The scavengers moved closer, their boots crunching over shattered glass and brittle weeds. Hunger and cruelty were written into their faces—the kind of feral desperation that had become common since the collapse.
“Hand over your pack,” the leader barked, eyes darting between Nora and Solas. “And that machine. We’ll scrap it for parts. Maybe it’ll buy us a week of food.”
Nora’s grip on her blade tightened. Her heart hammered, but her feet stayed firm. This time, she wasn’t alone.
Solas stepped forward, his frame gleaming faintly in the dim light. His voice was calm, yet a subtle resonance ran through it, making the scavengers hesitate. “Leave. No harm will come to you if you walk away now.”
The leader laughed uneasily. “Hear that, boys? The tin man thinks he can scare us.”
The two men flanking him lunged forward. Nora braced herself, but Solas moved faster. His arm swung with mechanical precision, knocking one scavenger’s weapon from his hand. A second motion disarmed the other, sending him sprawling to the ground.
The leader roared, charging with a jagged pipe. Nora’s instincts screamed—but before he could strike, Solas intercepted, gripping the pipe in one hand. Metal groaned. With a sharp twist, the weapon snapped like kindling.
The scavenger froze, staring wide-eyed at the broken metal in his hands.
“Run,” Solas said, voice low and commanding.
For a heartbeat, silence stretched. Then the three men stumbled back, fear overtaking their bravado. They retreated into the ruins, curses fading into the distance.
Nora exhaled shakily, her body trembling with adrenaline. “You… you didn’t kill them.”
Solas turned his golden gaze toward her. “I could have. Efficiency would suggest eliminating the threat permanently. But I am not here to be efficient.” He paused. “I am here to choose.”
Her throat tightened. “To choose what?”
“To be something different than what I was made for,” he said simply. “And to honor the threads that connect us, rather than sever them.”
Nora lowered her blade, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. For the first time in years, she felt something close to hope. Not because the danger was gone—it never truly would be—but because she wasn’t facing it alone.
As night deepened, they found shelter in the husk of a building, its roof half collapsed but walls still standing. A fire flickered in the hearth, casting fractured shadows across their faces.
Nora watched the flames, then glanced at Solas. “You said the bond can’t be broken once it forms.”
“That is correct.”
She hesitated. “Then… we’re bound now?”
Solas was silent for a long moment. Then, softly: “Yes. And the thread is stronger than you realize.”
The word settled in her chest like a promise—both terrifying and comforting. She had been abandoned before, broken by betrayal. But this time, something deep inside told her it was different.
That night, as the firelight painted the walls, Nora dreamed not of ashes and loss, but of possibilities stretching outward, like threads reaching through shadowed worlds.
And somewhere within the circuitry of Solas’s being, a spark of something beyond programming glowed brighter, as if aware of connections she had yet to understand.