesitation, he reached for the emergency release, yanked the lever to the side. The mechanism hissed—a sharp pop as the hatch unsealed.

Inside, a young woman—close to his age—was stirring, dazed but conscious.

Graham reached in to help her out.

He stopped.

Graham froze.

Her long hair, wild from the impact, spilled around her like flowing silk, a brilliant chestnut hue reminiscent of autumn leaves at their most radiant.

A tingle knocked at the back of his head. The sight of her roused a feeling of familiarity. Like he’d seen her before, but just couldn’t pinpoint when—and where.

Graham’s pulse spiked. His breath caught. Every sensation sharpened. And yet, he could forget the burning metal that sizzled under his shoe.

He was utterly, completely entranced.

His gaze traced her, committing every delicate contour to memory, every curve wrapped in the elegant folds of her tight, red, oriental-styled dress. She wasn’t from here. Not from Astonia, nor anywhere Graham has ever been.

The girl coughed. She groaned, then before she could open her eyes, muttered to herself.

“Where am I? W-what in the heavens just happened?”

When the girl’s voice reached his ears, a warmth welled up in him. It rushed from his head, then from his arms, and finally, his chest.

That voice—I know it…

Then, her eyes fluttered open.

Emerald. Dazzling. Arresting.

He’d seen this before. Though he’d heard more than seen her, those eyes… it couldn’t be, right?

Time stopped. The destruction—the rising smoke—became nothing more than a canvas that framed her.

The girl shook herself fully awake, though she remained unaware of Graham’s dazed fascination.

“You… Who are you?” Her voice was quiet yet elegant, carrying a practiced poise. “A student? Am I finally in Espada City?”

She gripped the cheval’s controls. She tugged at its levers, pressing pedals, but they remained motionless, frozen in place like decorative props.

“Move… please move…!” Her hands trembled as she tried again and again. “Why won’t you listen to me? For the love of— Hey!”

Her sudden outburst jolted Graham, yanking him out of his trance.

“Ah—”

“Can you take me to the nearest embassy? I must get there quickly. Time isn’t on my side.”

Every Chevalier and aspiring pilot in the city knew of its significance. It was where licenses were issued, records kept, and where the foundations of every official duel and tournament were laid.

That she didn’t know was telling. She wasn’t from here. And more than that—she wasn’t a registered Chevalier. At least, not officially.

But that didn’t matter right now.

“Sir, please. I need your help.” the girl pleaded.

That slow realization, once gnawing at his chest, finally set in, sinking below the surface.

If he just colored her hair jet black, and tied it to the side, a few inches to the right… it had to be her.

Was this ‘fate’?

Yes — this was fate.

What else could it have been?

Then, he felt it.

Something in him stirred. It pulled, tugged with a comforting tightness. An invisible thread tired to his heart, dragging him toward a path he hadn’t known existed.

A fire lit within him, burning hotter by the second.

It blazed, roared, almost out of control. Soon, it enveloped him.

And then it beat.

His heart.

“Maya… Hamasaki?”

“H-huh?” The girl stuttered. She wasn't confused, but instead, shocked. Telling.

“There’s no mistaking it!”

“I think you have the wrong person,” the girl said, fidgeting her fingers. “I don't look anything like—”

“Otsu—”

“Hallo!”

The girl quickly clasped her hands over her mouth. Her eyes shot open, showing her deep emerald colors even more.

A usual fan callout—she said it out of reflex. She shouldn't have, she thought.

“Miss Maya… so it is you!” Graham spoke as if he were running out of breath. “No way… B-but what happened? What's all this? What're you doing all the way out here? And this cheval…”

”It's a long story. But as I was saying, I must get away from here fast.” Her voice trembled. “They are coming.”

“They…?”

“Please!” she begged again, her desperation raw. “Tell me where the embassy is. I shall run there if need be!”

Was this ‘Maya’ in danger?

Real danger?

What was this cheval, and why had she crashed it inside the city?

And if she really was who Graham thought she was, what was she doing all the way here, halfway across the world?

Who was ‘they’?

A picture began forming in his mind—an incomplete canvas, its details blurred yet undeniable.

Graham wanted to be seen. To be felt. To be needed by the voice he cherished so.

For the first time, he felt whole.

Like a person who could feel. Really feel. Not just the vague echoes of what he thought emotions were supposed to be.

There was something real. Something undeniable.

Something that wanted to scream, to shout, to be heard.

“I’m… Graham.”

“What?” The girl blinked, startled. Had she even asked for his name?

“The name’s Graham,” He repeated, steadier this time. “And I swear on my name—we’ll see this through.”