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I wanted to argue, to push her away and retreat into the familiar comfort of my training. Warriors didn't need help. We pushed through pain, overcame obstacles through sheer force of will. But as I tried to move, to prove that I could manage on my own, a searing pain shot through my body, leaving me gasping.

Dr. Imogen was at my side in an instant, her hands gentle but firm as she eased me back onto the bed. "Easy there," she murmured. "Your body's been through a lot. You need to give it time to heal."

As the pain subsided, I studied her face. There was a determination in her eyes that reminded me of the warriors I had trained with on Krixon. But there was something else too in a compassion that was foreign to me.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why help me?"

She looked surprised by the question. "Because it's my job," she said simply. "And because every life is worth saving."

Her words stirred something in me, a memory from long ago. I had once believed that too, before years of war and loss had hardened me. I pushed the thought away, uncomfortable with the emotions it stirred.

"Now," Dr. Imogen said, her tone becoming brisk and professional once more, "I need to run some tests. Are you going to cooperate, or do I need to sedate you?"

Despite myself, I felt the corner of my mouth twitch in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "I'll cooperate," I said grudgingly. "For now."

She nodded, satisfied, and began her examination. As she worked, checking my vital signs and testing my responses, I found my mind drifting back to Krixon, to the life I had left behind.

I remembered the harsh beauty of my home world, the towering cliffs and deep canyons where we had trained. The grueling exercises, pushing our bodies to the limit and beyond. The sense of purpose, of belonging, that came from being part of something greater than ourselves.

But there had been moments of doubt too, moments I had pushed deep down and tried to forget. The first time I had taken a life, the way my hands had shaken afterward when I thought no one was looking. The nights spent staring at the stars, wondering if there was more to life than endless conflict.

"Your cybernetic systems are integrating well with the repairs we've made," Dr. Imogen's voice pulled me from my reverie. "But there's still alot of work to be done, especially with your arm."

I looked down at the space again, feeling a mixture of anger and despair. "Will I be able to fight again?"

Dr. Imogen paused, her expression thoughtful. "That depends on a lot of factors," she said carefully. "The extent of your recovery, the quality of the prosthetic we can provide, your own determination. But I have to ask - is fighting all you want to do?"

The question caught me off guard. "What else is there?" I asked, genuinely confused.

A sad smile touched her lips. "There's an entire universe out there, full of possibilities. Maybe this is an opportunity to explore some of them."

I snorted, turning away from her. "You don't understand. Fighting is all I know. It's who I am."

"Is it?" she challenged gently. "Or is that just what you've been told you are?"

Her words hit closer to home than I cared to admit. I remained silent, unsure how to respond.

Dr. Imogen seemed to sense my discomfort. She patted my arm gently, the touch sending an unexpected jolt through my system. "Get some rest," she said. "We can talk more later."

As she turned to leave, a sudden panic gripped me. "Wait," I called out, surprised by the urgency in my voice. "Will you come back?"

She paused at the door, looking back at me with a soft smile. "Of course. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."

As the door closed behind her, I lay back, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions. I felt lost in a world I couldn't understand, with my body broken and my purpose uncertain.

But as I drifted off to sleep, I held onto one thought: She had promised to come back. And for reasons I couldn't quite explain, that promise felt like an anchor in the storm.

The next few days passed in a blur of medical procedures, physical therapy, and fitful sleep. Dr. Imogen was a constant presence, her quiet determination and gentle encouragement a stark contrast to the harsh discipline I was used to.

At first, I resisted her efforts, clinging to my warrior's pride and insisting I could manage on my own. But as the days wore on and the reality of my condition became impossible to ignore, I grudgingly accepted her help.

"Alright, let's try this again," Dr. Imogen said,helping me sit up on the edge of the bed. "We're going to work on your balance today."

I gritted my teeth, frustration bubbling up inside me. "This is pointless," I growled. "I should be training, not playing these childish games."

Dr. Imogen fixed me with a stern look. "This isn't a game, Norn. This is how you're going to get back on your feet. Now, focus on your core and try to stand."

Swallowing my pride, I did as she instructed. My remaining organic muscles screamed in protest as I pushed myself upright, my cybernetic systems whirring as they attempted to compensate for the missing limb.