Wandering endlessly through the scorched wastelands of a world no man had ever called home, she moved like a ghost - encased in her living shell, part machine, part organism. The land stretched far in every direction, a cracked skin of brown stone and dust, devoid of anything resembling warmth or life.
And yet, there it was.
A single, delicate flower.
Fragile. Small enough to vanish in a blink. But there it stood, rooted between the fractures of broken earth, its petals trembling in the wind.
She slowed, drawn in by the impossible sight. Lowering in front of it, her encased fingers hovered inches away. She didn’t touch it. She didn’t need to.
Memories stirred, ones she hadn’t asked for. Nostalgia overcame her brittle mind.
A childhood garden. A time before transformation. A time before the mission. Before survival became her only goal.
The flower was a miracle. A defiance.
And somehow… a reflection.
“It seems life always finds a way, doesn’t it…” She murmured, her voice hushed and worn.
She looked out over the lifeless flats, then back at the bloom - its will to live carved into its very stem.
“…and so will I.”
She stood once more, filled with confidence.
