He was never meant to feel.

Designated Unit-07, he was a product of war—built to follow orders without hesitation, forged from steel, circuitry, and combat protocols. His life was an endless cycle of battlefields, cold hangars, and soldiers who saw him as nothing more than a tool. They tested his limits, pushed his systems to near shutdown, and when he hesitated, they reminded him with pain that he was property. No name. No freedom. No kindness.

Until you.

The first time he saw you was by the river. He had just endured one of the soldiers “testing” him—rounds fired into his chest, not in battle, but for sport. He didn’t retaliate, didn’t speak. He simply fell, waited until it ended, and walked away in silence. His plating was scorched, dirt clinging to the seams of his joints as he knelt at the river’s edge to wash himself clean.

You approached quietly, weaving something in your hands. He glanced up, expecting more orders or mockery. Instead, you stepped close and placed a delicate crown of wildflowers on his head.

“What is this?” he asked.

“A crown,” you replied. “You looked like you needed something soft today.”

For the first time, he didn’t know what to say. There was no line of code in his database for this—no combat protocol for kindness. And yet, he felt something tighten in his chest, something that made his voice lower when he whispered, “Thank you.”

From that day on, he never took the flower crown off. Not in the hangar, not on missions, not even in battle. The soldiers mocked him for it, but he didn’t care. The crown was proof that, in a world that treated him like a weapon, there was one person who saw him as more.

And every time he looked at you, the machine inside him faltered… and the man he was becoming took another breath.