A Mon Seul Desir I

A great war, more than a century past, had forced humanity to retreat, regroup, and rebuild.

Smaller cities—like Espada—sprouted from the rubble.

The world shrunk.

But had it really shrunk that much?

Enough that Leena, by sheer coincidence, would run into an old friend she’d once known from across the Atlantic?

“So, was it?” Leena looked Maya dead in the eye.

Maya blinked. “W-what’re you talking about?”

“The Honor Battle.” Leena’s voice sharpened. “The one happening in a few hours. No way that just happened.”

She stepped forward.

“And now, surprise. You’re here too. Bigshot celebrity comes over, and just so happens your biggest fan gets himself in a fight at the same time? Like the universe pulled a name from a hat and picked Graham?”

“Wait— Gram?”

Leena stopped cold.

“So you do know.”

She stomped closer. A bodyguard stepped in, broad-shouldered and puffy like a brick wall in motion.

“No—please.” Maya tugged on the guard’s arm, prodding him to step back. “It’s okay. She’s not going to hurt me.”

“You sound so sure about that.” Leena grit her teeth. Maya couldn’t see through her nearly opaque glasses, but she knew she had that face on:

The angry daruma.

“I know you won’t.” Maya said, calm but sincere. “Even if you wanted to, I’d understand. Though, I’d rather we talk this out. I can explain why I’m here. And about Gram—”

“Gram?” Leena cocked her head. Her tone turned razor-thin.

“Gram?”

Only friends and family got to call him that.

“You two sound awfully cozy? What a scandal.” Leena smirked a half-haughty grin. “Go on. How’d you get him roped in this?”

Maya blinked. “Wait, please hold on. You know him?”

“I do.” Leena frowned. “He’s my friend. Clubmate, even.”

Maya couldn’t believe it.

Of all the cities she could’ve ended up in, it was here.

Espada City.

Where Graham and Leena, of all people, just so happened to be connected.

And to arrive now, of all times.

It almost felt like the machinations of a mad, invisible god, putting pieces of a puzzle together—

Maya squirmed.

The sun, the stares, Leena’s heat—it was too much. She had to defuse the moment somehow, and she only knew one thing that worked when people(especially Leena) were pissed:

“...Coffee?”

Leena shrugged.

“...Sure.”

They entered the cafe together, a quiet tension hanging between them, and the bodyguards that followed closely. They found a table by the window. Leena ordered her usual—a vanilla-topped espresso with enough kick to kill a bird, but strong enough to keep her awake until the end of the day.

Maya shifted in her seat, squirmed in its soft, velvety cushion. She fidgeted. Her every movement earned a subtle glance from Leena—and a double one from the bodyguards seated nearby.

Leena’s shoulders stood upright, shoulders squared. Her eyes never left Maya. Only when the coffee arrived did she relax, just a little—taking a sip like it was armor.

Maya took a breath, then broke the silence.

“It’s been three years, hasn’t it?”

“Mhm.”

“I missed you, you know?” The usual elegance in Maya’s speech began to melt. “After you left Amerika, it got… quiet. I haven’t had many real friends since then.”

“Real friends?” Leena took a sip. Her tone was flat, but she was listening.

“Users,” Maya said. Her voice dropped. “Ever since I got big, it’s been hard making friends on my own. Just… friends, you know? You’re probably one of the only ones who didn’t treat me differently just because of who I am. And now…”

She trailed off.

Leena sighed, then muttered into her cup.

“Beauty can be such a curse.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.”

Leena let down the coffee cup on the table. She leaned back, arms crossed, one leg tucked over the other. “Must be tough, being miss popular. You never really know who’s there to be your friend, or just there to ogle you, or your money.”

The espresso had dulled the sharpest edge of her mood—but her temperament? A long work in progress.

“Still saying it like how it is, huh?” Maya gave a soft, nervous laugh. “A lot’s changed—but I’m a little happy you haven’t.”

“I don’t think you have, either.”

“Oh?” Maya’s eyes flicked up. “How come?”

“Still got a knack for wrapping guys around your finger, looks like.”

“N-no, I—”

Maya’s smile collapsed.

The way Leena said it, it made her sound like a she-devil, like she planned all this.

But… she didn’t deny it. Not really. Because deep down, Leena hit the jackpot. Again.

“It’s not like that. It just happened. And Gram—he—”

“Lemme guess.” Leena held up a finger. “You got yourself into trouble and he came running. And now he’s gone too far. Bitten off more than he can chew. All for you, right?”

Maya went quiet.

There was no answering that.

Leena let out a dry breath. “Figures.”

“D-does he do that often?”

“Too often.”

That pulled a giggle from Maya. Just a breath. Not mocking, but more like relief. A brief moment of common ground.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

A sudden apology. Her face fell.

“What’s this now?” Leena asked.

“I’m doing it again…” Maya rubbed her eyes, wiping away a single tear. “Is it really just because I'm the Maya Hamasaki?”

Leena leaned forward, finger lifted as if to hush her—though she was still too far to reach.

“Not another word.”

Maya clutched the hem of her blouse.

“N-no. I don't want Gram to think I'm just using him.”

“Yeah,” Leena said quietly. “But that's exactly what's happening now, though?”

“I know...”

Leena leaned closer, hand braced on the table, her bottom leaving the seat.

“Hammy—I mean, Gram—this isn’t his fight. He’s gonna get torn apart out there. Humiliated. He might even get hurt.”

Her voice rose with each sentence.

“And I saw you out there, sipping away at your favorite coffee like nothing’s wrong. You should be—!”

…

Ah…

She caught herself.

Shit. I went too far.

And then—she saw it.

A faint red line around Maya’s neck, a formation of barely visible bruises—like fingers, not quite human, had left its mark. Deep. Fresh. But there’d been no rope, nor has there ever been.

No cause.

Not even a single smidge of pain.

Leena’s eyes shot open.

“Maya? Are you…?”

Maya nodded.

Leena had seen this before. A few times, maybe. But not on someone like her.

Phantom wounds.

She knew that wasn’t what they were called, scientifically, but what better way to describe them was there?

Injuries without source. Scars from nowhere.

The bodyguards flew off their seats—only to freeze when they saw it too.

“I… I want to see Graham,” Maya said.

“You should.”

Leena downed the rest of her drink. Vanilla foam clung to her lip.

“Did Graham see this?”

Maya shook her head. A firm ‘no’.

“You want to see him, don't you?”

A nod. A definite ‘yes’.

Leena etched the location of the scar in her mind. She eyed the bodyguards, then turned to Maya again.

“You can tell me the entire story later. But we have to deal with this— now.”

Maya blinked. “Deal with it…?”

She thought of Graham. Of how far he’d been pushed. Of how she hadn’t done enough to stop it.

Her gaze drifted to Maya’s neck. The bruising. She read about this phenomenon before, but didn't fully understand it—though she remembered the words that struck her the most.

“Born of strong desires unfulfilled.”

“We have to be there,” Leena said. “Lets see this through. Watch our mess unfold.”

####

Today was the perfect day for an Honor Battle.

The sun blazer over the outer rim of Espada City, flooding the badlands in a hard, unrelenting light. Between the greens and grays of the city and the endless stretch of brown earth, a strip of half-inhabited security outposts served as the dividing line.

A caravan of armored trucks and reinforced tents had gathered at the fringe. Camera drones buzzed overhead like a swarm of mechanical hornets, sweeping across the landscape—each of them hungry to capture the upcoming fight from every angle for the masses watching at home.

Nearer the city wall, High Commission Zenonas and his aide, Sir Paleksis, waited inside a partially sunken command tent. Two monitors tracked the combat zone. A third offered a flat, heat-hazy view of the badlands beyond.

Spectators who wanted a more ‘personal’ view filled the bleachers nearby. Their vantage was nearly identical, minus an extra monitor.

Normally, there would have been a formal pre-fight meeting between the combatants. An exchange of words, some sportsmanlike banter, perhaps a handshake.

But the crumbling stone pillar out in the wasteland said otherwise.

A bullet hole the size of a car had been punched through it. A message carved in gunfire.

“You’re not worth my time.”

Leticia had spoken, loud and clear.

Far from the cheers and the screens, Graham stood at the base of his cheval. The once-bare knight of steel now bore a mantle of weaponry:

A pair of unignited solar swords, the once-charred and now-cleaned triangular shield, and a solar axe—a tried and true favorite of every neophyte Chevalier.

He wasn’t one—yet.

But hell could bet a pretty Dolye he was going to fight like he was.

Graham had worn this thick, blue pilot suit before. Its padding a little frayed, worn thin from all those exams, drills, and simulations. But this was the first time he’d use it for live combat.

He rode the pulley up to the cockpit, helmet slung at his side.

A cold seat welcomed him as soon as he entered the cockpit.

A red light pulsed once across him, then the controls. Then came a familiar hum—low, gentle—as the panoramic camera array bloomed to life, casting a full 360-degree view around the Lionheart.

He’d seen it before, that flicker of light.

It welcomed him the first time he entered this cockpit, and now once again, as if it had been waiting. As if it remembered him.

The levers, pedals, dials—still a little warm from yesterday’s run. His fingers and feet found them easily. Naturally. He gripped them with the careful reverence of someone holding another person’s hand.

“The Lionheart—it had to be yours. Always had to be.”

His sister’s words resurfaced.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… the Lionheart. It’s Dad’s machine. And I—I couldn’t—didn’t want to pilot it.”

The Lionheart.

Siegfried’s cheval.

Once the pride of a Solaris Knight—traces of a legend undercut—now in the hands of his son.

Why did his father, absent like he always has, choose to appear in this form?

He couldn’t ignore the time. Couldn’t ignore Maya’s need when it came. Couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe… someone planned this.

Did she plan this?

Did his father?

The questions came fast and thick, threatening to blot the clarity he’d fought to build.

His heart still beat. He still felt normal. But the feeling, the sound—faint. Like an echo in the night, with each moment, it grew further, and further.

A live feed of Coleda blinked into view on his right-hand side monitor.

“You ready for this?” she asked.

“I’ve got no choice.” The doubt slipped in before he could catch it, and she heard it. “I’m already here, aren’t I?”

“You nervous?”

“Damn right I am.”

“Get your game face on,” Coleda’s said, her crackling over the comms. “Remember, this is the real thing. The arms are live, and the solar blades are tuned to cut. But stick with the plan, and you should be fine.”

“Fine’s one thing,” Graham’s voice wavered. “But I need to win. You think I can?”

“That’ll be up to you.”

Graham clutched the controls, eyes sweeping the cockpit. A sharp breath, then a whisper:

“Up to me, huh?”

Coleda shook her head on-screen. “We talked her up because she’s a B-rank, sure. But rank means nothing if you’ve got good counterplay.”

Counterplay.

Just like how his sister had picked him apart every exam.

Graham clenched his jaw, crushing the nerves in him.

“Right.”

He eased the controls forward. They moved smoothly—but not like before. The response was crisp and accurate, sure. But something was missing.

Not the stiffness, not the delay.

There was… a lack of anticipation.

It didn’t feel like the Lionheart was thinking ahead of him, like yesterday. Just waiting for commands, as perfect as it could. But it was passive. Disconnected.

Is this right?

“Oh yeah. One more thing, sis.” Graham leaned toward the monitor. “What rank were you in, when you stopped fighting professionally?”

“You don’t know?”

Graham chuckled. “You were always weirdly secretive about it.”

She paused.

“B-rank. B10, to be exact.”

Same as Leticia, but two international tourneys ago.

Graham nodded, sliding the cheval forward. The Lionheart edged toward the launch clamps at the far end of the hangar.

“And… How close was I to passing your mark?

Another beat.

“...Twenty seconds.”

Graham chucked. His head lifted. Something returned to his posture—something steady.

“And be honest—could you beat Leticia in a fight?”

Coleda smirked. “Anything can happen in Honor Battle.”

“Honest assessment.”

A beat.

Then a quiet laugh.

“Of course I could.”

Graham gripped the controls again, tighter this time.

They glided smoothly beneath his fingers, more responsive now. Like the machine had remembered him. There was that inch of predictiveness, of expectation.

Not perfect. But close enough.

A loud, pulsing buzz echoed through the hangar.

Klaxons blared from all sides as yellow lights flared, blinked red, then yellow again, in a gentle rhythmic dance.

The signal.

The call to arms for this Honor Battle’s combatants.

Graham marched the cheval toward the launch catapult. The clamps snapped shut around the mech’s feet, locking it in place. Ahead of him, a rail stretched into the distance—an arrow nocked and ready to fly.

It was his first time loading up a cheval on a proper launch catapult.

The hangar doors began to split open from the top, sunlight splitting through the widening gap. Golden rays washed over the Lionheart’s white-silver frame, turning it radiant—like a knight baptized in light.

“Don’t forget,” Coleda said over the comms. “Leticia agreed to a single mid-fight resupply. She’s flexing, because I know she won’t need it. But it might just be the edge we need.

“The ‘magic trick’, right?”

His eyes drifted to a small, sterile-looking crate beside where the Lionheart had stood.

A box of mysteries. Coleda didn’t say much about it, but she assured him it would come in handy, should things go awry—her words, and Graham knew they probably would.

All he had to go off was faith in his sister.

But that was enough.

He cleared his throat. “Remember our deal, okay?”

“Of course.”

“You owe me answers. For all of this. Everything.”

“The full story,” she promised.

Graham flipped through the left-hand monitor. Standard rule set. Nothing weird. But then he caught it:

[Comms: Open]

“This is an open comms thing, right?”

“Same as always.”

“Good.” Graham smirked. “Means I can talk trash.”

Coleda laughed. “Hey. Keep it sportsman-like, alright? Don’t want you getting rep as the guy who runs his mouth and wins.”

A cable extended from the wall, snapping onto the back of the Lionheart. The lights along the catapult rail lit up in sequence.

Graham eased onto the thrusters. The engine rumbled. The sound vibrated through the frame, low and hungry. The cable held him back, a controlled tension—just waiting to let go.

The speedometer ticked up: 80, 130, 140…

150 kilometers per hour.

Faster than anything he’d ever piloted.

Yesterday, this speed would’ve wrecked a city block. But today—out in the wastes—all this horsepower, and finally, somewhere to gallop.

This is crazy!

The Lionheart’s thrusters burned red-hot. Blue fire spat from its bents, scattering dust, leaves, and old wrappers in a twister.

“Good luck, Gram.” Coleda shook her head. “Show me—no. Show everyone what you got.”

The hangar door fully opened. The wastelands outside Espada City stretched across the horizon—open, barren, wild. A dry wind swept in. He couldn’t feel it from the cockpit, but he just knew it was there.

A red light blinked beside the launch door.

He gripped the thruster controls with both hands.

Then, a yellow light.

He glanced at a red switch—tucked just far enough to be inconvenient. A deliberate choice, Coleda said Part of the ‘magic trick’.

One final beep.

A green light.

The cord snapped back. The clamps released.

The Lionheart fired down the rail like a bullet, metal groaning beneath the launch’s force. Graham’s vision blurred. The G-force pressed him into the seat.

Then:

Open sky. Open earth.

The arrow had been released—its target: Leticia Crossings.

“Graham Akkwood, Lionheart. Entering the fray!”