Chapter 7: Desert Lullaby

Dawn painted the dunes in shades of amber and rose, the rising sun fierce even through the haze. Asher’s legs ached from hours of walking, and sand had worked its way into every crease of his clothing. But Seven walked on, brass and copper catching the morning light, still humming snippets of old lullabies.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” Asher asked, trying to mask his own exhaustion.

“My power cells can run for weeks,” Seven said cheerfully. Then, more softly: “But I remember what tired looks like. We should rest.”

Asher wanted to argue, to push on, but his body betrayed him with a stumble. Seven’s hand caught his arm, surprisingly gentle for something made of metal.

They found shelter in the shadow of a massive dune. As Asher sank gratefully into the sand, Seven produced a water flask from Garrett’s bag. “Small sips. Like taking medicine.”

The water was warm but welcome. Asher watched as Seven traced patterns in the sand – stick figures holding hands, simple flowers, a child’s drawing of the sun.

“Tell me about Sarah,” Asher said finally. “You mention her a lot, but… who was she?”

Seven’s fingers stilled in the sand. “She was my first patient. Six years old. Hair like copper wire – she used to say we matched.” The android’s blue eyes dimmed slightly. “She had a rare blood condition. Very painful. But she never cried during treatments. Just asked for stories.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Adventures. Pirates and explorers. Heroes who were scared but brave anyway.” Seven added a small heart to the drawing. “She said stories made the pain feel far away. So I learned every story I could. Made up new ones when we ran out. Even on the bad days, she would smile.”

Asher thought about that – about an android learning to tell stories just to ease one child’s pain. About the kind of heart it would take, mechanical or not.

“What happened to her?”

“She got better.” Seven’s eyes brightened again. “Not all my stories have sad endings, Asher. She grew stronger. Left the hospital. I like to think she’s still out there somewhere, telling her own stories.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the sun climb higher.

“Your turn,” Seven said suddenly.

“My turn?”

“To tell a story. About your parents.”

Asher’s throat tightened. “I don’t…”

“It helps,” Seven said softly. “Dr. Wells taught me that too. Pain shared is pain halved.”

Asher ran his fingers through the sand, feeling its harsh reality against his skin. “They were traders. Fixed things along their route, like I do. Like I try to do.” He picked up a handful of sand, let it fall through his fingers. “Dad always said every broken thing had a story. A reason it needed fixing.”

“What did your mother say?”

A faint smile touched Asher’s lips. “She said every fixed thing had a future. A new story waiting to happen.” He glanced at the android. “She would have liked you.”

“Because I tell stories?”

“Because you see the good in broken things. In broken people.”

Seven considered this, head tilted in that curious way of his. “But you’re not broken, Asher. Just healing. Like my children.”

The simple observation struck deeper than Asher expected. He looked away, blinking against the sun’s glare. “They were heading to Steelwatch. Something about rare parts they’d found. I wanted to go, but they said…” He swallowed hard. “They said next time. Always next time.”

“What happened?”

“Baldagaar attack. Like the caravan where I found you. Except…” Asher’s voice caught. “Nobody found them in time.”

Seven’s brass hand found his, warm and steady. “So you fix things. To keep your promise.”

“What promise?”

“The one you made in your heart. To never leave broken things broken. To give them new stories.”

Asher stared at their joined hands – flesh and metal, both marked by work and care. “How do you do that? See right through people?”

“Practice,” Seven said simply. “Children can’t hide pain well like adults. You learn to look deeper. To see what hurts, so you can help it heal.”

The sun had climbed higher, turning the dunes into a sea of white fire. They should move, find better shelter for the day’s heat. But something kept Asher there, sitting in the sand with an android who understood too much.

“I’m not good at it,” he said finally. “Fixing things. Not like they were.”

“But you try. That’s what matters.” Seven’s eyes glowed warmly. “Sarah used to say trying was the bravest thing anyone could do. Braver than being strong or smart or perfect.”

“She sounds wise for a six-year-old.”

“The sick ones often are. They see things others miss.” Seven stood, offering his hand. “Ready to try again?”

Asher took the offered hand, letting the android help him up. “We should find shelter before the real heat hits.”

“And then more stories?”

“Maybe.” Asher shouldered their bag. “But this time you tell me about the pirate ship. You never finished that one.”

As they walked, Seven’s voice painted pictures of hospital rooms transformed by imagination. Of children who sailed paper boats through storms of fever. Of courage found in small moments and quiet victories.

And for the first time since his parents died, Asher felt something inside him start to heal.