nera corvani. d9. fin.

All her father wanted was a son.

Instead, all he got was one daughter and a disappearing wife. She received a work permit to leave the district and "pursue her dreams," insisting that she would return when she could. Twelve years later, they were still waiting.

Nera couldn't be the son he never had, but he would be damned if he didn't raise her to his standard. Without another child, it was up to Nera to inherit his metalworking business. That was not the usual job for a "lady," but what choice did they have? All she had to do was become his apprentice, learn his skills. Surprisingly, she became the best student he ever trained.

Although she remembers her mother clearly, Nera wanted to be more like her father: strong-willed, ambitious, tough as nails. As a child she was never afraid of grime and hard labor. If her dresses and skirts weren't stained with mud by sunset, then it wasn't a good day. He taught her not to be afraid of anything; spiders, snakes, darkness, loneliness. Fear itself was the spear and Nera would craft the armor. It was in her blood.

The first piece of metalwork she ever produced was an owl charm to hang on her necklace. It was her mother's favorites animal, and the only thing they could hear outside of their windows at night. The next item she crafted was a flower made of metal wire, meant to replace the withered flowers in her mother's old garden. After she left them years ago, neither her nor her father could maintain its health. Not even a skeleton of a garden remained, as the weeds forced their way through the soil.

Nera eventually realized she would never see her mother again.

It was her own decision to replant the garden. She never thought planting seeds and watering stems would be interesting, but it was a new type of responsibility - taking care of something alive, even if it didn't have a real heartbeat. When her father asked about it, he sounded worried. "Do you want to talk about her?"

"No."

Vulnerability was not her strong suit. She presented herself as unbreakable and unbothered, completely unwilling to lower the walls around her. She would rather stab the heart on her sleeve than wear it. If she made friends, it would take months for them to learn about her. She was secure in who she was on her own. Other people were strangers, unpredictable like her mother. They could abandon her at any moment.

It wasn't the healthiest way to think.

She wanted to be her father's equal. In strength, in wisdom, in skill. As a girl she had a disadvantage, but heavy lifting of materials helped build muscle mass. He taught her how to use it wisely in case a customer became too friendly with her. "Go for the eyes, throat, or groin," he said. He said resourcefulness was key - use weapons in the shop if she needed them. They crafted all sorts of items for customers: tools, weapons, jewelry, furniture, artwork. If it wasn't sold, it belonged to her.

It was her mission to present herself as intimidating. When her father had an "under the table" project, it attracted shady figures into their shop. She pretended not to understand what he was doing, crafting illegal weapons for illegal organizations. She figured he didn't want her to learn about that aspect of the job, even though it brought hefty profit. She didn't really care. In a world of crime, she was a neutral party. As long as you don't touch me, I don't care. She nearly beat the hell out of a thief when he grabbed an arm full of materials one day. It was by no means an uneven fight; she walked away with a broken nose and chipped tooth, and he walked away with nothing of profit.

Her father was pissed, but she knew he was secretly proud.

She couldn't be the son he always wanted; she was better.