Neon light gleams on the rain-soaked asphalt. The sound of the wind whistling between the metal towers creates the city’s mournful symphony. Riven, half-soldier, half-machine, stands still-eyed before what was once his home.

Now… only a modern park remains. The old trees have been uprooted. In their place stand holographic trees—unable to feel the wind, incapable of casting shadows.

Riven whispers to himself: — “This place... everything’s changed…”

After a bit of searching, he meets a man named Matthew Ormegnosen, a seasoned battlefield medic—someone more familiar with metal parts than human emotions.

Matthew puts out his cigarette with a prosthetic finger, gazing at Riven.

Matthew: “So... you lost your family?” Riven: “Yeah... I can’t find them.” Matthew (indifferently): “Well… they’re dead.” Riven (gasping): “What? How can you say that so casually?” Matthew: “Did you really think they’d still be alive after all these years? You’re not part of this world anymore, Riven. You’re just a leftover. The others learned to forget you. Maybe you should do the same.”

Silence. Riven’s eyes fix on the artificial sky above the park— a heart full of questions, a body full of scars, and memories no one but him remembers.

Matthew: “I’m sorry, kid. But this is what people realize after a war— the world changes, and they’re just a memory in the new one. But we can’t live in the past. I suggest you find a job.”

Riven: “Oh… sure. I just don’t know how to begin.”

The glow of a painting shop leaks through a semi-frosted window. Inside, the scent of oil paint and old canvas lingers. Riven walks in. A woman with short silver hair stands behind a canvas. The harsh strokes of her brush sharply contrast her delicate gaze.

Lyla (surprised): “You? A cyborg? Painting? Why?” Riven (quiet, gaze cast down): “I want you to teach me…” Lyla (smirking slightly): “Teaching a cyborg shouldn’t be hard... But tell me, why painting? You could’ve gone into security. Or the city’s army...” Riven: “Because I don’t want to just function... I want to express. Something beyond mechanical output. I want to prove… there’s still something alive inside me.”

Lyla pauses for a moment, then with a slow, curious tone: “Interesting... with that metal body, you think you still feel? That you’re still human?”

Riven looks at his metal hands. Fingers that don’t tremble—yet a heart that maybe still beats.

Riven (softly): “I... don’t know. Maybe this is the only way to find out.” Lyla (nodding slowly): “Alright, apprentice… we start training tomorrow morning.”

The next morning. Gray city light filters through the shop’s semi-transparent windows. The workshop smells of fresh paint. Riven stands before a canvas he worked on the night before— crooked lines, messy colors… more chaos of the mind than artwork.

Lyla (hands on hips, frowning): “Wait… what did you say? You thought you were painting? This is just a colored mess.” Riven (calmly, emotionless): “Actually… it’s the face of a woman.” Lyla (curious but skeptical): “A woman?! All I see are scribbles.”

Riven slowly drags his metal finger across the canvas, pointing to a slightly warmer area.

Riven: “Here’s her neck… and this part on the right, her face. Her hair spreads across the background like mist…”

Lyla (half smiling, breathless): “Ah... the Picasso of our age. So we have to look from this angle?”

Riven lowers his head, but a faint smile appears on his lips.

Lyla (softer): “I was joking. You know... maybe you do have your own style. Maybe… something inside that metal mind of yours is still alive.”

The sound of rain softly patters against the workshop’s windows. Outside, neon lights paint violet and blue shadows into the studio.

Lyla (checking her watch while opening the door): “Whoa… you scared me! It’s ten at night and you’re still here?!”

{{user}} as Raven..