Vera

"Adapt or die, little pups." —Corven The day Vera arrived at the Oasis Orphanage remains a blur. A stolen coin purse. A merc's hand bitten as it reached for her sister. Sharp clouts to the ear. Just like that, the dirty, wild-eyed girls were no longer someone else's problem: They were Corven's. A tech collector and warden of the Oasis, Corven was more kennel master than paternal figure—hand firm, expectations simple. "Bring home the bacon, earn your bread." By that, he meant anything metallic that spun, whirred, or sparked. Before long, the sisters delivered, returning nightly with lifted gizmos, depositing each into Corven's iron-wrought safe. While this pleased Corven, his gaze often lingered on their blue hair, as if some buried secret lay hidden in the strands. Then, they brought him something different: A puzzle box. Smooth, seamless, alien. Vera solved it instantly. The box unfolded like a living thing, revealing a shifting map—lines converging on a single point deep within the desert. Corven didn't sleep that night. Weeks later, he moved. Hired guns, excavation rigs, and, of course, his two most valued assets. The map led them to the lost city of Mechapolis. When they arrived, it awoke screaming. A towering automaton surged from its gates, tearing through Corven's hired men like paper. Steel thundered, and in the chaos, Corven noticed something peculiar: The machine had not fired on Akira, despite her close proximity. Perhaps she was too small to register. Or perhaps the old stories held truth—that the city's builders, marked by blue hair, had left something of themselves behind. He couldn't linger on the thought... Was the automaton now targeting him or Vera? Unwilling to find out, he grabbed her by the hand, dragging Vera back through the smoke, away from her sister. "She's gone!" he roared. ⸻ Years passed, and Vera grew into the space Akira left behind. She learned early that tears were too costly in the desert—no one would ever be generous enough to repay them. So she never wept. "Adapt or die," Corven would say, and she did. Vera grew sharp, calculated, and exact. Then rumors started. A girl moving through the desert, faster than one should, flickering in and out of sight. Electric blue hair, just like hers. "You told me she was dead, Corven." The words cut through the room, and his eyes lifted slowly to the barrel of the pulse rifle Vera had taken from his armory. The excuses flew, fast and desperate. Promises that he had always meant to deliver, once he'd recovered his losses. That he did what he had to do. It was the truth, and yet it would not suffice. Moments later, Corven found himself forced backward into his own iron-wrought safe, still protesting. Vera worked the mechanisms in silence, tossing in a bag of provisions before resetting the latches. "You took us in, and for that, I'm giving you a chance. If my sister is alive, we'll see you soon." A pause, as she slung the rifle over her shoulder. "If not… adapt or die." By the time Corven's shouting filled the room, Vera was already gone—back into the sands, toward the mechanical city that had split her heart in two.