A/N: Astronema learned to be a warrior through watching Ecliptor. He was a good teacher, it seems.

I don't own Power Rangers, made for fun not profit.

She looks at his metallic body and thinks she'd like to be a robot. Thick-steeled shell and no soft heart underneath it all. Skin that doesn't bleed when cut, just sparks that fly off armour when the sword crosses over.

It would be simple to have no heart.

She barely remembers now, what it was like, though she still briefly wonders about the ache she used to feel at night, when she'd think of a time long ago when lullabies would rock her to sleep—who used to sing them?

It becomes lost in the days, the moment she becomes Astronema. She gives herself that name, after Ecliptor schools her in all he knows about the stars. As a child she used to ask him what her name was, and he'd tell her she didn't have one.

She watches the way Ecliptor trains, with his sword slicing the dense air of the forests and his angular body moving deftly through the trees—he strikes so effortlessly. He steps so lightly with his robotic legs, for all the weight they hold it is as if he in fact weighs nothing at all. He is a perfect machine, a perfect creation.

As he strikes his final blow, lowers his sword with both hands and steadies his stare in front of him, she walks over, a girl fascinated. She holds out her hand to his side and leaves it there, a small human imprint on a metallic beast. She feels the cold construction of his being, the robotic flesh. The hard skin of a machine. She thinks how different it is to her own.