Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Varl stops scrolling through his Focus and looks around. All six of them were in one place for the first time since they arrived here. Kotallo and Erend were locked in the middle of a heated strike match, their pieces clashing on the board with sharp, deliberate movements. He and Alva had been studying, their eyes flicking between holographic displays. At the same time, Beta sat curled up in the farthest corner of the lounge, quietly eating as Zo sat beside her, making gentle attempts at conversation.

A rare moment of unity.

The perfect opportunity for team-building.

Varl had recently discovered the term while sifting through Old World data. The idea fascinated him—an activity meant to build camaraderie among a group, not so different from forming a hunting party in the Nora. But what to do?

No physical activities. That would only end with Alva and Beta leaving while Kotallo, Zo, and Erend got carried away in the middle of a fight.

No singing. Not everyone would appreciate that… especially not Erend.

Maybe just casual conversation? But what about? Their different cultures? That’s all they ever talked about—how one thing differed from another. Something else, something that wasn’t rooted in differences but in common ground.

Varl’s gaze flickered to each of them, running through what they had in common.

Varl - Nora, hunter, forager, cooking.
Zo - Utaru, farmer, cook, healer, singer.
Kotallo - Tenakth, warrior, hunter, strike player.
Erend - Oseram, drinker, warrior, new strike player?
Alva - Quen, archivist, warrior (kind of?).
Beta - …

They were all some kind of fighter. Maybe that could be a conversation starter.

Before he could think of how to phrase it, Alva stretched with a soft groan and made to stand. If she left, the moment would be lost.

Think, Varl.

Then it hit him. The one thing they all had in common. Something obvious. He almost smacked himself for not realizing it sooner.

Clearing his throat, he called out casually, “So, Alva, what was your first impression of Aloy?”

Alva paused mid-step and turned, blinking in surprise. “Oh… well…” A small smile pulled at her lips. “She seemed nice! When I first met her, at least. She didn’t try to kill me immediately and even talked to me!”

Erend looked up from his game, grinning. “Whoa, whoa, hold on. That sounds like a story. How did you two meet?”

Alva hesitated, then, seeming pleased by the interest, returned to her seat. Varl clenched a fist in silent triumph. Got them.

“Well,” Alva started, leaning forward, “I was digging around, trying to learn more about the Ancestors, when suddenly, I heard my people yelling about a savage decimating the guards!”

The group shared a glance.

Alva waved her hands quickly. “Mind you, that’s what we used to call people outside our tribe. Rest assured, that term has been corrected. Anyway, at first, I wasn’t too worried. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone got past the guards. But then the reports kept coming. I decided maybe it was best to hide.”

She clasped her hands together and leaned in dramatically. “So, there I was, tucked away in the darkest part of the room, trying to stay very still. Then suddenly, this redheaded woman steps inside, glances around—and, as if she had some kind of future-seeing power, she immediately draws her bow, like she knew someone was there!”

Kotallo raised a skeptical brow. “So you surrendered?”

Alva lifted her hands in defense. “Put yourself in my shoes! I had minimal combat training, my entire security escort was dropping one by one, and suddenly the cause of all that steps into my hiding place and just senses me there?” She threw her hands up. “Of course, I surrendered!”

Erend let out a bark of laughter, while Zo chuckled, shaking her head. Even Kotallo’s lips twitched in amusement. Across the room, Beta glanced up briefly, her expression unreadable before she returned to her meal.

Varl grinned. Point one for team-building.

“I had this whole plan in my head,” Alva continued, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “I was ready to spill everything, make some kind of desperate plea, and then just when I thought she was going to shoot me, she goes—‘I didn’t want to fight your friends. They attacked me first.’” Alva scoffed, shaking her head. “That’s when I decided to slowly turn around. Because if she was the barbaric savage we thought she was, she wouldn’t have said that .”

“How innocent,” Kotallo muttered, smirking.

Alva huffed. “Excuse me for using logic in my decision-making.”

She leaned back, folding her arms. “After that, we talked. Once she saw I had a Focus, we hit it off. A few faith crises, near-death experiences, and more than a few loud explosions later, she offered me knowledge of the facility, which I graciously accepted.”

Alva threw her hands up. “I was about to ask more, but before I could, backup arrived for my security detail—and immediately started shooting at us!”

Zo hissed in concern “You didn’t have to kill your own people to help Aloy escape, did you?”

This gave the room an uneasy tension which was quickly removed as Alva’s eyes lit up. “Oh, no, no, no! That would be unwise and cruel. I simply introduced Aloy as a living Ancestor. That threw them into confusion and conflict, which gave her a free pass to leave and a free pass to head to the Base!”

Kotallo tilted his head. “If I understand correctly, the Ancestors are your gods? In a sense, at least?”

Alva nodded. “It’s a bit of a stretch, but yes, they are sort of the gods of our culture.”

Varl rubbed his chin. “So, you made everyone believe that Aloy was a goddess, in a way?”

“Which, of course, meant that since they saw her as a goddess, she was given a free pass—and ultimately, their respect?” Zo finished thoughtfully.

Erend slapped his knee, roaring with laughter. “Oh, by the Forge, that is gold! ”

Varl turned to Alva, raising an eyebrow. “And how did Aloy react to being called a living Ancestor?”

Alva hesitated, suddenly aware of the expectant looks from the group. “Well… she was kind of… okay-ish?”

Varl and Erend’s eyes widened in disbelief. Kotallo tilted his head slightly, while Zo merely blinked. The collective silence made Alva instantly regret her phrasing. She reeled back and waved her hands defensively. “I mean—she wasn’t okay-okay with it! But, you know, when you’re outnumbered by people with bows drawn and ready to shoot, do you really have a choice?”

Varl and Erend exchanged a knowing look before leaning back in their chairs, smirking at some distant memory.

Kotallo, ever observant, narrowed his eyes. “It seems as though you two have prior experience with Aloy not accepting being treated as a goddess.”

Varl chuckled. “Oh, we do. Back when the Nora first saw her as the Daughter of the All-Mother, they all started bowing, calling her chosen, practically worshiping her. She hated it. She scolded them— hard —from the most humble gatherers to the highest positions in the tribe. You all should have seen it, her voice echoed inside the mountain!”

Everyone laughs at the idea before Erend nodded, and continues. “And after the Battle of Meridian, when some of the Carja started bowing and calling her their Savior, she practically sprinted out of there. Didn’t even say goodbye—just poof! Gone.”

Zo frowned. “I thought she left because she had urgent matters to attend to?”

Erend waved a hand. “Oh, sure, that was part of it. But trust me, the bowing and name-calling? Definitely one of the deciding factors.”

Zo turned to Varl, who looked like he was weighing the information carefully. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Huh… that actually makes a lot of sense.”

His gaze drifted toward the ceiling as if recalling a distant memory. “When we were in Meridian, she saw that giant statue of herself, it was built in the middle of the battlefield surrounded by flowers with the word “saviour” engraved to it” Varl laughed and raised both of his hands “and I swear, she looked ready to tear it down with her bare hands.” He smirked. “Pretty sure His Radiance had to talk her out of it.”

That did it. The group burst into laughter, even Beta let out an amused huff from across the room.

Erend wiped a tear from his eye. “By the Forge, I wish I had been there to see that!”

Zo shook her head, still smiling. “She really does despise being put on a pedestal, doesn’t she?”

Kotallo folded his arms, amused. “A warrior who rejects glory. It’s admirable.”

“And very ridiculous,” Erend confirmed, still chuckling.

The conversation had drawn Zo closer to the group, and to Varl’s quiet delight, Beta followed timidly behind her. He fought the urge to grin too widely—if he looked too eager, Beta might retreat again. Instead, he casually leaned back and patted the empty spot beside him. Zo caught the gesture immediately and sat down. Beta hesitated for a moment, glancing at the space before lowering herself onto the cushion next to Zo, her posture slightly tense but willing.

This is going great, Varl thought smugly, resisting the urge to smirk at his success. He settled for a subtle nod to himself instead—he was good at this.

Zo glanced around the circle before speaking. “This begs the question… how many tribes actually see Aloy as some kind of higher being?”

That made the group pause.

Zo folded her hands in her lap, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I know that in the Utaru—though, don’t tell Aloy—there are quiet whispers of her being a daughter of a goddess.”

A chorus of gasps erupted.

“ Really?! ” Erend practically choked on his own shock. Even Kotallo, who rarely reacted so strongly, furrowed his brow with intrigue. Alva’s jaw had dropped, and Beta looked somewhere between bewildered and mortified.

Zo nodded solemnly. “I mean, think about it—she healed Sol, our Land-God, when no one else could. She helped bring the other Land Gods back to their natural states. So when I started hearing talk that she might be a goddess sent down to aid the poor, poor Utaru people…” Zo sighed, shaking her head. “I wasn’t surprised.”

Alva let out a small, stunned laugh. “Aloy would hate that.”

Erend whistled. “Oh, she definitely would. The second she hears about it, she’ll be running for the hills.!”

“That’s one down!” Erend declared, leaning forward with a triumphant grin. “Now, for the Oseram—”

“I thought your tribe did not have gods?” Kotallo cut in, brow raised.

Erend turned to him and patted his shoulder. “You are correct, my good Tenakth friend. We Oseram don’t have gods or spirits or any of that higher-being nonsense.” He gestured broadly to the group. “ Which is why the Oseram believe that Aloy is the perfect forge. ”

A beat of silence. Then, Alva blinked. “The… perfect forge?”

Erend rubbed his hands together, clearly relishing the attention. “See, we Oseram believe that the Old Ones neglected the Forge—the very force that creates and shapes the world. And that’s why they fell. But when the Forge fired up again, it rebuilt life, reforged the land, and eventually…” He spread his hands dramatically. “It forged us. ”

Zo tilted her head, intrigued. “So, you believe the Forge is… life itself?”

“Exactly!” Erend snapped his fingers. “And with everything Aloy has done—helping the Oseram, taking down machines, using that weird mind-tech of hers to build things no one else ever understands —well, it got around. So, the way a lot of Oseram see it, she’s not a goddess, no.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “She’s the Forge’s ultimate creation. A living, breathing proof that the Forge itself is guiding us away from making the same mistakes as the Old Ones.”

A stunned silence followed.

“…That was actually really insightful,” Alva admitted, blinking in surprise.

Erend grinned. “Aw, shucks, guys.” He puffed up his chest dramatically. “Y’know, I do have a brain in here. Just gotta dust it off every now and then.”

Laughter rippled through the group, even Beta’s lips quirked slightly before she hid it behind her cup.

Kotallo, ever serious, gave a curt nod. “Interesting philosophy. But moving on—” He straightened. “In the Tenakth, we have started calling Aloy… a Member of the Ten.”

Alva’s brows shot up. “ The Ten?”

Kotallo inclined his head. “It is not something given lightly.”

Zo let out a breath. “So, yet another title placing Aloy as something more than she is. Carry on”

“So as you all know, the Ten are people who we aspire to be, so technically they’re not gods, just… idols?” Kotallo says

“I’m pretty sure that that technically still falls under gods? Perhaps higher beings stretch it out?” Zo asked 

“Higher beings have powers, but the Ten don’t, they do have traits such as bravery and ferocity which we idolize and hope to become” Kotallo continued

Alva tapped her chin, thinking aloud. “So… they’re not gods , but they’re revered beyond ordinary people?”

Kotallo nodded. “Correct. They were warriors—leaders who earned their place through skill and sacrifice. We honor them because they proved themselves.”

Erend leaned back in his chair. “That’s just fancy talk for ‘the Tenakth worship their war heroes.’”

Kotallo’s gaze sharpened. “We do not worship them.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Erend shot back, smirking. “You tell your stories, you follow their teachings, you put their names on pedestals. How’s that different from a bunch of sun priests singing praises to the Sun-King?”

Kotallo’s jaw tightened. “Because we do not kneel before them.”

Erend waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, so it’s only worship if you’re on your knees? Got it.”

Zo sighed, rubbing her temples. “I think what Erend is trying to say—poorly—is that whether or not you call them gods, the Ten are still placed on a level beyond regular people.”

Kotallo crossed his arms. “Respecting those who paved the way for us is not blind reverence. We do not believe they hold power over our fate, nor do we seek their favor. We learn from them.”

Alva, ever the scholar, tilted her head. “Yet their stories shape your laws, your traditions, even how you fight. Sounds an awful lot like how gods influence their followers.”

Beta, who had remained quiet, suddenly muttered, “If they were just warriors, why are you again letting it seep into your culture?”

The words hung in the air.

Kotallo’s eyes flicked to her, his expression unreadable. “Because they remind us of what we can be.” His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it now. “The Ten did not sit on thrones and demand devotion. They bled, they fought, they died for something greater than themselves. To us, they are not unreachable deities—they are proof that we, too, can rise above our limits.”

The room was silent for a moment.

Then, Zo exhaled. “I suppose that’s a fair argument.”

Erend grumbled, “Still sounds like worship to me.”

Alva giggled, covering her mouth. “Well, I do see both sides. As an archivist the proper way to say this is that. The Ten are less like gods and more like… figures of legend?”

Kotallo nodded. “Precisely.”

Zo smiled wryly. “And yet, if Aloy were here, she’d probably tell us all to drop the conversation entirely.”

Varl chuckled. “She’d hate all of this, wouldn’t she?”

Beta muttered, “Yes.”

That got a round of laughter, breaking the tension in the room. Even Kotallo allowed the ghost of a smile. The weight of the debate had lifted, replaced by something lighter—shared amusement at the idea of Aloy squirming under all these grand titles.

But then, Kotallo straightened, bringing the conversation back on track. “To circle back, Aloy has accomplished many things that no normal person could. She has saved the Tenakth multiple times. Even now, while Regalla remains a threat, Aloy is actively dismantling the rebel camps. So the idea of her being called a member of the Ten… was inevitable.”

Alva hummed in thought. “If you really think about it, every tribe we belong to has, in some way, elevated Aloy beyond just being a warrior. To all of them, she’s something… more”

Zo tilted her head. “I think we’re forgetting a tribe.”

The others turned to her in confusion. 

“The Banuk,” she said simply as she sighed 

Kotallo frowned. “We don’t have anyone here from the Banuk. We can’t exactly ask.”

“Oh, no, no,” Varl interjected, as he waved his hand, and in a completely casual tone he said. “The Banuk treat her differently not because she’s a goddess or what not. She’s their Chieftain.”

Silence.

Alva blinked. “I’m sorry— what? ”

Erend, just as nonchalant, added, “Yeah, I met their old chieftain at the Battle of the Alight. Chill guy. Huge frame. Had that whole ‘wise warrior’ aura going on.”

Varl nodded. “Didn’t get to meet him myself, but Aloy told me about him. Said he was great. Also that whole thing with her becoming Chieftain was… an accident, really.”

Beta, who had been following the conversation quietly, suddenly sat up, her expression utterly bewildered. “ Excuse me what? ”

“What what?” Varl and Erend asked in unison as they looked around the room, they noticed that everyone had gone rigid, Varl cringed inwardly; perhaps he should have revealed the information much better. 

Beta’s eyes darted between them. “Aloy is a Chieftain of a tribe?!”

Zo immediately stood up. “I’m out.” She turned on her heel and strode toward the kitchen.

Kotallo leaned back in his chair, still shocked “Perhaps it’s an honorary title.”

“Oh no,” Varl continued, shaking his head. “She won the title!”

Zo, who had begun rummaging through supplies, paused and shot him a look over her shoulder. “ Won? ” she called out, her voice dripping with skepticism.

Varl leaned forward, grinning now. By the all mother this conversation was going to be gold“You all know how the Banuk are obsessed with proving their worth through trials, right?”

Alva nodded, her shock earlier was now exchanged to a look of intrigued. “Yes, by research it’s how their hierarchy works.”

“Well, Aloy—being Aloy—wandered into one of their problems, decided to fix it, technically beat the reigning Chieftain in a challenge, and next thing she knew, boom, she was in charge.” Varl said 

“Aloy challenged a Chieftain?” Kotallo asked, a new level of respect creeping into his voice.

“Well, not exactly ,” Varl said. “She just wanted to help with a rogue AI problem, and then somehow —and I really want to emphasize the somehow —she ended up in a fight that determined leadership.”

Erend grinned. “Classic Aloy. Walks in, fixes everything, and leaves with a title she never wanted.”

Zo laughed so hard that it was heard clearly at the lounge, “And she accepted ?!” she yelled again

“She tried not to!” Erend said, leaning back with a smirk. “I heard she tried to turn it down, but the Banuk just went, ‘Too bad, Chieftain.’”

Varl snorted. “Yeah, she tried to argue, but they just would not take no for an answer.”

Beta was still staring, completely dumbfounded. “So let me get this straight—Aloy is the Daughter of the All-Mother to the Nora, the Savior to the Carja, the Perfect Forge to the Oseram, a Member of the Ten to the Tenakth, a Living Ancestor to the Quen, a possible Goddess to the Utaru… and now she’s officially a Chieftain of the Banuk?!”

There was a pause.

Then Erend grinned. “Yep.”

“ALOY IS A CHIEFTAIN?!” Beta practically shouted.

Erend laughed, slapping his knee. “Now that is a reaction I wish she could see.”

Kotallo smirked. “She would hate it.”

Varl sighed, rubbing his face. “Yeah… Yeah, she really would.”

Alva giggled. “I can just picture it now. She goes back, and they immediately drag her into some new problem, like, ‘Ah! Chieftain Aloy! We need your wisdom!’”

The whole group burst into laughter, even Beta shaking her head with an incredulous smile.

Kotallo took a plate, inspecting the salad with mild curiosity. “What is this?”

Zo sat back down, casually serving herself. “An Utaru dish. Something light. Figured we needed it after all this heavy conversation.”

Erend eyed it suspiciously. “There’s no meat in this.”

Zo rolled her eyes. “Not everything needs to be drowned in grease, Erend.”

“I disagree,” Erend said, but he still took a plate, poking at the greens like they might jump up and attack him.

Beta, still reeling from the information dump, rubbed her temples. “I still don’t understand how Aloy can be a Chieftain remotely. How does that work? I don’t think he has a focus….”

Varl shrugged as he chewed. “I think….Aratak handles the daily stuff, but when it comes to the big decisions, I think they send a messenger….. I’m not sure, Aloy never talked about it”

Erend laughed, “I bet she hopes they’ll just forget she’s in charge.”

Alva, thoughtful, tapped a finger against her chin. “I doubt that. If anything, her legend will only grow. Stories have a way of spreading, and with Aloy’s accomplishments, the Banuk probably tell tales about her by now.”

“The question is which tale?” Zo asks smirking “Is it the tale about how she rescues the starving Utaru tribe by healing their Land God?”

“Or how about, how a red headed champion defeated Regalla’s champion, tore down the wall of the Sky Clan, saved the Kulrut and the Tenakth Chief?” Kotallo continued

“Or maybe it’s about how the Living ancestor saved the fleet of the Quen under the tyrannical rule of the C.E.O”

Erend quickly jumps in “Obviously it's the tale about the time where the Saviour of Meridian stopped the murder of the Sun King and the giant explosion that could have wiped out half of Meridian!”

“Or how about this one that’s related to the topic, the time where the Chieftan stopped the release of demonic machines up in the cut!” Varl continued

“Oooo I can do better, the time where the Saviour of Meridian defeated Red Maw! The ferocious beast that has been a thorn to the people since the beginning of the derangement” Erend continued as well

The rest chuckled at this scene before them

“I got a better one!” Varl exclaimed “The time where the Daughter of All Mother saved the Nora by single handily handling the Eclipse right after destroying the Sun-ring-”

Kotallo choked on his salad while Varl continued “and rallying the Nora to join the Battle of the Alight which she led and emerged victorious!”

“I can’t one up the Battle of the Alight, it’s like the grandest thing Aloy has done” Erend said

“True true, uniting the tribes like the Banuk and Nora known for their isolation is a feat. Not even the Battle for Meridian did that” Varl said

“Let’s not forget that she managed to wring in the hunters lodge to join the fight. Usually those good for nothing nobles would want nothing to do with a “Nora Savage” Erend said

“Well by the time she did that she became the thrush of a respectable Carja noble, rescued the Sun King Avad, stopped a bomb, and killed Red Maw. If I was them I would do whatever that person said Savage or not” Varl said

“We forgot to add that she rescued the young prince and Queen Regent by infiltrating the Eclipse base, then she returned to bring down the remaining Eclipse by destroying the Sun Ring then rallying the Nora” Erend said

“Whoops I forgot to add that in, it’s really hard to keep track of events of Aloy’s accomplishments. Also let's be clear here, the Eclipse warriors, she cleared them out, the people who actually believe that Avad is not the right King left…. What did they call themselves again?” Varl said

“Hidden Light? I think? They are currently setting up base near where Petra is, she’s helping them out by Aloy’s word” Erend said

“By the ancestors…” Alva whispered which made the two of them stop looking at each other and look at the rest of the group

Alva looked mortified, Kotallo was choking and Zo is helping him while Beta is filling a glass of water

“What happened to you guys?!” Varl exclaimed 

Beta returned with the glass, and Kotallo took it immediately, nodding in thanks. But his focus remained sharp as he turned to Erend and Varl, his expression darkening.

“Aloy destroyed the Sun-Ring?”

Erend and Varl exchanged a look before nodding.

“By the Ten…” Kotallo shot to his feet, pacing the room.

Varl glanced at Zo. She sat unnervingly still, her face unreadable, until she finally exhaled. “How?”

Both Erend and Varl hesitated.

“Well…” Varl began, rubbing the back of his neck. “She was retrieving something from underneath the Sun-Ring. When she surfaced, she got captured. And Helis—”

“The Butcher,” Kotallo snarled.

“Bastard,” Zo muttered at the same time.

Varl swallowed. “Yeah. He wanted to sacrifice her to the Sun… like he did before. During the Red Raids.”

Silence fell over the room. No one needed to say how heavy that was. Alva and Beta had uncovered details from their data research, but Zo and Kotallo had already made it clear—those files were incomplete. And what they did contain was already enough.

Zo’s voice was quiet but firm. “Go on.”

Varl took a steadying breath. “They threw her in, unarmed. Machine after machine was sent to kill her, but Aloy survived.”

Kotallo finally sat back down, his jaw tight. “How? She’s skilled, Yes, but the ones thrown into the Sun-Ring never have weapons or any sort of protection.. And I doubt they sent weak machines after her. Probably ones that are huge from the East.”

Varl’s face twisted at the memory. Even now, it sent a shiver down his spine. “She used the wreckage—machines, weapons left in the pit. Then she found a way to break into the armory, got her gear back, and turned the Sun-Ring into a battlefield.”

Zo’s eyes widened. “There were still weapons in the Sun-Ring?”

“They didn’t even bother to clean it?!” Kotallo growled, launching back into his pacing.

No one answered. The silence stretched.

Then Kotallo spoke again, his voice low and sharp. “Tell me that bastard got what he deserved.”

Varl nodded. “Aloy didn’t go into much detail, but… he tried to sacrifice her. He was covered in blood—Nora blood. She didn’t forget that.”

Zo exhaled, finally leaning back. “Good.”

The group fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of their discussion settling over them like a thick fog. The horrors of the past lingered in their minds, but beneath the heaviness, something else had taken root—a quiet, unspoken understanding.

The air felt different now. Heavy, yes. But also… unified.

They had come together through grief, through horror, through the knowledge of a past that could never be undone. And yet, through it all, there was something solid between them now.

Well, this “team building” was a success. Varl gave himself a mental pat on the back. Now where was this holo book called therapy that GAIA suggested for him to read?

Chapter Text

Beta steps into the common room, and Varl could almost leap for joy—but he keeps himself calm. After the berry-picking fiasco, he thought she might never come out again. He exchanges a quick look with Zo, who is in the middle of slicing greens at the counter.

“I’ve been watching more footage of Aloy in the Desert Clan,” Beta announces.

She’s trying to sound composed, but Varl catches the slight tremor in her voice, the way her hands twitch at her sides. She looks adorable—like a kid mustering courage while barely holding it together. He would’ve pointed it out if not for the fact that she might run back to her room.

“Sit down, B. Want some salad?” he offers, tilting his head toward Zo.

Beta hesitates for a second before nodding. “Fine.”

Varl gestures to Zo, who simply hums in acknowledgment and continues her work. She moves with practiced ease, pulling fresh leaves from a bowl of water, shaking them dry, and slicing them into fine strips. A mix of vibrant herbs follows—earthy, fragrant, a blend of Utaru flavors that make Varl’s stomach grumble. Looks like he’s a green food lover now.

“What part are you watching?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.

“The water shortages,” Beta says, tapping at her focus. “And… something else.”

Varl raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Beta tilts her head, frowning slightly. “Do people always fall in love with Aloy so easily?”

Varl chokes mid-sip, spluttering as water goes down the wrong way. He coughs violently, pounding his chest while Zo chuckles beside him, shaking her head as she tosses the freshly cut greens into a bowl.

“W-what?” Varl wheezes.

Zo smirks as she drizzles dressing over the salad. “That’s an excellent question.”

Beta just blinks at them, completely serious.

“I mean, to fall in love, you’d think people would need to spend more than a few hours together,” Beta continues, frowning. “But with Yarra and Drakka, it took—what? Less than a conversation with Aloy? And suddenly, it’s hearts and rainbows.”

Zo places the salad in front of her with a small smile. “With someone like Aloy, who wouldn’t?”

Beta tilts her head, confused. “What does that mean?”

Zo leans against the counter, casually wiping her hands. “I mean, your sister is hot.”

Beta turns bright red, while Varl, in the middle of adjusting himself, loses his balance and crashes to the floor.

“She’s not my sister, though…” Beta mumbles, still flustered.

Zo chuckles as she moves to wash the dishes. “Accept it, Beta.”

Beta pokes at the salad on her plate, still processing, while Varl groans and pulls himself back up into his chair. “Sorry about that,” he mutters.

Beta refocuses, her brows furrowing. “So… Aloy is just hot? That’s why they like her?”

Varl exhales, shaking his head. “It’s more than that. You see, Aloy has—”

Varl leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “You see, Aloy has this… presence. It’s not just about looks.”

Zo hums in agreement as she dries her hands. “She walks into a room, and suddenly, everything revolves around her.”

Beta considers this, pushing her salad around with her fork. “But isn’t that just because she’s the Savior? People rely on her. Maybe they confuse admiration with… whatever this is.”

Varl chuckles. “Maybe, but it’s more than that. She’s stubborn, ridiculously capable, and—”

Zo finishes for him, “—has this way of making people feel seen, even if she doesn’t mean to.”

Beta frowns. “That doesn’t sound like Aloy.”

Zo gives her a knowing smile. “Doesn’t it?”

Beta hesitates.

Aloy had been patient with her, even when Beta pushed her away. She listened, even when she didn’t understand. She made space for her, even if she didn’t realize it.

Varl watches Beta, noticing the way she’s getting lost in thought. “Look, I’m not saying everyone who meets Aloy falls head over heels for her, but… well, it happens a lot.”

Beta sighs. “That still doesn’t explain Yarra and Drakka.”

Zo smirks. “Simple. She’s hot and good in a fight. That’s enough for some people.”

Varl groans. “Can we not talk about my friend like this?”

Zo just laughs, while Beta takes a thoughtful bite of her salad. “Huh… did you ever fall in love with Aloy, Varl?”

Varl blinks at her, caught off guard, then scratches the back of his head. “Back when she first got her Seeker mark, yeah… I thought she was the most amazing girl around. I mean, I still do, but I’ve grown since then. Now, I see her more like a sister.”

He turns to Zo, expecting a nod of agreement, but instead, he finds her staring at him with an unimpressed look, arms crossed. His stomach twists.

“Uh—what?” he asks, suddenly nervous.

Zo holds the expression for a moment longer, then bursts into laughter. “Oh, you should see your face,” she teases. “Relax, Varl. If it makes you feel better, I did too.”

Varl nearly chokes again. “ What?! ”

Beta tilts her head. “Why is that surprising? Didn’t you just say it’s common?”

Zo grins, resting her chin in her palm. “Oh, it’s not surprising. I just enjoy watching him panic.”

Varl huffs. “I’m not panicking.”

Zo raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing him.

“Okay, maybe a little,” he admits, rubbing his forehead. “So… you had a crush on Aloy too?”

Zo shrugs. “It was brief. She has this fire in her—this raw determination that’s hard to ignore. And she cares, even when she pretends not to. That’s rare.”

Beta watches her carefully. “But you moved on?”

Zo chuckles. “Of course. I found something better.” She reaches over, playfully flicking Varl’s wrist.

Varl feels his ears burn, but he smiles anyway. “I, uh… guess I can’t argue with that.”

Beta takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “So the pattern continues. Everyone who meets Aloy falls for her… and then either moves on or fights over her.”

Zo snorts. “Pretty much.”

Varl groans, rubbing his temples. “I really don’t want to think about that.”

Beta hums, eyeing her focus. “I should analyze this further…”

Varl’s eyes widen. “Wait, what ?”

Zo just laughs again as Beta starts making mental calculations, the gears in her head turning.

“What’s going on here?” Erend’s voice cuts through the room as he steps into the common area, hands on his hips. “I heard ‘Aloy’ and ‘love’ in the same sentence. Are you guys talking about how people fall for her so easily?”

Varl squints at him. “How do you even guess that?”

Erend just shrugs. 

Beta, finishing the last of her salad, pushes her empty bowl toward Zo before looking up at Erend. “Yes, we were. And it turns out both Varl and Zo had romantic feelings for Aloy before moving on with each other.”

Erend flops down onto the sofa, arms stretched out. “Oh yeah, I did too.”

Varl raises an eyebrow. “You’re not even gonna pretend to hesitate?”

“Nah,” Erend smirks. “I was very into her. But, like you, I moved past it.”

Beta tilts her head. “Really? When did it start?”

“Oh, the Proving,” Erend says without hesitation. “One look at those green eyes, full of fire, and then watching her verbally wreck that annoying Sun Priest? Yeah, that did something to me.”

Beta blinks. “Wow.”

“Then later, when I actually got to know her,” Erend continues, his voice softening slightly, “she became this… rock. After my sister’s death, I was a wreck. And she—she never judged me for it. She listened, even when she didn’t have to.”

Varl hums. “So that’s why you were so heartbroken when Aloy up and left during the party at the Alight?”

Erend groans, running a hand through his hair. “Everyone was! But yeah, that was part of it. I mean, I thought we were building something, a real bond, and then—poof—she was gone.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “After that, I spent months trying to drown myself in ale. But the more I drank, the more she popped up in my head, which just pissed me off more.”

Zo crosses her arms, studying him. “And now?”

Erend leans back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before letting out a small chuckle. “Now? Seeing her again in the West was like getting hit with a bucket of cold water. It woke me up. These days, I’m just trying to be better , you know? Be someone I don’t hate looking at in the mirror. Be that man my sister wanted me to be”

Beta watches him carefully. “And how do you see Aloy now?”

He smiles, small but genuine. “As a friend. A great friend.”

Varl nods approvingly. “Well, at least you didn’t fall apart as badly as Nil did.”

Erend chokes on nothing. “ Nil?! Oh, now that guy gives me nightmares.”

Zo chuckles, and Beta makes a mental note to ask more about this Nil later

Erend scratches the back of his head, smirking. “Alva’s a close second when it comes to Aloy, though. Girl had a full-on crisis in her head, muttering stuff like, ‘Is this cheating?’ ”

“Ohhh, right—she has a girlfriend, doesn’t she?” Zo says, gesturing for Erend to grab a plate of salad.

Erend grumbles as he takes a bite. “You know what? This Utaru food is really growing on me.”

Before anyone can respond, Alva bursts into the room, eyes wide with betrayal. “EREND! I TOLD YOU THAT IN CONFIDENCE!”

The sudden outburst startles the group into silence—before they all break into laughter.

“Come on, Alva,” Varl chuckles, shaking his head. “No one’s judging you. This room is a no-judgment zone.”

Beta nods, along with the others. “Besides,” she adds, tilting her head, “you were definitely eavesdropping.”

Alva sputters, her face turning red before she huffs and flops down in the seat opposite Erend, arms crossed in a dramatic pout. “To clarify,” she announces, lifting her chin, “I have since reidentified those feelings as admiration.”

Then, without hesitation, she reaches across the table and yanks Erend’s salad away, immediately digging in.

“Hey—!” Erend starts to protest, but before he can, Zo smoothly places another bowl in front of him, not even looking up as she returns to washing dishes.

Varl smirks. “You should’ve seen that coming, bud.”

“Surely I’m not the worst person to handle this?” Alva protests, waving a hand. “I mean, you said it yourself—tons of people fall in love with Aloy.”

Erend snorts. “Yeah, but most of them didn’t react like you —pacing around, muttering to yourself, going through three different panic attacks in a single day.” He takes another bite of his salad. “Talanah, for example? She just went out and got herself a new boy toy.”

“Ikrie?” Varl adds, shaking his head. “She threw herself into hunting. Became the best under Aratak.”

“Vanasha dove straight into her work,” Erend says.

“Teb took Aloy’s absence hard ,” Varl continues. “But instead of spiraling, he’s using it as motivation to better himself.”

“And Avad?” Erend leans back with a groan. “Didn’t go pacing around like you, but by the Forge, he drowned himself in work and kept going, ‘Erend, have you heard from Aloy?’ over and over. It was bad at first. Now it’s tamer, but still.”

Beta, who had been listening quietly, finally speaks. “That is… a lot of names.”

Zo raises an eyebrow. “Is Aloy even aware of how many paramours she’s collecting?”

Varl and Erend exchange a knowing glance.

“I mean… she knows about Avad,” Varl admits.

“But the rest?” Erend shakes his head. “Nope. Not a clue.”

Beta blinks. “So Aloy is completely oblivious to the fact that she’s practically collecting admirers?”

“Yup.”

“Absolutely.”

“Wow.” Beta leans back in her chair, processing. “That’s… impressive. Statistically, you’d think someone would’ve told her by now.”

Zo chuckles as she dries her hands. “She’s always too busy saving the world to notice someone swooning over her.”

“Or she just assumes it’s nothing,” Varl adds. “Like, ‘Oh, they’re just being friendly.’ ”

“Meanwhile, they’re out here questioning their entire existence.” Erend gestures vaguely. “It’s honestly kinda hilarious.”

Beta frowns. “Should someone tell her?”

The room goes silent.

Zo snorts. “You wanna be the one to break it to her?”

Beta hesitates, then shakes her head. “On second thought, no. That sounds… dangerous.”

Varl chuckles. “Good call.”

Erend smirks. “Yeah, last thing we need is for Aloy to have an actual existential crisis. I like my head attached to my body.”

Zo grins. “Then I guess we let nature take its course.”

Beta sighs, resting her chin in her hands. “This is a fascinating case study in human attraction and obliviousness.” After a thoughtful pause, she tilts her head. “Just as a hypothetical—do you all know how many people have fallen in love with Aloy?”

Alva perks up. “Are you going to do statistics ?”

“Yeah.”

Varl strokes his chin. “Well… we should probably do this by tribe.”

Beta taps her Focus, ready to type. “Okay, I’m compiling data. Go on.”

Varl clears his throat. “Alright, for the Nora—it’s a short list, but still surprising. Me, obviously. Teb, the stitcher from our tribe. Olara, which caught me off guard. Marea—I figured that one out pretty easily. Nakoa—I actually heard it from her brother. And Solai, which was another unexpected candidate.”

Beta nods, logging the names. “Six for the Nora. Got it. Next?”

Erend smirks. “Now Oseram , this is where things get interesting .”

Varl rolls his shoulders. “Right. So we’ve got me—again. Petra Forgewoman, decent gal. Belna. Boomer—yeah, that was a surprise for me. Of course, her twin, Delah—also surprising. Jelda, for some reason. Joruf—he actually told me while I was recuperating. Larend—good lad. Morlund, the crazy inventor in New Las Vegas. Salma—she was absolutely smitten after a game of Strike. Silga—she’s really smitten, but she’s a fine gal. And almost forgot—Varga, she’s from the Banuk lands”

Varl blinks. “By All-Mother , that’s a lot .”

Beta mutters, “I know, right?”

“Oh, please,” Erend scoffs. “Just wait till we get to the Carja .”

Alva looks around. “We should have a Carja person in our group.”

Zo shrugs “Maybe we can invite that Carja that went through the Base”

“This is going to take a while, huh?” Beta mutters, shaking her head.

The group bursts into laughter.

“You asked for it!” Erend points at her dramatically. “No turning back now.”

Varl grins. “Alright, let's keep going. Erend, do you want to handle the Carja section?”

Erend smirks “This is going to be fun .”

—---------------------------

Aloy should probably consider this a vast improvement—Beta is actually looking at her now. The only problem? It’s a weird look.

“…Is there something on my face?” Aloy asks, brow furrowing.

Beta stares for another second, then simply states, “You are hot.”

Without another word, she casually moves away, sits down in her chair, and resumes typing on her Focus as if she hadn’t just dropped that comment like a lead weight in the room.

Varl and Erend are losing it , snickering behind their hands.

“What was that about?” Aloy asks, completely bewildered.

“ Statistics! ” Alva chimes in cheerfully. Then, as if this is a normal conversation, she asks, “By the way, how much is 30 shards ?”

Varl and Erend practically collapse in laughter.

Aloy pinches the bridge of her nose. “Did you somehow get dragged into a gambling ring, Alva?”

Alva hesitates, then shrugs. “You… could say that.”

Aloy sighs, dragging a hand down her face. “I was only gone for a few days … and somehow, this is what happens.”

Erend wipes a tear from his eye, still chuckling. “Oh, c’mon, Aloy. You can’t really be surprised.”

Zo grins as she leans against the counter. “Honestly, you should be proud. We put a lot of effort into this.”

Aloy crosses her arms, looking between them all, suspicion growing. “Effort into what , exactly?”

“Getting Little B and Alva out of their shells!” Erend exclaims proudly, throwing an arm around Alva, who swats him away half-heartedly. “Look at them! We’ve been doing some serious character development while you were off saving the world.”

Aloy shakes her head, exasperated. “Right. That’s great. Wonderful . I’m thrilled .” She gestures vaguely toward the door. “But I actually have to go stop an explosion somewhere, so enjoy your statistical analysis or… whatever this is.”

She turns to leave, but just as she reaches the doorway, Varl calls out, “We’ll have a full report ready for you when you get back!”

Aloy groans. “Of course you will.”

Chapter Text

“It is good to have us all gathered here,” Hekarro said, his deep voice carrying over the long table.

“Yes, we commanders are finally together—to celebrate, and to discuss the future of the Tenakth,” Atekka added, her tone steady but carrying an edge of purpose.

“You should be more thrilled , Tekotteh,” Yarra quipped, raising a brow at the Sky Clan commander.

Tekotteh scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, I am thrilled. I’d be even more thrilled if the outlander and the cripple weren’t here.”

The table went silent.

All eyes flickered toward Aloy, who sat opposite Hekarro, her expression already set in a look of tired exasperation. To her right stood Kotallo, his remaining arm resting easily at his side, but the sharpness in his gaze made it clear he was more than ready to respond to the insult.

Aloy sighed, rubbing her temples. “Trust me, Tekotteh, I don’t want to be here either. Some people—” she shot a look at Hekarro and Dekka “— forced me to attend. But since I am here, let’s not pretend we don’t have more important things to focus on. Regalla is still out there. You’re all still at risk.”

“Yes,” Hekarro agreed, nodding, “but we now have new Marshals to join us in our fight.”

Aloy let out a short breath. “Then you should’ve celebrated two to three days after the Kulrut—not two whole weeks later .”

“The renovations took time,” Atekka pointed out.

“And this isn’t just about battle,” Drakka chimed in. “We know the fight isn’t over. But our people deserve to breathe —even if it’s just for a moment.”

Aloy glanced around at the gathering. The room was full of Tenakth warriors and leaders, some deep in discussion, others already drinking and laughing. The scars of war were still fresh, but for once, there was something else in the air—relief. Maybe even hope.

She exhaled. “Fine. But don’t let this be an excuse to get too comfortable.”

As the evening went on, the conversations flowed. Talks of rebuilding, strengthening alliances, and the future of the Clans carried through the halls. But eventually, the topic shifted—as it always did—to Regalla.

"She should have fought with us," Atekka said with a drink in her hand. “Instead, she let vengeance consume her.”

“Vengeance makes a strong warrior,” Tekotteh interjected, “but a poor leader.”

Yarra nodded. “She could’ve rebuilt after the Red Raids, helped shape a better Tenakth. But instead, she threw everything away.”

Drakka crossed his arms. “And yet, she’s still out there.”

Silence settled over the table.

Aloy, who had remained mostly quiet through the discussion, finally spoke. “Regalla isn’t the kind of person who’ll just disappear quietly. She’s regrouping. Planning. You should all be doing the same.”

Kotallo, having remained stoic through most of the evening, gave a small nod. “Aloy is right. This fight isn’t over. And if we want to win, we need to be prepared for whatever comes next.”

Hekarro met Aloy’s gaze, then Kotallo’s, before finally nodding. “Then we will. But we will also let our people have this moment—for as long as it lasts.”

The conversation around the table took a heavier turn as the leaders of the Tenakth reflected on the Red Raids. The firelight flickered against their faces, casting deep shadows as they spoke.

“It was a time of blood and fire,” Atekka said grimly, fingers tapping lightly against her cup. “Too many lives lost, too many villages burned to the ground.”

“But we survived ,” Yarra countered, her gaze sharp. “More than that—we endured . And in that endurance, we became something stronger. Before the Raids, the Clans were more divided. We fought among ourselves just as much as we fought outsiders.”

Drakka nodded, leaning forward. “It was brutal, but it forced us to change. To finally see the truth—that standing alone only made us weaker.”

Even Tekotteh, who had remained quiet for a while, exhaled sharply. “As much as I hate to admit it, the Raids did push us to forge new bonds. Without them, we wouldn’t have warriors from different Clans standing here today—at the same table, making plans together .”

Hekarro inclined his head. “And it was the first time we truly looked outward . The Utaru were once strangers to us, people of the land who sang to their fields and avoided war. But now? Now they are our allies. We fight alongside them. Learn from them.”

Dekka gave a slow nod. “We are still Tenakth—still warriors. But we are no longer just warriors. We are something more.”

Aloy had been listening in silence, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. She finally spoke, her voice thoughtful.

“There’s a saying from a great inventor of the Old World: 'Sometimes, you have to break something apart to build it back stronger.' ”

The table turned toward her.

She looked at them, her expression unreadable. “The Red Raids nearly broke the Tenakth. Nearly shattered the Clans. But instead of letting that destruction define you, you chose to rebuild—stronger, together. That’s what matters.”

A thoughtful silence settled over the group. Even Tekotteh, who often had something to grumble about, seemed to consider her words.

Then Aloy exhaled, shifting her weight. “As for me, I can’t say I know much about the Red Raids. I’ve only just begun learning.”

Atekka frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I never experienced them firsthand. I only heard about them a few months ago—during my Proving.”

The room went still.

Tekotteh narrowed his eyes. “You never experienced it?”

“I thought the Carja pillaged every tribe,” one of the Marshals muttered.

“They did,” Aloy said. “But the Carja never made it into the Sacred Lands of the Nora. That’s where I lived.”

Tekotteh scoffed. “The Carja reached the far west, yet you claim they couldn’t breach your lands?”

“They tried,” Aloy corrected. “But from what I’ve learned, only two raids against the Nora that ever succeeded. But the impact was big, the Lands the Nora used to hold shrunk and many Nora were taken in to be sacrificed.”

“Two?!” Drakka’s voice carried disbelief.

Aloy nodded. “One at the very start, when the Red Raids were just beginning. And another, years later, when the Carja found a hidden path the Nora hadn’t secured.”

Silence gripped the room again.

Dekka studied her carefully. “Your own tribe was at war… and you didn’t know?”

Aloy shrugged. “Life inside the Sacred Lands was peaceful. The Nora don’t speak of the outside world much. And… well, I was an outcast. Even if they had talked about it, no one would’ve told me.”

Dekka frowned in thought. “Aloy… what exactly is an outcast?”

Aloy sighed. “The Nora don’t believe in prisons, and they rarely execute those who break their laws. Instead, they have the Outcast system.” She crossed her arms, glancing at the faces around her. “Outcasts are people who’ve broken Nora laws. Instead of locking them up or killing them, the tribe exiles them. No one is allowed to speak to them, trade with them, or even acknowledge their existence.”

Drakka frowned. “For how long?”

“It depends on the crime. Some are exiled for a few years. Others… for life.”

Atekka’s expression hardened. “That seems cruel. A warrior cast out from their people, left to fend for themselves.”

Aloy gave a bitter chuckle. “It is. And trust me, I know firsthand.” She exhaled, glancing away for a moment. “I was an outcast from birth. The Matriarchs decreed it.”

That drew a reaction. The Tenakth exchanged looks, confusion flickering across their faces.

Tekotteh scoffed. “What could a newborn possibly do to deserve exile?”

Aloy met his gaze. “I existed.” She let the words settle before continuing. “The Nora are deeply religious. They worship the All-Mother, and the Matriarchs—our ruling elders—interpret Her will. I was found as a baby at the foot of our sacred mountain but without a mother. To them, that made me… unnatural. A curse.”

Drakka clenched his fists. “That’s ridiculous.”

Aloy shrugged. “It’s their way. The Nora believes in strict traditions. The Matriarchs lead the tribe, women hold most positions of power, and men… well, they aren’t like the Oserams or the Carja”

Tekotteh raised a brow. “So, a tribe ruled by women?”

“More or less,” Aloy confirmed. “Men can be leaders, like the war chief, head of the trading business, but most of the leadership and sacred duties belong to the women. The Matriarchs make all major decisions, and their word is law.”

Dekka tilted her head, considering. “And your outcasts? They survive on their own?”

Aloy nodded. “They live off the land, outside the villages. Some find ways to trade with the more lenient Nora, but most just… disappear. For me, Rost—an outcast himself—raised me. Taught me to fight, to hunt, to survive. Without him, I wouldn’t be here.”

A heavy silence filled the room. The Tenakth were no strangers to harsh traditions, but exile for something as simple as being born? That was a concept even they found difficult to stomach

“That is… disturbing,” Dekka murmured, her voice low.

Aloy nodded. “There are good people among the Nora, though. Like Varl. He traveled west with me.”

Kotallo stepped forward, his tone steady. “I can vouch for him. Varl is a man of honor. Gentle in spirit, sharp in mind—but he knows how to hold his own in battle.”

Hekarro let out a soft chuckle. “If he’s earned both your trust, I’ll take your word for it.”

Drakka tilted his head thoughtfully. “Wasn’t he there? At the massacre of the Marshals?”

A subtle shift rippled through the room. The air grew heavier.

Aloy cleared her throat. “Yes. He was.”

Yarra raised an eyebrow. “And he survived? Then I believe you—he must be a fighter worth respecting.”

“He is,” Aloy said with a small smile. “Varl’s saved my life more than once. And he’s stood by me through some of the hardest fights I’ve faced.”

“How long have you fought together?” Atekka asked.

“Months now, I suppose,” Aloy replied. “We barely spoke before—I was still an outcast back then. But ever since, we’ve fought side by side. Every battle with him has been... solid. Trustworthy.”

Hekarro stroked his chin. “He was also part of the Battle of the Alight, wasn’t he?”

“He was. So was Erend,” Aloy added. “He’s Oseram—also came west with me.”

A few of the Tenakth grumbled under their breath at the mention of the tribe.

Aloy smirked. “Don’t worry—he’s one of the good ones. Loud, loves his ale a little too much, but he’s got a good heart. Loyal, too. You’d like him.”

Tekotteh cleared his throat. “Let’s circle back. What exactly happened at this… Battle of the Alight?”

Aloy turned to Kotallo with a grin. “Go on. You tell it this time. I’m sure by now both Erend and Alva have talked your ears off about it.”

Kotallo gave a rare, faint smile. “You’re not wrong.”

The tension softened. The warriors leaned in slightly, curious. The story was about to begin.

------------------------------------------------

“I’m sorry—she did what ?” Tekotteh leaned forward, eyes wide.

“Yes. Repeat that part,” Drakka said, squinting like he thought he misheard.

Kotallo, ever composed, glanced at Aloy with the barest hint of a smirk. “After she killed Helis, she jumped off the platform, grabbed an Oseram cannon, and used it to take down a wave of corrupted machines heading for the ridge.”

Yarra blinked. “By the Ten… girl, do you have an unlimited amount of stamina?”

“I’m still hung up on the part where she killed Helis ,” Atekka muttered, arms crossed, clearly stunned.

“Am I the only one still shocked that the bridge of Meridian got blown up ?” Marshal Ivvira asked, looking around the room in disbelief.

Marshal Chekkatah let out a low whistle. “And this is only halfway through the story?”

“Almost,” Kotallo said calmly, as if he were discussing tomorrow’s weather.

-----------------------------------------------------

“You killed what ?” Tekotteh’s voice had risen half an octave now.

“A Stormbird,” Aloy replied, almost sheepishly.

Yarra stared at the image displayed in front of them. “Right after she killed a Corruptor?” She pointed. “ That corrupter?”

“The same,” Kotallo confirmed, arms crossed.

Dekka shook her head. “One machine is hard enough. A Corruptor and a Stormbird in one breath?”

“She’s built differently,” Drakka muttered, and a few of the Marshals nodded in agreement.

“And you were fighting alone?” Ivvira asked, disbelief thick in her tone.

“Most of it, yeah,” Aloy said. “Sometimes I had help, sometimes I didn’t.”

Chekkatah leaned back. “This sounds like the kind of tale someone makes up to impress the young.”

“It would,” Kotallo said evenly, “if I hadn’t seen what she’s capable of with my own eyes.”

Yarra shook her head with a slow, incredulous smile. “And I thought we were dramatic.”

Aloy raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t ask for any of it, you know.”

“Maybe not,” Dekka said with a small smile, “but you carried it regardless. That says something.”

“I’m starting to think we need to carve your story into a stone wall somewhere,” Atekka added.

“Please don’t,” Aloy said quickly.

Drakka chuckled. “Too late, Dekka is already thinking of making a song about this”

Kotallo grinned. “Just wait until the part with the Deathbringer.”

“The what now? ” several of them said in unison.

Kotallo exchanged a glance with Aloy, clearly enjoying the reactions now.

“We’re not even at the Battle of the Spire yet,” she said, trying to hide a grin.

Chekkatah groaned. “Ten help us.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

As the final echoes of Kotallo’s story faded, a quiet settled over the war room. The kind of silence that followed after hearing of battles most couldn't imagine surviving—let alone winning.

Aloy adjusted her gear, glancing toward the doorway. “We should get moving. We’ve got a long way to go before nightfall.”

Kotallo gave a respectful nod to the assembled leaders. “Thank you for your time.”

Hekkaro stood, frowning slightly. “You’re leaving already? It’s still early. The fires haven’t even burned down.”

Aloy smiled, but it was faint, already distant. “We’ve got work to do. The world doesn’t stop turning just because we told a few war stories.”

Hekkaro sighed and gave her a nod of respect. “Then go. But know this—you have the strength of the Tenakth at your back.”

“We already know,” Kotallo said, his voice steady as always.

With that, the pair turned and made their way out, boots thudding softly against stone as they disappeared down the corridor.

A moment passed. Then another.

Drakka exhaled slowly. “Thank the Ten we’re not her enemies.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Yarra muttered.

Chekkatah let out a low grunt. “Imagine being on the wrong end of that spear.”

Dekka smirked. “Or the cannon.”

They all turned to Tekotteh, who crossed his arms and scowled.

Yarra clapped him on the back. “Let’s all be glad you finally grew some sense and didn’t—what’s that old-world saying? Ah, yes— fucked around and found out. ”

A few of them chuckled, but Tekotteh just grumbled, shifting in his seat. “I still say we could’ve taken her if we really tried.”

Atekka snorted. “You sure about that?”

“I pity the rebels,” Ivvira murmured, shaking her head.

“If Regalla hadn’t turned dark, those two would have dueled by now,” Chekkatah said.

“And you think Regalla would’ve won?” Tekotteh challenged.

“Pfft.” Drakka scoffed. “I bet Aloy would’ve won.”

“That’s a fool’s bet,” Atekka replied with a smirk. “It’s already obvious she would.”

Tekotteh huffed. “Are we seriously choosing an outlander over a Tenakth?”

A beat of silence. Then—laughter.

Even Tekotteh, after a moment, let out a reluctant chuckle.

Dekka leaned back with a knowing smile. “There are warriors, and then there are legends. I think we all know which one Aloy is.”

Hekkaro, who had been silently watching the exchange, exhaled through his nose and shook his head. “And thank the Ten she fights beside us.”

Yarra exhaled, shaking her head. “You know what’s terrifying? That was just one of her battles.”

Ivvira grunted. “Forget the past ones. I want to know what she’s walking into next. ”

Chekkatah crossed his arms. “Something worse, no doubt. I don’t know what, but I do know this—if Aloy’s facing it, that means it’s the kind of thing that should make the rest of us worried.”

Drakka leaned forward. “And if she wins?”

Atekka smirked. “Then the world gets another impossible story to tell.”

“Maybe we should start carving them into stone,” Yarra mused. “It’s only fair.”

Tekotteh groaned. “Please. The last thing she needs is a monument.”

Another murmur of agreement.

Outside, the sun had dipped lower, shadows stretching long across the stronghold. Somewhere beyond the walls, Aloy and Kotallo had already vanished into the wilds, heading toward another battle—another impossible challenge that, somehow, she would overcome.

And the Tenakth would have yet another story to tell.

Chapter Text

“Aloy?” Varl’s voice crackled through the Focus.

“Yeah, Varl?”

“So, Beta needs a part—a… what do you need, B?”

There was some muffled whispering in the background, followed by Beta’s hesitant voice. “It’s, um… a kinetic stabilizer. A high-grade one. I—well, I tried recalibrating the current one, but it’s degrading faster than expected, and—”

Aloy cut in, already thinking. “Oh, that’s easy. Go to Arrowhand. There’s a trader near the eastern gate—short guy, big pack, name’s Rakka. He deals in machine parts, and if you tell him I sent you, he won’t overcharge.”

Silence. Then, Varl let out a low chuckle. “You already know a guy?”

“Of course, I do.”

Beta still sounded doubtful. “Are you sure he’ll have it?”

“If he doesn’t, he’ll know someone who does. Trust me.”

“Okay, thanks—”

“Or,” Aloy added, already shifting her weight as she prepared to move, “if you want, I can just grab one for you. Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

Varl groaned. “Aloy, you can’t keep doing everything yourself.”

Beta, however, seemed genuinely surprised. “You have one?”

“Not on me, but I know where to find one. There’s a Snapmaw site near Plainsong—tear down a few of those, and you’ll get what you need. I’ll swing by later.”

More silence. Then, Varl laughed outright. “Okay, but seriously—how well-connected are you?”

Aloy smirked. “Varl, I spent the last few months running across every tribe, fighting machines, dealing with politics, and making friends where I could. If I don’t know someone who can help, I know someone who knows someone who can.”

Varl let out an amused sigh. “At this point, I think you could barter your way through half the world without ever needing shards.”

“Not half, ” Aloy teased. “Maybe just a third.”

Beta muttered something under her breath.

“What was that?” Aloy asked.

There was an awkward pause, then Beta admitted, “I just said… you’re kind of terrifying.”

Varl snorted. “You get used to it.”

Aloy just shook her head with a smirk. “I’ll grab the part. See you soon.”

She cut the connection, already making her way toward the Snapmaw site.

Somewhere, across the map, a trader in Arrowhand sneezed—unknowingly about to be visited by a very determined Nora and a mildly exasperated Tenakth warrior.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Aloy? Are you busy?”

Aloy sighed, wiping sweat from her brow as she crouched next to a Thunderjaw carcass. “Depends. Are we talking ‘need help with a machine’ busy, or ‘another impossible request’ busy?”

Alva’s voice crackled over the Focus. “More like… both? ”

Aloy groaned. “What do you need?”

“So, we found a locked archive in the ruins near the coast—ancient Quen records! But the security system is intact, and none of our usual override sequences are working. I thought, maybe, you would—”

“You need an encryption key,” Aloy interrupted.

“Yes! Exactly!”

She smirked. “Go to Legacy’s Rise. There’s a scavenger there—Tirakka. She collects old-world tech, and last I checked, she had a few intact Quen access chips. Tell her I sent you, and she’ll give you a fair deal.”

A pause. “Wait… you already know someone who has what I need?”

Aloy shrugged. “I keep track of things.”

Alva let out a breathless laugh. “You never stop amazing me, Aloy.”

Aloy smirked. “I try.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------

“Aloy.”

Aloy glanced up from her campfire. “Kotallo. What’s up?”

“I require… a specific weapon component. A precision coil for my spear, but not just any. It must be Tenakth-crafted, balanced, and capable of withstanding high impact.”

Aloy tilted her head. “Sounds like you’re asking for something rare.”

“Indeed.”

She smirked. “Go to Fall’s Edge. There’s a blacksmith named Darrika. Best in the Lowlands. If anyone can craft what you need, it’s her.”

Kotallo grunted. “And you trust this smith?”

“She’s the one who reforged my spear after a Thunderjaw snapped it in half. You tell me. ”

Kotallo nodded slowly. “Very well. I will seek her out.” A pause. “…You truly have connections everywhere, don’t you?”

Aloy grinned. “I get around.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------

“Aloy! Tell me you’re near Scalding Spear.”

Aloy sighed, already hearing the slurred edge in Erend’s voice. “Why?”

“I may have found the last barrel of pre-Sundom Oseram ale… but the guy won’t trade unless I get him a batch of Sunwing lenses.”

Aloy blinked. “You’re trading machine parts for beer ?”

“You don’t understand, Aloy! This isn’t just beer—it’s history. ”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Go to Thornmarsh. There’s a salvager named Kael. He hoards Sunwing lenses like they’re made of gold. If you bring him a decent Skydrifter heart, he’ll trade.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“You already know a guy?”

“Yes, Erend. I already know a guy.”

“…You’re a lifesaver.”

“Just don’t drink it all at once.”

—-------------------------------------------------

The Base was unusually active that morning, with a series of large crates and sacks being unloaded near the storage area. The others gathered around, confused, as another bundle arrived—this one tied up in colorful Utaru fabrics.

Varl, arms crossed, narrowed his eyes at the growing pile. “Aloy?” He tapped his Focus.

“Yeah?”

“…What is this?”

A brief pause. Then—

“Oh, that? I saved a village from a herd of Ravagers, and they decided to send me some stuff.”

Varl frowned. “Aloy. This is a month's worth of food.”

“And ale!” Erend chimed in, having just cracked open a barrel to take a whiff. His face lit up. “ Good ale!”

Beta, standing beside a crate filled with dried herbs and preserves, looked baffled. “This is an excessive amount of gratitude.”

Aloy’s voice was casual. “What can I say? They were thankful.Tried saying no”

At that moment, they found another package, wrapped in thick Oseram cloth. Kotallo inspected the tag and raised an eyebrow. “Aloy… why does this say it’s for me?”

“Oh! That should be the paint,” Aloy answered.

Silence.

“…Paint?” Kotallo repeated.

“Yeah! There’s this trader in Hidden Ember—specializes in war paints. I figured you might want some, so I had them send a few shades you’d like.”

Kotallo stared at the package. Then at her. Then back at the package. Finally, he just exhaled. “You are impossible.”

Beta pulled out a slip of parchment, eyes scanning the long list. “Okay, but why do we have a sack of artisan cheeses coming from Plainsong?”

“Oh, that’s from Veyla,” Aloy said. “She sends me cheese sometimes.”

Zo blinked. “You… have a cheese supplier ?”

Aloy shrugged. “I do now.”

“Since when do you all have cheese?!!” Beta exclaimed

Erend cackled. “At this rate, we won’t even need to scavenge anymore! Just let Aloy wander around doing hero things, and food will literally arrive at our doorstep!”

As the others shook their heads, and then they found another package—this one, suspiciously large and wrapped in thick leather.

“What now?” Varl muttered, opening it. 

Then Erend’s voice rang out, louder than the rest. “ALOY.”

She groaned. “What now ?”

“You could’ve mentioned that one of these crates contains classified information on the Sons of Prometheus.”

“Ohhh,” Aloy drawled, realizing. “Yeah, I traded for that with a scavenger in the Long Coast. Said I’d get it to you when I had time.”

Erend sounded exasperated. “This was not ‘hey, I got you a trinket from my travels’ kind of info, Aloy! This is an entire dossier on a dangerous rebel faction.”

“Uh-huh,” Aloy replied, unimpressed. “And you’re welcome. ”

Erend sighed. “You worry me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aloy said, waving it off. “Now, unless anyone else has surprise mail to yell at me about, I’d really like to finish climbing this Tallneck.”

A beat of silence. Then Alva’s voice hesitantly cut in. “…Actually, there is one more.”

Aloy groaned. “ What now? ”

Alva hesitated. “It’s from an Oseram blacksmith. It says ‘For Aloy, my favorite troublemaker. Stop getting your weapons broken. Sincerely, Darrika.’”

Aloy grinned. “Oh, nice! My new spear mods came in.”

Everyone groaned.

Varl just groaned. “I cannot keep up with your life.”

Zo shook her head, still staring at the massive stockpile of supplies. “The rest of us struggle for resources… and then there’s Aloy, singlehandedly running an economy.”

Kotallo finally just muttered, “Thank the Ten we’re on her side.”

Erend raised a bottle of ale. “ To Aloy, the most well-connected scavenger-hero-trader we’ve ever met! ”

Everyone laughed—except Beta, who was still staring at the pile of food, trying to understand how one person could have this much influence.

Aloy just shrugged. “Well, if it bothers you, next time I’ll just tell them to keep it.”

A chorus of NO! rang out instantly.

—-------------------------------------------------------

“Aloy, what do you have there?” Varl asked, eyeing the letter she was holding.

“A letter from Marad,” Aloy replied, almost nonchalantly as she folded the parchment.

Alva raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. “Who’s that?”

“Marad,” Aloy began, tossing the letter onto the table, “He’s the spymaster for the Sun King. Though, personally, I’d rather have Vanasha around. She’s got a better sense for the political undercurrents,

but she's tied up right now dealing with some new rebellion.”

Alva blinked, clearly impressed. “Right. So, just a casual acquaintance with the Sun King’s spymaster, huh?”

“You could say that,” Aloy said. “We’ve worked together a few times. It helps when you’ve crossed paths a few times, saved a few lives, and kept people’s interests intact.”

Kotallo chuckled under his breath. “Well, if the Sun King is sending his regards, let us know. I’d love to hear what he has to say about your latest exploits.”

“Oh, he did,” Aloy replied, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Though, it’s mostly about the situation here in the West. He wants to keep the peace treaty with the Tenakth moving along.”

Kotallo choked on his drink. “Wait— the Sun King? He’s still asking about peace with the Tenakth?”

Aloy shrugged. “Yeah, it’s actually something he’s been keen on. He wants to “undo” his fathers actions. He’s trying to stabilize things on the borders, trying to ensure no more unnecessary conflict. As much as I don’t like dealing with their politics, it’s one of the easier negotiations we’ve got.”

“That’s... surprisingly diplomatic of him,” Varl said, though his tone betrayed his disbelief.

“More like Marad,” Aloy corrected, “He’s the one really running the show when it comes to these quiet negotiations. The Sun King’s just the face of it. But still, it’s kind of strange, don’t you think? A letter from a spymaster, casually asking about peace in the middle of a rebellion.”

“It does seem odd,” Beta added, peering over the letter with her focused gaze. “I mean, peace with the Tenakth? Is that really his priority right now?”

Aloy exhaled slowly, tossing the letter back into her bag. “I don’t know what Marad is thinking. I need to get in touch with Vanasha soon”

Kotallo raised a hand as though to clarify. “But you’re telling me... You’re this well-connected? With the Sun King, Marad, and who knows how many others?”

“Something like that,” she replied with a wry smile. “A lot of letters and favors owed. But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t starting to get a bit much. I’m thinking I might need to streamline this operation. Maybe set up a bigger network for all these alliances. This constant back-and-forth with letters is becoming a hassle.”

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified,” Varl muttered.

“A little bit of both is probably best,” Aloy said with a shrug, rising to her feet. “Either way, you can bet that I’m not the only one keeping tabs on the situation here. The world’s always in motion—whether we want it to be or not.”

The group stared at her for a moment, unsure of whether they should feel comforted by her confidence or overwhelmed by the web of connections she had built. Either way, it was clear that Aloy’s reach extended far beyond the borders of the Forbidden West—and that was something none of them could take lightly.

Chapter Text

Beta was pacing in front of Aloy’s room, she was allowed to be there! She even has a voice recording of Aloy saying it’s fine. It’s just that she was going to Aloy’s room! In the middle of the night! And well, it made her feel like a snoop. 

She mentally smacked herself, she was not a snoop, Aloy had explicitly told her there were spare parts inside and asked her to grab them so she could finish refining the pulse emitter. 

But rooms were… sacred. Private. Personal. What if she saw something she wasn’t supposed to? Some secret plans? A journal?

Or worse—what if she accidentally broke something? One of Aloy’s weapons, even?

She let out a quiet groan, her pacing slowing.

Why did Aloy—and everyone else—trust her so much anyway?

This was fine. Normal. Helpful.

But what if she knocked over a spear and snapped it in half? What if she saw something she wasn’t supposed to—some super secret battle plan or personal memento? What if Aloy got mad ?

Her mind spiraled faster than a corrupted drone on fire.

Under the Zeniths, she wouldn’t have even dreamed of doing something like this. She had to ask before entering any room. Had to earn access. Had to report back . Had to justify her existence every hour of every day. One wrong step, one glance at the wrong data string, and—

She squeezed her eyes shut. No. No . That wasn’t her life anymore.

“I’m not under the Zeniths,” she breathed, grounding herself. “I’m not under them anymore.”

She looked at the door. Hesitated.

Then she straightened her spine, took a deep breath, and marched forward with all the shaky confidence she could muster. “I’m going in.”

When she finally stepped inside, she braced herself—for what, she wasn’t sure. Secrets? Booby traps? Judgmental weapon racks?

But it was… anticlimactic.

A quick scan of the room, and there it was—the container of spare parts, exactly where Aloy said it would be, sitting neatly beside her bed.

Beta stood in the doorway for a moment, blinking.

That’s it?

Aloy’s room was... simple. Lived-in. Functional, but with touches of personality that Beta hadn’t expected. A half-disassembled tripcaster on the table, some old, folded maps tacked to the wall. A stack of paper with scribbled annotations, and a small scrap of embroidered fabric tossed over the back of a chair—something clearly handmade, fraying a bit at the edges. A quiet reminder that Aloy wasn’t just the unstoppable force Beta saw in the field. She was also human. Thoughtful. Maybe even a little sentimental.

Beta stepped further inside, quieter now, her earlier panic melting into cautious curiosity.

There was a rhythm to the space. Not chaotic, but not clinical either. Not like the Zeniths’ sterile, hyper-designed quarters—no hollow walls humming with surveillance. No cold, automated efficiency. Here, it smelled faintly of machine oil, wildflowers, and dust. Real, imperfect, alive .

She crouched beside the bed and picked up the container, pausing when she noticed a small trinket tucked beside it—something carved from wood. A focus casing maybe, or a totem? She couldn’t tell. She didn’t touch it.

She stood up slowly, cradling the container in her arms, heart still thudding but softer now.

Aloy trusted her. Let her in. Told her, “Yeah, it’s fine, Beta.”

As Beta was ready to leave she spotted something in the corner, a fabric, in her closet? Well, it looked like a closet, since it was a space where there were fabrics thrown around. It’s not snooping when it was just placed around right?

She got in close and saw a very familiar-looking clothing, she grabbed it and inspected it. My Dear, it was the clothing of Elisabet Sobeck!?

“What’cha holding there, B?”

Beta yelped and nearly dropped the fabric, quickly shoving it behind her back before realizing what she was doing—and then panicking even more and tossing it onto the pile like it was on fire.

“N-Nothing!” she blurted.

She spun around, heart hammering—only to see Alva standing in the doorway, one eyebrow raised, a curious smile tugging at her lips.

“Hello there,” Beta added quickly, voice a little too high, a little too guilty.

Alva grinned. “Yeah, hello there too.”

Beta cracked. “I wasn’t snooping! I swear! It was just… there! Like, lying around in the open! And I thought maybe it was important, but then I realized what it was and—” She cut herself off with a strangled sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper.

Alva stepped into the room, hands raised like she was approaching a skittish machine. “Hey, hey, it’s okay! I believe you. Honest. Actually… I was here to grab that too.”

Beta blinked. “You wanted to get Elisabet’s garments?”

Alva blinked right back. “Oookay—first off, that’s not Elisabet’s. Secondly, yeah. Aloy told me to grab it before you got in here, but looks like you beat me to it.”

Beta pointed at the fabric on the pile, confusion all over her face. “Then what is that ?”

“You didn’t get to the CEO episode of the Quen adventures?” Alva asked, already walking over to the garment.

“No…” Beta said slowly. “I was busy with the pulse. And….. Quen adventures? ”

“Yeah, we kinda named that whole arc for filing purposes. Makes it easier to organize the database.” Alva flashed a grin. “It’s a whole thing. You probably missed it since you were busy”

Beta tilted her head. “So… what were you planning to do with it?”

Alva scooped the garment up, holding it between two fingers like it was mildly cursed. “I was going to burn it. Burn it till it was nothing but ashes kind of burn.”

Beta stared at her. “Did it hold… very bad memories?”

“Oh, yes ,” Alva replied with theatrical flair, clutching the garment like it personally betrayed her.

“Well then, I should—” Beta awkwardly lifted the container of parts she came for. “I should get going…”

But Alva’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Wait—this is perfect! ”

Before Beta could react, Alva scooped up a bundle of blankets from the corner of Aloy’s room and looked at her expectantly. “Can I touch you?”

Beta blinked, caught off guard by the question, then gave a slow, hesitant nod.

That nod was all it took.

She wasn’t just touched—she was dragged . Dragged straight into the common room, practically floating behind Alva as the taller woman moved with the energy of a storm. Beta barely had time to squeak before she was gently pushed onto the couch and buried under a pile of cozy blankets.

“Stay right there!” Alva declared, vanishing into the kitchen.

Beta peeked out from under the covers, bewildered and slightly concerned for her own safety.

Less than a minute later, Alva returned, balancing two steaming mugs of tea. She set them on the table with a triumphant flourish, only to dart back into the kitchen again. This time she returned with spoons, sugar, honey, and—because of course she did—a holo projector.

She arranged everything with meticulous care, then plopped down beside Beta with a satisfied grin. “Okay—guess what we’re doing!”

Beta blinked, still half-blanketed and overwhelmed. She looked around “Oh… um… a movie marathon?”

Alva beamed. “Correct! Tonight, we’re watching Episode: ‘The CEO’ from the Quen Arc!”

Beta tilted her head. “Wouldn’t this be more of a documentary marathon? Since, technically, it’s not a movie?”

“Tomato, tomatoh,” Alva said with a dramatic wave of her spoon.

Beta frowned slightly. “I thought… there weren’t any tomatoes yet released by Demeter.”

Alva shushed her and opened the recording of Aloy travelling to the CEO

—-----------------------------------------

“That’s the CEO?” Beta asked, squinting at the projection.

“Nope—that’s Bohai,” Alva said without missing a beat.

Beta tilted her head. “Is he, like… second-in-command?”

“More or less,” Alva replied with a shrug. “Mostly serious, mostly stressed.”

“He looks serious,” Beta murmured.

Alva snorted. “Honestly? That’s not far off.”

The next figure strode onto the screen, robes pristine, voice heavy with forced gravitas.

Alva pointed, tone dry. “ That’s the CEO.”

Beta blinked. “Him?”

The man raised a hand with theatrical flair. Onscreen, he intoned, ‘And what is it you seek… in the great ruin?’

Beta leaned back, unimpressed. “He doesn’t look very… reliable.”

Alva didn’t hesitate. “Oh, he’s not.”

—------------------------------

“Our scouts report that a great machine has pinned people behind its defenses,” Bohai said, addressing Aloy with solemn importance.

“Let me guess,” Aloy replied dryly. “I have to go kill it so everyone can get into Thebes.”

“As usual,” Alva muttered under her breath.

Aloy crossed her arms. “So… you actually found Thebes? How?”

“The ancestors revealed its location to us upon our arrival at Landfall,” Bohai proclaimed. “Scraps of data uncovered by Diviner Alva led us there. I, of course, verified the findings.”

Alva immediately made a face.

“Sooo... uncredited work?” Beta asked, brow raised.

“ Under -credited work,” Alva corrected, hands crossed. “Which is somehow worse.”

“Ted did love his pyramids,” Aloy muttered

Alva and Beta chuckled in unison.

—-----------------------------------------

“So Alva reports to you?” Aloy asked, fixing Bohai with a look.

“I was selected by my esteemed colleagues on the Board of Diviners to oversee the data retrieval aspect of this expedition, yes,” Bohai replied with overly formal precision.

Beta groaned at the same time as Alva.

“He could’ve just said yes ,” Alva muttered.

Aloy shifted her gaze to the man standing beside him. “And you’re the leader of this expedition?”

Alva winced. “Oh no. That was a mistake.”

Beta glanced at her, about to ask why—

But then the man, Bohai, puffed up and declared, “He is not merely a leader ! He is a CEO ! He—”

Alva immediately paused the holo. “Okay, skipping ahead. Straight to the part where a machine explodes, please and thank you.”

Beta just nodded, as Alva was already pressing fast-forward.

She didn’t need to hear the rest.

She kind of knew where that speech was going.

—-----------------------------------------

The holo flickered, shifting to the next scene. A Thunderjaw roared across the screen, stomping into frame like an earthquake given legs. Aloy was already mid-sprint, a blur of red hair and metal glinting in the sunlight.

Alva leaned forward with a gleam in her eyes, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Okay, pause , this part is fascinating,” she said, pointing toward Aloy. “Watch the way she rolls behind cover, right here—classic Tenakth evasion, but then she does this double-shot technique— pure Nora. You can tell because it’s not about calculated impact, it’s about speed and momentum. That’s what makes it so effective!”

Beta nodded absently, sipping her tea. “Mmhmm.”

 So brave. So stupid. So cool.

Alva's eyes didn’t leave the screen. “Right here—she switches to a horizontal dodge. That’s not Nora. That’s Utaru. It’s more fluid, like she’s reading the rhythm of the machine rather than just reacting to it.”

Aloy rolled between the Thunderjaw’s legs, loosing a tearblast arrow at the back plating. A massive plate launched off with a satisfying crack.

“She blends styles like it’s second nature. She studied them, watched, practiced. But even when she borrows from others, it always returns to the Nora's foundation. It’s like... gravity. No matter what she learns, she falls back to her Nora fighting style which shows what kind of teacher she had and how much it impacted her that it shines through no matter what”

“She doesn’t fight for show,” Alva said softly. “There’s no elegance for elegance’s sake. Everything has a purpose. She fights like someone who never had the luxury of losing.”

The Thunderjaw reared up, sensors flaring, before its disc launcher exploded in a blinding burst of light.

Aloy didn’t flinch. She was already running again.

Beta blinked, warmth blooming in her chest.

The machine finally fell, crashing into the dirt in a tangle of fire and smoke. Aloy stood in the aftermath, small but unshaken.

SHE IS SO COOL

SHE IS SO COOL

Beta and Alva looked at each other and blinked before laughing.

—----------------------------------------------------

Alva looked around nervously “Aloy you have to be careful with the-” 

“And here you are!” The CEO said out loud

“Classic villain foreshadowing” Beta mumbled

—------------------------

Screen shows that the door is gene locked

“I can’t do anything, it’s gene locked” Aloy said as she turns around to the group “Only Ted Faro can open it”

“WHAT?!” the CEO yelled

“Did he seriously not see it coming?” Beta asked

“The amount of times we told him no is astonishing” Alva shrugged

“I can’t believe this, you guys just need to create a program to sift through the modules given. Why are you all wasting time on an inaccessible door?”

Alva was about to reply when she stopped and closed her mouth

Beta sighs “spoilers?”

Alva just nodded

—------------------------------------------------

“You said she can do this! That she is Elisabets eternal essence a living ancestor” The CEO yelled at Bohai

“What a nutjob” Beta mumbled as she drank her tea and Alva nodded beside her

“Why is he going on about having eternal essence?” Beta asked and Alva just chugged down tea 

Beta sighs

—---------------------------------------

“Oh my,” Beta breathed, eyes wide. “It’s geothermal powered! Holy moly , how did he get workers to build this so fast? It takes years —like, five at least—to construct something like this!”

She paused, squinting at the screen. “Did he already have this bunker prepared ahead of time? Of course he did. It’s so him.”

She took a thoughtful sip of her tea, then suddenly frowned. “Also… how is Aloy swimming in probably boiling water right now?!”

—-----------------------------------------

“—our so-called spiritual leader died today. He was fine yesterday…”

Beta tilted her head. “Why does Ted have a teenage girl in his bunker? And a spiritual leader? What is this, a cult or a crisis bunker?”

Before Alva could answer, a door creaked open. Zo and Varl stepped out of their room, arm in arm, both giggling softly—until they noticed Beta and Alva on the couch.

They paused.

“Uh… hey there,” Varl offered, a bit sheepish.

“Hey,” Beta and Alva chorused back, trying not to look like they'd just been caught mid-holo soap opera.

From the projection, Aloy’s voice chimed in: “Let’s see what else is in this bunker—and hopefully find the entrance for the Quen.”

Zo perked up. “Wait, are you two watching The CEO Adventure ? From the Quen Arc?”

Beta blinked. “How long has that naming convention been a thing?”

At the same time, Alva nodded enthusiastically. “Yup! B here hasn’t seen it yet, so we’re doing the full run.”

The screen shifted scenes.

“This looks like the access control…” Aloy said.

Varl gasped. “All-Mother, it’s this part already! We need stones!”

“No no no,” Zo said, chuckling. “We might break something.” Then Zo turned to Beta with a smirk. “B, has anyone taught you how to flip someone off yet?”

“Ohhh yeah,” Varl added. “That’s way better.”

Alva raised a brow. “Geez. I thought Erend would’ve been the first to teach her that.”

—-------------------------------------

“Okay, everybody shush!” Alva hissed, eyes wide with anticipation. “It’s this part already.”

Beta leaned forward, eyes glued to the holo. 

Varl, Zo, and Alva exchanged a knowing look—but said nothing.

“The CEO is preparing to enter Thebes,” Bohai’s voice declared solemnly.

The scene cut to Aloy approaching a tent—then the CEO stepped out, draped in ornate robes and styled to look exactly like Ted Faro.

“I am Faro renewed—”

Beta slammed the pause. “ What. ” She turned, slowly, to see Varl, Zo, and Alva already nodding like they were bracing for impact.

Beta looked at Alva, half-horrified, half-bewildered. “Is he… is he some kind of Ted Faro worshipper ?”

Alva took a long, exhausted sip of her tea. “Oh, it gets worse.”

“How?!” Beta asked, voice rising with genuine dread.

Alva resumed the holo.

“His essence is my essence. I—”

The group turned toward Beta just in time to see her expression crumple into sheer disgust. Onscreen, Aloy mirrored the exact same look. The resemblance was uncanny.

“I think…” Aloy muttered, “…there’s been some confusion about Ted Faro here.”

“You think ?!” Beta said, voice high and horrified.

“No one knows him better than I do. I am him. He is me.”

Beta sank deeper into the couch. “How can this possibly get worse?”

Another glance between Zo, Alva, and Varl. The universal look of “oh honey, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Then came the line:

“ He is the Renewer! The savior of the world! The greatest of all ancestors! And you, Elisabet Sobeck—always by his side. His harbinger. His… assistant. ”

The holo froze again, but not because anyone touched it. Beta had paused it instinctively.

“ Assistant?! ” she screeched, whirling on Alva. “ Assistant?! ”

Alva threw her hands up immediately. “I do not endorse that historical inaccuracy. I want the record to show that I was horrified too!”

“How outdated is your tribe’s data?” Beta muttered, tapping her fingers on the holo screen. “Elisabet left the industry years ago. It’s been decades since she was even near Ted Faro. After that, she moved on to pioneering green robotics— environmentally friendly tech, mind you. Meanwhile, that guy ”—she jabbed a finger at the frozen image of the CEO—“was busy designing war machines. So, tell me: how is he still the ‘great redeemer’? I mean, even if you don't know about Zero Dawn, how on Earth did they mess up this badly?”

Before anyone could comment, the door flung open.

“I heard shouting—where’s the battle?!” Erend boomed, his voice full of enthusiasm as he barged into the room, hammer in hand.

“I am here as well,” Kotallo added, appearing behind him with his usual calm demeanor.

Varl raised a hand, signaling them to settle. “Easy, guys. It’s just Beta. She’s—”

“Watching the CEO episode of the Quen Arc,” Kotallo finished, eyes narrowing as he watched the paused holo screen.

Beta gave a dramatic sigh and curled up beside Alva like she was trying to become one with the cushions.

Erend flashed a grin. “Ah, I get it. It gets worse, kid?”

Beta looked up, dry as ever. “ How ?” She pulled her knees to her chest, clearly preparing for the worst.

Kotallo, now seated next to her, spoke with mock seriousness. “You have my full permission to unleash every curse word at this guy. He deserves it.”

Alva gently patted Beta’s back. “Zo and Varl taught her how to flip people off already.”

Erend’s grin grew. “Oh, we are taking a picture of that.”

Beta stopped hiding her face and shot him a sharp look. 

“And we are not , because she is not comfortable with that.” Erend laughed and clapped “Ha! First steps of Boundaries and sarcasm,” Erend laughed, leaning back dramatically. “I’m so proud.”

—-----------------------------------------

“Bring in the raiment,” the CEO declared, voice dripping with self-importance.

“Raiment?” Aloy echoed, brow furrowed in confusion.

“As he is Faro… you are Sobeck. You must,” Bohai gestured dramatically as two guards stepped forward and unfolded a dress with ceremonial flair, “dress the part.”

Beta’s jaw dropped. “She’s not actually gonna do it. Right? Tell me she’s not.”

Aloy recoiled instantly, hands already rising in protest. “Oh no. No no no. I am not wearing that.”

“You will wear proper attire to mark this sacred moment,” the CEO said with overblown reverence.

Aloy stared him down. “Or what?”

In response, the CEO gave a subtle nod—and the guards raised their weapons, aiming them squarely at her and Alva.

“It is said that Sobeck valued all life… did she not?” he asked, his smugness filling the room like poison.

A heavy silence. Aloy’s jaw worked as she weighed her options, visibly fuming.

“…Fine,” she ground out at last. “I’ll wear your stupid raiment .”

Back in the common room, Beta didn’t hesitate—she flipped the CEO off with both hands.

“Yeah, what the fuck !” Erend shouted triumphantly.

“Dickwad,” Kotallo muttered with disgust.

“Bitch,” Varl added without missing a beat.

“Absolute rat-faced worm,” Alva said into her teacup.

Beta slumped back beside Alva, still glaring at the paused holo. “He really thought forcing Aloy into cosplay would make him Faro reborn?”

Alva sighed. “Delusion. Cult-grade delusion.”

—--------------------------------------

“Alva?” Beta said, her voice low but deadly serious.

“Yes, B?” Alva replied, already sensing the mood.

“We’re gonna need blaze. And a lot of wood. Forget turning that thing into ashes—we’re making sure it’s reduced to molecules.”

Alva let out a bright laugh, amused by Beta’s intensity but also completely on board. “Oh, we’re purifying it by fire now, huh?”

The rest of the group looked over, curious.

“It’s a me-and-B thing,” Alva explained with a dismissive wave, still smiling.

Varl just shrugged, and turned his attention back to the holo.

—-—---------------------------------------

“So…” Erend began, leaning back with a sly grin. “B, you curious about the women in the bunker?”

“He has a harem,” Beta replied flatly.

Erend blinked. “And you know what a harem is?”

“Yes, I know what a harem is,” Beta said. “Honestly, I’m not even surprised. Megalomaniac with severe narcissistic tendencies? Of course he’d surround himself with women just to stroke his fragile ego. The man built a giant gold statue of himself inside his own bunker. That’s not confidence—that’s overcompensation.”

Erend gave an approving whistle. “Well said.”

“And the shaman?” Alva added, raising a brow.

“Obvious,” Beta said. “He needed a morally flexible ‘spiritual figure’ to whisper, ‘You’re fine, they’re wrong,’ anytime reality started to crack his delusion. Again—not surprised.”

Varl opened his mouth. “Do you know about—”

Zo immediately clapped a hand over his lips. “Time and place, love. We’re in the middle of a thriller documentary.”

—----------------------------------------

“The amount of glazing Bohai does is honestly impressive,” Beta muttered, eyes narrowed at the holo.

Everyone except Alva turned to look at her in confusion.

Alva sighed with a fond smile. “Old world slang, guys.”

Erend raised a brow. “Like… sun glazing?”

“No,” Beta said dryly. “Like—sugarcoating. Bootlicking. Excessive praise to the point of nausea.”

“Ohhh,” Zo said, nodding slowly. “Yeah, that tracks.”

—----------------------------------------

“He was trying to become immortal?” Beta asked, brows furrowed. “With the technology they have?”

Varl nodded grimly. “That was the whole point of Thebes B. His twisted legacy project.”

Beta leaned back against the couch, processing that. “He could’ve just planted a tree or wrote a book that overly compensated himself as the savious.”

Zo folded her arms thoughtfully. “I cannot understand why the Old Ones were so obsessed with living forever . They denied themselves the beauty of returning to the cycle—becoming one with the earth, nourishing the soil, feeding the roots that sustain the next generation.”

Alva smiled softly. “Poetic as always, Zo.”

“She's right, though,” Varl added. “There’s something selfish about trying to escape death instead of giving back.”

Beta let out a breath. “Yeah. And he wasn’t even trying to live forever to help others—he just didn’t want to stop being important. From what the audio files are saying”

Erend grunted from the back. “Man built a golden bunker, threw in a harem, a cult, and a whole AI project just to keep hearing people call him a savior. That’s not legacy, that’s a tantrum”

Kotallo, seated quietly until now, nodded. “To fear death is human. To pretend you’re a god because of it? That is weakness.”

The group fell into a quiet lull.

—----------------------------------------

“Oh cheese and biscuits,” Beta muttered, eyes wide. “They… they committed suicide.”

There was a heavy silence.

Kotallo, solemn as ever, gave a slow nod. “I did not like the man at first… but I can respect someone who sees the error of their ways—and takes responsibility for it.”

Beta stared at the screen, clutching her tea tighter. “That’s… heavy.”

Alva placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It was a choice. One most wouldn’t have made.”

Erend let out a low whistle. “Whole situation’s messed up, but… yeah. That took guts.”

Zo closed her eyes briefly, murmuring, “May they find peace in the cycle.”

—---------------------------------

Aloy returned to the base after clearing out another rebel camp. She needed to resupply—and maybe check in on the group, make sure no one had accidentally set something on fire or built another questionable contraption or needed something incredibly rare. With this crew, you never really knew.

She expected noise, Zo cooking something and Varl chipping in, or Kotallo and Erend going all out for a strike. Instead, the place was eerily silent. Suspiciously silent.

She tapped her Focus.

“Hey Gaia, status check. Everything alright?”

“Hello, Aloy. How are you this fine day? I assume you’re planning to rest and recover?” Gaia asked

“Nice to hear from you too, Gaia. And no, just here to resupply and check on the others.”

“Mhm… well, the rest of the team is outside.”

“Outside?” Aloy frowned. “Okay, guess I’ll check on B then.”

“She is also outside.”

Aloy stopped mid-step.

“I’m sorry—what?”

“Beta is outside,” Gaia repeated. “With the others.”

Aloy blinked, then let out a short laugh. “I’ll be damned. How’d they pull that off?”

“They watched a documentary last night,” Gaia replied simply.

Aloy raised a brow. “...Huh.” She headed outside—and immediately stopped at the sight of a massive bonfire crackling in the distance.

“What in the name of the All-Mother is that ?”

Alva turned around, face bright with satisfaction. “We’re burning the ramient.”

Aloy squinted. “Yeah… okay. But this fire is ridiculous .”

“No, it isn’t,” Kotallo said flatly from nearby.

“It’s cold,” Varl added helpfully.

“That thing looks like it came straight out of a Nora myth about the unforgivable flame ,” Aloy said.

“Nice to know some Nora stories stuck,” Varl smirked.

“Varl…” she sighed

“Wanna take a piss on the fire for solidarity?” Erend asked

“No, what are you actually doing?”

“Expressing our disdain,” Alva said cheerfully.

“And it requires boiling, angry fire levels of disdain ?”

“Yes,” multiple voices said in unison.

“He deserved it,” Beta muttered. It was quiet—Aloy would’ve missed it if she hadn’t been listening.

She turned to look at her. “ Who did?”

Beta didn’t answer right away. She stared at the fire as a piece of cloth disintegrated in the flames. The anger on her face said enough.

“What did that poor piece of cloth ever do to you?” Aloy asked.

“Derogatory,” Beta said coldly, then turned on her heel and walked back toward the base. Alva followed her without a word.

Aloy watched them go. “Since when are those two best friends?” she muttered, then shrugged. “You know what, not gonna complain. That’s the longest Beta initiated a conversation willingly. I’ll take it.”

Chapter Text

Varl stood guard at the door to the server room. It wasn’t B’s room anymore—not really. Dammit, what had happened that forced her to go to Gemini? He was waiting for someone.

The sound of hurried footsteps snapped him to attention.

“Is Beta here?” Aloy asked, breathless.

Varl immediately stepped in front of her, blocking the way. Aloy blinked, surprised.

“I’ve tried. She won’t come out,” he said quietly. “She retreated in there and hasn’t budged. I don’t think anything will convince her.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Aloy replied, determined. “Let me try.”

He caught her arm, gently.

“Be careful,” he said, voice soft. “She’s more fragile than a fawn right now. Good luck.”

Aloy nodded and stepped inside. Varl exhaled a long breath and turned away, climbing the stairs slowly.

“You sure it’s a good idea to leave Aloy alone with B?” Zo asked, her brows knitting with concern.

Varl gave a helpless shrug, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sure… not really.”

“Don’t be a whump, Varl. It is a good idea,” Erend said, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Varl didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Zo continued, glancing toward the server room, “but by the Land Gods, Aloy’s not exactly the nurturing type. She’s no-nonsense, straight to the point. And B…” She hesitated, choosing her words. “B needs care. Encouragement. Someone who can coax her out, not corner her.”

“Yeah,” Varl muttered, eyes distant. “Aloy doesn’t nudge—she pushes.”

Erend gave a short snort. “Maybe that’s exactly what B needs. A good shove to get her moving.”

“Or it’ll break her,” Zo said quietly.

Erend raised a brow. “Listen—coming from someone who grew up with a no-nonsense, straight-to-the-point, brutally blunt sibling? Sometimes all you need is a good fight.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Zo blinked.

“A good fight,” Erend repeated, firmly. “Real-time growth. For both of them. Aloy needs to learn how to slow down, how to see that Beta’s strong in her own way. And Beta? She needs to stop thinking that just because she’s a ‘clone’ she’s destined to become the next her. They’re not the same. None of them were raised the same.”

Varl nodded, slowly at first, then with more certainty. “Three different lives. Three different paths. Same face, different souls.”

Zo looked between them, confused for a moment—until realization dawned across her face. “This is about” Zo looked around and whispered “Elisabet Sobeck, isn’t it?”

Varl and Erend both nodded.

So far, they were the only ones who really knew. About Aloy. About Beta. About where they came from—and what came before.

It wasn’t a conversation Aloy ever invited. One day, she just handed them a data folder—full of recordings, logs, fragments of the Old World. “Watch it if you want,” she’d said, tone flat. Then she left.

They watched it. Every second. And after that, they never looked at Aloy the same way again.

They’d tried to talk to her about it—ask questions, offer comfort—but every time they brought it up, she slipped away. Into the wilds. Each time, she stayed gone longer than the last.

Varl told Zo bits and pieces but until Aloy says so they were never gonna tell anyone about the whole truth.

Zo crossed her arms, glancing at the closed door below. “I just… I don’t like it. That girl’s been through enough.”

“She’s not just a girl,” Erend said, a bit more serious now. “She’s a survivor. Same as Aloy.”

Varl leaned on the railing, fingers drumming against the metal. “I hate waiting,” he muttered.

A long silence settled between them—thick, anxious. The kind that clings to your skin.

From below, the faintest murmur of voices filtered through the walls, too muffled to make out, but loud enough to know, they were yelling. Zo’s eyes darted toward the door again, brows drawn.

“What if this goes bad?” she said suddenly. “What if Aloy says the wrong thing? What if Beta locks down again or—worse—refuses to help and goes back from when she first left the Zeniths?”

“She won’t,” Varl said, though it sounded more like a hope than a belief.

“You can’t know that,” Zo shot back.

“No,” he admitted. “But I know Aloy. And I know B. They both want to save the world, even if they don’t know how to be around each other while doing it.”

Erend sighed and sat on the stairs, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Feels like we’re standing outside a storm and hoping the lightning strikes right instead of burning everything down.”

Another silence.

This time, heavier.

Zo slowly lowered herself to sit beside Erend, her voice softer now. “What if Aloy does break her?”

Varl didn’t respond at first. His gaze stayed locked on the door like he could will it to open with good news.

“If she does,” he said at last, “then it’s on us to help pick up the pieces. Both of them.”

—------------------------------------------------------

The muffled shouting slammed through the thick server room walls like a sudden clap of thunder.

“YOU’RE RIGHT! WE HAVE THE SAME HEART, THE SAME MIND, THE SAME GENES. WHY CAN’T I FIND THE STRENGTH TO DO WHAT ELISABET WOULD HAVE?!”

Zo flinched. Erend’s head snapped up. Varl’s breath caught in his chest.

Then—another voice. Shakier. Still shouting, but cracking at the edges.

“YOU’RE RIGHT, DON’T YOU THINK I THINK ABOUT THAT?! I DON’T KNOW WHAT PIECE OF ELISABET I’M MISSING—”

A pause.

Then, through the silence, soft enough that they almost missed it:

“What’s my defect…”

Zo stood up slowly, one hand over her mouth. Her eyes shimmered. “Oh... spirits…”

Erend looked shaken, like someone had just taken the wind out of his lungs. “Damn,” he breathed.

Varl didn’t move. His jaw tightened, and his grip on the railing turned white-knuckled. “I told her to be gentle.”

No one answered.

For a long moment, the only sound was the dull, low hum of the base—and the echo of grief, pain, and self-doubt lingering behind that sealed door.

Zo broke the silence, quieter than usual. “Think we should stop them?”

Erend hesitated. “If we go in now, we interrupt something they might need to say.”

“They’re tearing each other apart in there,” Zo murmured.

“Or maybe,” Varl said, “they’re finally saying the things that have been eating them alive.”

No one moved.

They just stood there—three people outside a storm, unsure whether to step in or let it run its course.

—-----------------------------------------

An hour and a half passed. The silence from the server room felt unbearable.

"Do you think they killed each other?" Zo’s voice was barely above a whisper, her words hanging in the air, thick with worry.

A low hum suddenly vibrated through the floor, the familiar pulse of GAIA's voice bringing a sense of calm.

“Varl, Zo, Erend—thank you for not interfering, and for worrying over them,” GAIA said, her tone reassuring.

Varl looked at the others, his brow furrowed. “GAIA, is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, Erend. Aloy and Beta are now talking.”

“About what?” Erend asked, a note of curiosity edging his voice.

“Anything, really,” GAIA replied, as if the answer itself was no surprise. “They just needed to yell at each other. And talk.”

“Is Beta...?” Zo trailed off, hesitant to ask the question that had been eating at her all this time.

“She’s coming with us to Gemini,” GAIA said, her voice steady.

Varl blinked, surprised. “How did Aloy—”

“Convince her?” GAIA interrupted gently. “Sometimes, all it takes is the truth. Even if it’s loud.”

The weight of that moment lingered, the relief faint but unmistakable. For a brief second, everything felt a little less heavy.

“I suggest you all get something to eat,” GAIA said. “Aloy and Beta will come up later.”

“You’re sure?” Zo asked, still glancing toward the door.

“I am certain,” GAIA replied calmly.

Erend exhaled and stretched his arms. “Alright. But call us if anything changes—or if Aloy needs anything.”

“We’ll be ready,” Varl added, voice low but steady.

—----------------------------------------------------

GAIA’s gentle hum followed the three as they disappeared into the common room, the door sliding shut behind them. Once alone, she re-routed her projection path and quietly entered the server room.

Her holographic form flickered to life, casting a soft, bluish glow that spilled across the metal floor. The room itself was dim and sterile—lined with towering data banks and softly blinking consoles. Cables ran like veins along the walls and ceiling, pulsing with quiet life. It was cold in that way only rooms full of machines could be—clinical, indifferent.

In the far corner, the warmth of humanity cut through the chill.

Beta sat on the floor, knees pulled tightly to her chest, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Her face was hidden in her arms, tears long since staining her sleeves. The vulnerability in her was raw—grief, fear, guilt all tangled up in a weight too heavy for someone her age to carry alone.

Beside her, Aloy sat with her back against the wall, legs stretched out. She wasn’t touching Beta—yet—but she was close. Close enough to be there without pressing in. She spoke softly, barely above a whisper, her words not commanding, but comforting. Patient. Steady.

Eventually, as if finally allowing herself to believe it was safe, Beta leaned in.

Aloy wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

If GAIA had a heart, she imagined it would feel full—swelling from the quiet warmth that now filled the once-cold server room. Her holographic form stood a short distance away, its gentle glow casting soft light across the steel panels and blinking servers, illuminating the scene like a quiet sun.

“Aloy,” she said gently, her tone low and soothing. “I’ve informed Varl, Erend, and Zo to take a break and eat.”

“Thank you, GAIA,” Aloy replied, her voice low as she continued to rub small, steady circles on Beta’s back.

Beta, curled beside her with tear-streaked cheeks, sniffled and buried her face deeper into Aloy’s shoulder. “I must look pathetic right now,” she mumbled between sobs.

Aloy gave a short, tired chuckle. “Not as pathetic as Zora when she fell out of that tree.”

Beta blinked, then gave a teary little laugh, muffled by Aloy’s shoulder.

GAIA, curious, searched her vast datalogs. Within moments, she recovered an old audio-visual file from the Sacred Lands—one recorded long before Aloy left the Embrace. A small child, face scrunched with tears and a nose running freely, sat beneath a tree with a scraped knee, wailing dramatically as a matriarch comforted her.

GAIA’s form flickered gently, a rare spark of amusement pulsing through her voice modulators.

“I have reviewed the recording,” she said lightly. “I agree with Aloy. It was, in fact, very pathetic.”

Beta let out a louder laugh this time—raw but real—and even Aloy smiled.

GAIA watched them in silence for a moment longer. 

“Aloy…”
“Yeah, B?”

There was a pause. A fragile, hesitant silence.

“Why do you call me that?”

Aloy blinked, caught off guard. “Hm?”

“B,” Beta said softly. She pulled back just enough to meet Aloy’s eyes. “My name is… Beta .”

Aloy opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Oh. Well… that wasn’t really me. It was GAIA, actually.”

Beta turned slightly, wiping her cheeks as she looked at the holographic projection nearby. “Really?”

GAIA’s form flickered gently, the glow from her presence soft and almost maternal. “Yes,” she said. “I referred to you as ‘B’ shortly after your arrival. Aloy and the others adopted it quickly.”

Beta tilted her head, studying the warm shimmer of GAIA’s expressionless face.

“I never liked the name Beta ,” GAIA continued, her voice calm but purposeful. “It was chosen by the Zeniths. To them, it marked you as secondary—a lesser iteration. A copy. But I see no ‘less’ in you. I do not see you as second to anything.”

Beta’s lips parted slightly, emotion flickering across her face.

“I chose ‘B’ because it was simple,” GAIA said gently. “Softer. Yours—not theirs.”

Aloy smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “And honestly… it suits you better anyway.”

She glanced at Beta and raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna cry again, aren’t you?”

Beta sniffed, then made a face. “Well, now I’m not. You ruined the mood.”

Aloy let out a short laugh and opened her arms. “C’mere, you liar.”

Beta didn’t hesitate—she launched herself into Aloy’s arms, clinging tightly, like if she let go, everything might fall apart again. Aloy grunted softly at the sudden weight but didn’t hesitate either. She wrapped her arms around her and held on, solid and steady, like an anchor.

And B cried.

Not just quiet tears this time—these were deeper, messier. Long-held things finally breaking loose.

“There…” she choked out, voice raw, “There was another one.”

Aloy stilled, arms tightening just slightly.

“Her name was Alpha.” B’s voice trembled, every word cutting deeper. “She came before me. And she… she died.”

She sniffled hard and pulled back just enough to see Aloy’s face, eyes glistening. “The Zeniths— they overworked her. Pushed her too far. She started resisting, questioning things. So they punished her.”

B shook her head, the memory etched deep. “They locked her in her room. For days. And then they just… forgot. Forgot she wasn’t like them. Forgot she needed food. Water. She wasn’t immortal.”

Her voice cracked. “She starved. Alone.”

Aloy’s expression was unreadable for a moment—frozen between fury and disbelief.

“I was already… gestating,” B continued, curling her fingers into the fabric of Aloy’s shoulder. “They moved on. Like she was a failed lab report. No grief. No funeral. Just... replaced her with me.”

There was a heavy silence, thick and suffocating.

“They called me improved. Said I was ‘more compliant.’ But really… I was just more afraid.”

Aloy swallowed hard, her jaw clenched. “They’re monsters,” she said, low and sharp.

B’s breathing was still uneven, but the floodgates had opened now. Aloy stayed silent, arms around her, giving her the space she needed. The server room buzzed faintly in the background—machines humming like a heartbeat that had nothing to do with the life unfolding in front of them.

“There’s more…” B whispered.

Aloy nodded, wordlessly giving her permission to keep going.

“Even when I was doing everything right—hitting my targets, saying what they wanted—it still felt like I was… wrong. ” Her voice was thin. “Like there was something about me they just couldn’t stand.”

She pulled back slightly, enough to meet Aloy’s eyes. “And then there was Tilda.”

Aloy’s jaw tightened at the name, but she said nothing.

“She was… different. Kinder. At least, compared to the others. She brought me to her house via a secret backdoor, showed me books, sometimes music. She’d talk to me like I was a person, not a lab rat.” B hesitated. “But it never felt real. Not really.”

Aloy’s brow furrowed. “Because of the simulation?”

“No,” B said softly. “Because of how she looked at me. Like I was some precious painting that needed to be protected. Put on a pedestal. She didn’t care about what I wanted. I felt like a replacement as well, like I was filling in”

Aloy held her tighter B nodded. “I could feel it every time she smiled at me. It wasn’t me she was seeing. It was her. I always had to be perfect for her. Still, quiet, obedient. I couldn’t laugh too loudly. Couldn’t cry. Couldn’t ask too many questions. Every little thing made her shift, like I was breaking some invisible rule.”

She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers. “It wasn’t comfort. It was… pressure. I never relaxed, not even once. She wanted me to feel loved, but it was like being loved by a stranger who was pretending I was someone else.”

B suddenly noticed a shift in the lighting—subtle, but unmistakable. A dull red glow had begun to seep into the edges of the server room. Her breath hitched as she glanced around, confusion prickling at her skin.

Aloy had gone completely still.

B looked up, only to find Aloy’s expression darkened, her jaw clenched and eyes narrowed in a way that made Beta’s chest tighten. There was no anger in it—just cold focus, the kind that meant something serious had changed.

Out of the corner of her eye, B spotted GAIA’s holographic form flickering… her usual soft green-blue hue now replaced by an urgent red pulse.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Did I say something wrong…?” B asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aloy blinked, her intense expression slowly softening. The tension drained from her shoulders as she looked at Beta—and then she smiled. Not wide, but real.

“No,” she said gently. “Not at all.”

A beat passed before she added, “I’m just… really glad you’re here.”

At that, GAIA’s hue faded from red back to its usual calm blue, the light in the room warming again, as if even the AI had exhaled.

“You’ve just given me a lot to think about,” Aloy said, her tone quiet but thoughtful.

B let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. And curled back into Aloy’s arms

“Can you guess how many bones I broke as a kid?” Aloy asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

B looked up, frowning thoughtfully. “Um… twenty?”

Aloy’s eyes widened. “Ouch! Really? You think I was that reckless?”

B shrugged, trying not to smile. “You give off strong ‘I dive off cliffs without thinking’ energy.”

“Okay, fair,” Aloy snorted. “But still—no, not twenty.”

“Fifteen, then?”

“Double ouch.” Aloy smirked. “You think I spent my whole childhood in a splint?”

“Well… didn’t you?”

“I had six,” Aloy said proudly, leaning back against the server panel like it was a throne. “And only one of them was my fault. Kind of.”

B raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth twitching. “ Kind of ?”

Aloy gave her a sheepish look. “Okay. So I may have tried to ride a machine once.”

B blinked. “Tried to ride a machine?!”

“It was a grazer! I was ten! I thought it’d be like riding a horse from one of Rost’s old books,” she grinned. “Turns out, machines don’t like being saddled with ten-year-old outcasts. Shocker.”

B laughed, a real one this time, bright and surprised. “You rode a grazer?!”

“Well, I tried to. I lasted maybe five seconds. It kicked me off and I hit a rock. Broke my arm clean through.”

“Rost must’ve lost his mind.”

“Oh, he did. He was furious. Didn’t say a word for hours. Just kept muttering under his breath while making a splint out of tree bark and cloth.”

B giggled again, and Aloy smiled, watching the way laughter lit up her face like a sunrise. It was the kind of sound that made the world feel lighter.

“You want to hear more?” Aloy asked, her voice gentler now.

B nodded quickly, wiping the corner of her eye. “Yeah… I do.”

Aloy shifted, her expression softening. “Okay. I’ll tell you about the time I tried to build my own Focus out of scrap metal. Spoiler: it didn’t work.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So… let me get this straight,” B said, staring at Aloy like she’d grown a second head. “You took down the Sawtooth—the one that was tearing through the Nora lands, killed like thirty hunters—and you did it alone ?”

Aloy smirked, arms crossed. “Yup. No help. Just me, a spear, and a handful of tripwires.”

B blinked. “That’s… borderline insane.”

“Welcome to my childhood,” Aloy quipped, earning a quiet laugh.

“But… Rost said he wanted to teach you one final lesson before you entered Mother’s Heart. What was it?” Beta asked, her tone shifting—curious, but almost reverent.

Aloy’s smile faded a little. She looked down, thoughtful.

“You don’t know?” she asked gently.

B shook her head. “The earliest recordings GAIA recovered from the server room start just before Rost said goodbye. We never got the full context.”

Aloy’s eyes softened. “Rost told me… ‘You might not need the tribe, but the tribe might need you.’”

She paused, letting the words settle between them before continuing.

“I didn’t really get it at first. I was too focused on proving myself. Being strong enough without anyone. But when I saw the Sawtooth carcass, the chaos it caused, the fear in everyone’s eyes—I understood. It wasn’t about me needing the Nora. It was about using what I had, what I could do… for them .”

B was quiet, absorbing every word like sunlight through glass.

“That’s… heavy,” she murmured.

“Yeah. But it was also the first time I realized being strong alone isn’t the same as being strong for others.”

“He is a great man, wish I had someone like him”

“You do now”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound of footsteps echoed softly through the corridor, steady and light.

Varl glanced up from where he sat, his head tilting slightly. His eyes widened when he saw two familiar figures approaching. “Well, look who finally decided to rejoin the land of the living,” he said with a warm grin. “Glad to see you two back. It’s been…”—he glanced at his Focus—“five hours.”

Aloy gave him a sheepish look, B lingering just behind her, closer than usual. “We had… a lot to talk about.”

Zo looked between them, a soft, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “You look different,” she said gently. “Closer.”

Erend leaned forward from the table, eyes narrowing slightly before a grin broke across his face. “Someone finally cracked through that awkward silence, huh?”

B gave a shy smile, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes, but her posture was more relaxed than they’d ever seen. Aloy simply nodded, her expression unreadable but calm.

Zo gestured to the empty seats around the table. “We saved you some food. Still warm.”

“Thanks,” Aloy said as she helped B sit beside her, brushing her shoulder briefly—an unspoken reassurance. Beta didn’t flinch this time. She leaned into it.

Conversation picked up again, light and casual, but Varl and Zo exchanged a glance. Something had shifted. A wall had come down.

A few minutes into the meal, Erend leaned over and bumped Aloy lightly with his elbow. “Hey… come help me with the canisters, yeah?”

Aloy blinked. “We need more canisters?”

“Nope,” he said with a grin, jerking his head toward the door. “Just come on.”

Aloy stood, confused but curious, and followed him out. Her eyes darting back to B

Once they were alone in the hall, Erend folded his arms, all humor gone. “You okay?”

Aloy hesitated… then nodded. “Yeah. I am. For once, I think she is too.”

Erend let out a slow breath, then nodded. “Good. You looked like you needed that. Both of you.”

He paused, his gaze sharpening. “But… you’ve been looking back at her a lot. Every five seconds. Why?”

Aloy’s mouth opened, then closed again. Her shoulders tensed. She glanced at the doorway, then looked down at the floor. “She…” Her voice caught for a moment. “She told me something. Asked something of me.”

Erend’s brow furrowed. “What did she say?”

Aloy drew in a breath through her nose, steadying herself. “If the plan ever goes wrong… if the Zeniths somehow take her again… she told me to kill her.”

Erend froze. “What?”

“She said she can’t go back to them. Not ever. Not alive.”

There was a long silence between them, the quiet humming of machinery in the corridor the only sound.

“And you…?” Erend asked slowly, his voice careful. “Can you do it?”

Aloy looked up at him then, eyes hard but tired. “I made her a promise.”

Erend’s jaw tightened, and his usual lightheartedness faded into something older, heavier. “That’s not something you promise lightly.”

“I know,” Aloy said, her voice quieter now. “But she’s terrified of being their prisoner again. Of what they’d do. Who they’d turn her into. And if it comes to that… if I’m the only thing standing between her and that nightmare…”

She trailed off, unable to finish.

Erend ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Damn.”

There was another pause, then Aloy added, “Varl will be with me. If something goes wrong, it won’t just be me. With me and Varl around, Beta won’t get captured. Like you said—me and him? Amazing battle synergy.”

Erend let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, you two do have a weird kind of rhythm. Like watching a storm with choreography.”

Aloy said softly. “She’s… someone I care about, nothing can go wrong.”

Erend looked at her, his expression softening. “I know.”

He let a beat pass before nudging her shoulder gently. “And you’re not gonna need to make that call, Aloy. I don’t care what she said—you won’t have to. We’re not gonna let it come to that.”

Aloy nodded, lips pressed together. “I hope not.”

Erend gave her one last look, then jerked his chin back toward the room. “Come on. Let’s go eat before Beta finishes all the bread rations and Zo starts a philosophical debate over soup again.”

Chapter Text

Tilda replayed the video, unable to stop smiling.

"Stay away, no mother!" the blonde-haired child shouted from above.

Aloy wiped the blood from her brow and glared up at the boy. Her eyes flicked to the rock in his hand, then to the one at her feet. She picked it up, weighed it in her palm, and tossed it once into the air before hurling it toward him. It struck his rock mid-air, knocking it aside. Aloy smirked.

This—this was the fire the others lacked.

Alpha had been perfect at first—awkward, yes, but fierce. She grew into her brilliance, ahead of her time. But she burned too hot, too fast. Then came Beta: intelligent, an almost flawless replica of Elisabet, but soft. Tilda should’ve known she was imperfect the moment Beta refused to fight back as a child.

But Aloy?

Aloy was it .

Tilda leaned back in her chair, eyes still locked on the frozen frame of the video. The flicker of light cast Aloy's defiant expression across the room. That look—it was so familiar. So much like her .

Elisabet.

The memory struck with the force of a wave: sharp features caught in determination, the way she would square her jaw when she believed she was right—and she always believed she was right. Tilda remembered the long nights they spent talking, arguing, dreaming . Elisabet had a mind like a forge—always burning, always creating—but gods, she could be so stubborn . So insufferably self-righteous.

Tilda used to admire that, didn’t she? That moral compass that never wavered, not even in the face of the world ending. But the more she thought about it, the more that compass seemed... rigid. Inflexible. Elisabet didn’t bend—she broke things. Relationships. Opportunities. People.

And her voice, Tilda now recalled, always had this faint edge. A clipped, clinical tone when she disagreed. She would frown ever so slightly, just enough to say, You're wrong, Tilda, without needing to speak the words. She was never cruel, but never warm, either. Precision over empathy. Vision over partnership.

She could never just listen .

Tilda exhaled, slow and measured, as if letting go of a weight she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying.

Aloy, though… Aloy had fire without rigidity. She fought , but she listened too. She challenged the world not just with intellect, but with heart. She wasn't shackled by ideology. She adapted. She survived. She didn’t stand on a pedestal and lecture—she walked through the mud and bled and still kept going.

And the face—gods, the face —it was the same. But softer in some places. Sharper in others. Youth twisted Elisabet’s features into something new, something better. Like nature had seen the original mold and thought: almost perfect . And then made Aloy .

No… not almost. Perfect.

Tilda reached out, fingertips grazing the edge of the screen like she might feel the warmth of the girl’s presence through it.

"A better you," she whispered, barely audible over the soft hum of the lab. Her voice trembled—not with fear, but reverence. Devotion. "That's what you are."

And unlike the original, this one might actually choose her.

The moment shattered like glass under a boot.

“Tilda, what the fuck are you doing?” Erik's voice cut through the silence like a blunt knife.

She didn't turn around. “Peering into the prey’s mind,” she said smoothly, as if the interruption were beneath her. “Like any intelligent hunter would.”

There was a long pause, just long enough to make her smile.

“You’re watching a video of the brat when she was, what, six?” he said, stepping into view, arms crossed, his expression somewhere between disgust and mild curiosity.

“Eight,” she corrected, still not looking at him. “And childhood behavior is a key predictor of adult decisions. Neural pattern formation, stress response development, early social behavior—there are numerous studies—”

“Yeah, yeah. Spare me the lecture, Professor Obsessed,” Erik muttered, waving a hand. “Gerard called.”

Tilda finally turned, eyes narrowed. “And why isn’t he calling via holo like a functional human being?”

Erik shrugged, deadpan. “Maybe he likes yelling into comms and breathing heavy. I don't know, and frankly, I don't care. What I do care about is you getting your shit together. We’re heading out. Going after your little bird.”

She blinked, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “ Fox, ” she said, voice lighter now, almost amused.

“What?”

“She suits ‘fox’ better. Red hair. Agile. Clever. You’d be wise not to underestimate her.”

He turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. “You know... for someone who calls herself the hunter, you’re starting to sound a bit smitten. ”

Tilda’s eyes drifted back to the screen, to the image frozen in time—Aloy’s glare, bold and defiant even at eight.

She smiled faintly, almost to herself. “Maybe,” she said. “But it’s so much easier to claim what you admire.”

Erik let out a low whistle

—-----------------------------------------------------------

“There they are,” Erik said, leaning over the console as the display flickered to life.

Tilda’s eyes narrowed. A pulsing mass of energy rippled across the screen, centered around the ruins of a long-dead cauldron.

“Why is there a massive energy spike coming from that sector?” Gerard asked, arms folded tightly. His voice carried that familiar mix of suspicion and disdain.

“It looks like… they’re attempting to extract or capture Hephaestus,” Tilda said slowly, studying the data streams as they scrolled across the display.

Gerard scoffed. “How? Even we haven’t figured out how to contain it, and we’ve had years.”

Tilda’s jaw tightened. She took a slow breath before answering. “I don’t know.”

Erik gave a low whistle, stepping back with a smirk. “Damn. I figured ma’am genius here would have cracked it already.”

Tilda shot him a sideways glare. “Contrary to your one-dimensional view of intelligence, Erik, there isn’t one way to solve a problem.”

Gerard chimed in, unimpressed. “Still. We had the tech, the research, the time—and yet they manage it with scrap and intuition?”

Tilda didn’t take her eyes off the screen. “It seems… they found a path we didn’t. Different approach. Different minds. Sometimes innovation doesn’t come from the most advanced tools, but from desperation. From drive. ”

Erik snorted. “Sounds like someone’s impressed.”

She didn’t respond, but her silence said everything.

“Alright then,” Gerard said, his voice cutting through the moment. He squinted at the holo-map as pulses of energy shimmered like veins beneath the terrain. “Where exactly are they? That region’s a mess. We’ve got five identical spikes lighting up the board. Which one are they hiding in?”

They both turned to Tilda.

She didn’t even glance up. “There are other people in this room, you know,” she said dryly, brushing her fingers across the interface. “Try using those little gray cells for once.”

Erik chuckled under his breath. Gerard didn’t.

With a sigh, Tilda focused on the map. The five pulses flared evenly across a swath of ancient terrain—ruins overtaken by overgrowth and fractured metal. All five were positioned near dormant relay points. She recognized the layout immediately—Hephaestus could be drawn to any one of them. And that was the point.

Her eyes sharpened.

“Decoys,” she muttered, voice low but certain. “They’re running decoys.”

She zoomed in, highlighting the pulses one by one. “All five spikes are broadcasting the same energy signature—same modulation frequency, same intensity curve. Any one of them could be a trap. Or all of them.”

Gerard leaned closer, arms folded. “So they’re baiting Hephaestus, in possibly one of the five locations. And we have no idea which one’s real.”

“Oh, we do,” she said, more to herself than to him. Her hands danced across the console, calling up a string of diagnostic data. There—one pulse had gone active slightly before the others. Milliseconds. Almost unnoticeable.

But not to her.

“That one,” she said, tapping the westernmost signal. The region was dark, layered in static and flagged for structural instability. “They activated it first. Everything else came after. Like noise layered over a melody.”

Erik leaned in, frowning. “That’s the old sub-level. Collapsed access points. Corrupted terrain data. It's a dead zone.”

“Which makes it perfect,” Tilda murmured. “No oversight. No surveillance. Only the desperate—or the determined—would risk going in there.”

Gerard looked skeptical. “It could still be a bluff.”

Tilda straightened, her gaze unreadable. “She’s not bluffing. Aloy doesn’t waste effort. If she’s there, she’s making it count.”

Erik gave a half-smile. “You really think she's clever enough to outsmart Hephaestus and bait us at the same time?”

“I don’t think, ” Tilda replied. “I know. ”

The holo-map flickered as power rerouted through the Zenith systems, illuminating a faint tracking path leading deeper into the cauldron’s ruins. Beneath it, environmental data scrolled: unstable terrain, EM interference, dormant machines.

“She’s walking through a minefield,” Gerard said.

“She’s turning the minefield into a map,” Tilda corrected. 

“Sounds like your little fox might have sharper teeth than you thought,” Erik said.

Tilda gave a faint smile. “Oh, I never underestimated her teeth.”

“So what’s the plan?” Gerard asked, straightening. “We storm in? Cut them off and take Hephaestus while they’re distracted?”

“No,” Tilda said, firm and calm. “We let them do the hard part. Containment. Interface. Subjugation. Once it’s done— then we move.”

“And if they fail?” Erik asked.

Tilda turned to the screen. The pulse glowed like a beating heart in the dark.

“Then Hephaestus flushes itself out trying to escape. Either way…” She paused, the cold confidence in her tone slicing through the room. “We win.”

—----------------------------------------------------

They burst in from above, the Zenith craft cutting through the smoke and dust like a blade through cloth. With a surge of energy and the pulse of anti-grav tech, they descended into the hollowed chamber below.

There they were.

Aloy.
Beta.
And a native boy—bow drawn, already in motion.

“Well, hello redundant copy!” Gerard bellowed as he hovered down, voice filled with venom. “You’ve cost us a lot of time.”

Tilda remained silent, coolly descending behind them, eyes trained not on Beta, but on Aloy . Ever the wildfire in the middle of the storm.

Aloy didn't hesitate. In one swift motion, she had an arrow nocked and drawn—but Gerard was faster, raising his gauntlet and blasting her across the chamber. She crashed hard against a metal beam.

Tilda didn’t flinch.

She’s taken worse, she thought, mildly annoyed. Gerard always did prefer brute force over subtlety.

“Erik. Grab Beta,” Gerard snapped. “And get rid of that pest while you’re at it.”

Tilda resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Why they continued to fixate on Beta baffled her. Aloy was the one worth the risk. The argument had been made—more than once. And lost. They didn’t see it. Not yet.

The native boy took aim—not at Erik—but at a rusted support beam overhead. Clever. His arrow soared, struck true, and the metal groaned as it gave way. The chunk of debris slammed down hard on Erik, pinning him with a loud crash of steel against armor.

Tilda had to suppress a laugh. Resourceful, she noted.

“Get behind me, B!” the boy shouted, stepping in front of Beta with his bow raised again.

Tilda tilted her head slightly.
Brave.
Foolish.
But brave.

She had to give him that.

The boy stood firm, his frame taut with resolve, bow drawn, hands steady despite the chaos. Dust clouded the chamber as Erik rose from the rubble, metal groaning beneath him as he shoved the fallen debris aside with brute strength. His armor sparked slightly, scorched at the shoulder, but otherwise intact.

The boy didn’t flinch.

Erik moved like a predator, fast and direct. He lunged forward just as the boy loosed another arrow—this one aimed not to distract but to wound . It struck Erik’s thigh, sliding between two plates of armor with a thunk . Erik growled, his pace staggering only for a second.

The kid spun out of reach, ditching his bow as Erik charged again. He unsheathed a short curved blade—likely handmade, scavenged. But it gleamed with precision. He dodged right, then left, using the terrain—fallen beams, exposed conduits, slagged panels—to keep Erik's bulk from gaining full momentum.

He wasn’t just surviving. He was fighting .

“Persistent little rat,” Erik snarled, swinging wide with his gauntlet.

The boy ducked low, rolled under the blow, and sliced at the back of Erik’s knee. Sparks flared. The armor hissed, half-melted already from some earlier burn. Erik stumbled again, growling, enraged now.

From her perch, Tilda observed with mild interest. The boy had skill—scrappy, reactive. Trained by necessity, not design. It was… almost poetic. A child of the land standing against synthetic gods.

But poetry rarely won wars.

Erik pivoted, faster than the boy expected, and backhanded him with enough force to send him flying. He hit the floor hard, groaning, but still pushed himself up.

He wasn’t done.

He pulled a second blade—a serrated one this time—and threw it with practiced instinct. It clipped Erik’s shoulder, embedding into the armor. Erik barely reacted.

With a roar, Erik charged again, barreling through the debris. The boy sprinted, tried to vault over a collapsed beam—but Erik caught his leg mid-air. He slammed him down hard, stone cracking beneath the impact.

Still—the boy thrashed, kicked, and jammed his elbow into Erik’s helmet.

A flash of blood.

Erik cursed, wiping it from his mouth.

Tilda watched, weighing the moment. Intervene now, and Aloy might see her. Might start to question. Might trust her—just a little. But helping the boy meant sparing Beta , too. A broken, fearful clone built on hesitation. What a dilemma.

Erik lifted the boy by the collar, holding him aloft like he weighed nothing.

The boy spat blood at him.

“I like his spirit,” she murmured under her breath.

Erik didn’t.

With a vicious grunt, he drove his blade through the boy’s chest. The motion was clean. Efficient.

The boy gasped—a breathless, rattled sound—and then he stilled.

Erik let the body fall.

Aloy would feel this loss. Deeply. As she watched the videos it seems that those two have formed quite a bond.

Beta screamed.

Erik grabbed Beta and slung her over his shoulder, struggling against her flailing limbs, her voice raw and cracking with grief as Erik grabbed her. The girl thrashed, kicked, but it was useless. She was no fighter. Not like Aloy.

As Erik hauled her away, Beta looked back, eyes wide and desperate, fixed on Aloy.

Screaming. Pleading.

Aloy was back on her feet, blood on her temple, bow in hand. But she wasn’t aiming at the Zeniths.

She was aiming at Beta .

Tilda's breath caught. Interesting.

Aloy stood frozen, hands trembling. This wasn’t a clean shot. It was a mercy kill. A release.

But at the last second—her grip faltered.

She lowered the bow. Let it fall.

Beta screamed louder.

So they have grown close, Tilda thought, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. She descended now, landing softly beside the red-haired warrior as Gerard’s voice barked in her ear:

“Tilda—get GAIA and Hephaestus ready for transport.”

Aloy was on her knees. Dirt-streaked. Wounded. Shoulders slumped, trembling with the weight of a loss too sharp to admit.

“I’ve failed,” she whispered, voice cracking.

Tilda looked down at her. Not with pity. Not with scorn. With something else.

She crouched, carefully.

A soft smile played at her lips. “No,” she said quietly, almost tenderly. “All is not lost.”

Because you are still here. 

And in the end, you’re the only one who ever mattered.

—------------------------------------------

Tilda rolled her shoulders, a rare frown tugging at the corners of her lips.
Turns out even an “immortal” can still feel fatigue.

She exhaled through her nose and glanced at the figure lying motionless on the bed nearby—the native boy. Varl, was it? She hadn’t expected him to survive, not really. Erik’s cut was thorough and combined with the blast even if it had been precise, contained, but even controlled detonations had their unpredictable consequences. His survival was… surprising.

Not that it mattered much to her.

Aloy had pleaded for his life—even while barely conscious, soot-smeared from the explosion Tilda herself had triggered. She had managed to whisper his name with what little breath she had left. “Take Varl.” As if that had been the priority.

Tilda had complied. Not for the boy’s sake.

If he lives, he lives. If not—well, his presence here was merely an added gesture. Something to tuck away for later, when Aloy woke up and needed something to anchor her trust.

Extra brownie points, as the saying went.

Speaking of her little fox—Aloy was still asleep, her breathing steady, deeper now. Healing.

Tilda’s gaze softened, just barely. She supposed she could prepare something for when Aloy woke. Breakfast, perhaps. The old kitchen, tucked away in the east wing of her private retreat, had once been state of the art. A masterpiece of aesthetic design and functionality. She hadn’t used it much—never needed to—but she’d kept it pristine. For appearances. For Elisabet , back when there was still a flicker of hope that she might someday come and stay.

That never happened, of course.

Tilda turned, heading toward the kitchen as she pulled up a mental diagnostic. The preservation systems had done their job well over the centuries. Everything should still work. She’d spared no expense when she built this place. Even her nostalgia had taste.

She moved with quiet precision, mind turning as she set things in motion. Based on her observations and recent scans, Aloy’s healing factor appeared to be slightly accelerated—likely an unlisted trait woven into her genome by Eleuthia. Not rapid like the subdermal nanite protocols used in Zeniths, but effective . Given the extent of her injuries and current bio-readings, Tilda estimated she’d regain consciousness in... just under twenty minutes.

Just enough time to prepare something simple. Familiar. Human.

Tilda opened a cupboard and paused.

There was nothing here…. Well then “I suppose we’ll see,” she murmured, a ghost of a smile brushing her lips. “Let’s see what makes my little fox stir.”

—------------------------------------------------

Tilda watched from her dining area as Aloy slowly stirred, biting into a real apple with cautious, measured bites. It was almost quaint—the way she eyed the fruit as if it might vanish. A far cry from the nutrient paste and rehydrated sludge she'd likely grown up on. Fresh, crisp, organic. Grown in the old garden pods she'd revived just for this.

Real food, Tilda mused. A real place. A real beginning.

But then Aloy suddenly stiffened—shoulders tensing, jaw clenching—and bolted upright in bed, eyes wild, breath ragged. A fragment of a dream still clung to her features like ash.

“Poor little fox,” Tilda murmured, her voice low and amused. “Had a nightmare, did we?”

Aloy scanned her surroundings, defensive but alert. “Where am I?”

Tilda smiled faintly and activated the nearby comm panel. Her voice came through the room’s sleek embedded speakers, warm and velvet-smooth.
“Welcome to my humble abode.”

Aloy’s head turned instantly, eyes darting to the sound. She spotted the camera nestled in the corner—sleek, unobtrusive, but unmistakable.
She narrowed her eyes. “Let me guess. Tilda?”

“Charmed,” Tilda replied, a smile audible in her voice. “It’s nice to know Beta gave you a proper introduction. What else has she told you about me, I wonder?”

Aloy didn’t answer. Her attention was sharp now, calculating. She scanned the walls, then turned toward the window, then back to the camera.
“Where are you ?”

Tilda sighed softly. Always so direct. So impatient.
“I’m upstairs,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “Observing. I thought it might be polite to give you a moment to settle in.”

Aloy gave her a flat look. “If you want polite, show your face.”

Tilda chuckled under her breath. That fire. It never dulled.
“I see you’re eager,” she said. “Very well. If you’d like to speak in person—leave the room through the door directly in front of you. Follow the hallway. It’s a straight path.”

Aloy eyed the door, then the walls again, calculating risks, exits, angles.
She let out a low, noncommittal hum.

Tilda leaned forward, resting her chin on the back of her gloved hand as she watched the monitor. A small smile curved her lips, more thoughtful than kind.

“Don’t worry,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I’ve made everything… comfortable for you.”

Aloy’s voice cut through the speakers, firm and laced with concern. “B? Where is she?”

Tilda straightened, folding her hands together. “With the other Zeniths,” she replied smoothly. “She doesn’t want to be there, of course, but she’s in no immediate danger.”

That was… not entirely true.

Tilda’s gaze lingered on the faint pulse of Beta’s vitals on a nearby screen. The girl would be thrown into simulation chambers the moment they returned to base—confronted with data loops, control stimuli, calculated isolation. No physical harm, no—just the slow erosion of self. But what Aloy didn’t know wouldn’t weigh her down. Yet.

“She’s safe,” Tilda repeated, gentler now.

Aloy stared at the door for a moment longer before stepping forward and exiting the room, walking down the sterile yet luxurious hallway. Her footsteps echoed softly against the smooth floor.

“You haven’t asked about your other friend,” Tilda called out over the speakers, her tone feigning casual curiosity.

Aloy paused mid-step. Her jaw tensed, but she didn’t respond immediately. Did she already think he was dead? Well now, this is a blessing

“He’s alive,” Tilda added, watching for the flicker of visible relief on the camera feed. “Surprisingly resilient, that one. He powered through injuries that would have killed a lesser man.”

That made Aloy stop. She turned slowly toward a nearby wall camera.

“Really?” she asked, voice wary. “Where? How?”

“He’s recovering in one of the rooms upstairs,” Tilda answered, fingers idly tapping against her armrest. “I won’t lie—he’s not out of the woods yet. One foot in the grave, as the saying goes. But alive.”

A breath escaped Aloy’s lips, and her shoulders dropped just slightly. “I want to see him.”

“Before or after we talk?” Tilda asked, tone silk-smooth.

Aloy hesitated. Then: “After.”

Smart girl. Still prioritizing information, even while her heart tugged elsewhere.

Tilda watched her arrive at the gallery wing—a grand room filled with relics of a bygone world. The soft lighting danced across the polished floor, illuminating tall, vivid canvases and sculptural works collected over lifetimes.

Aloy slowed, taking it in with a cautious eye. Her fingers brushed the edge of a bronze sculpture—an abstract twist of metal and motion.

“Interested in the art?” Tilda’s voice came softly through the intercom, light and almost wistful, like someone brushing dust off an old memory.

Aloy gave a small shrug. “It’s… something.”

Tilda chuckled. “Inside these walls are works I spent years collecting. Pieces that meant something, even when the world didn’t. I preserved them here—before I left Earth. Before everything changed.”

Aloy looked around warily, taking in the carefully curated room. It was beautiful, yes, but almost too clean. Too still. Like the kind of beauty that demanded silence instead of praise.

“Go ahead,” Tilda coaxed. “Over there—on the far wall. Take a closer look at those two paintings. Can you guess which one is the original and which is the imitation?”

Aloy stepped toward them, studying the canvases side by side. One depicted a woman in soft blue, her gaze turned downward as she read a letter, the light falling across her cheek like morning sun. The other was nearly identical—only the subject held a sheet of music, her expression flatter, the colors sharper but somehow emptier.

“The left one,” Aloy said after a beat.

Tilda’s smile could be heard in her voice. “Correct. Woman Reading a Letter , painted by Johannes Vermeer. A quiet masterpiece. The other is a later imitation— Woman Reading Music , an academic copy. Skillful, yes, but soulless.”

She paused, then asked, “What gave it away?”

Aloy tilted her head, still staring. “The right one… looked real. But the left one felt real. The other tried too hard. It was too… deliberate. Like it wanted to be something more than it was.”

Tilda was quiet for a moment.

“Good eye. Spoken like someone who knows the difference between survival and living,” she said softly. “Most people can’t tell.”

Aloy glanced toward the camera, her expression unreadable.

Tilda leaned back in her chair, a slow smile tugging at her lips. “You see more than you let on, little fox.”

Aloy gave a noncommittal shrug, her gaze still drifting across the next piece of art. “When your whole world is built on half-truths and hidden motives, you learn to spot the cracks early.”

Tilda let out a soft, amused breath. “Ah, deception. It fascinated me too—once. So much so that I designed a software in my early years. One that could distinguish the authentic from the counterfeit with near-perfect precision. Brush Stroke patterns, pigment age, even canvas weave. Nothing escaped it.”

Aloy arched a brow. “Let me guess. That’s how you bought your way onto the Odyssey?”

Tilda chuckled, her voice warm with memory. “No, no. That only opened a few doors. The real fortune came later”

“Why keep the forgery?”

“I enjoy studying the two side by side”

Aloy stepped in front of the next canvas, her brows furrowing as she studied the moonlit scene. A pale woman descended from the night sky, her expression soft, longing. At her side, a winged boy held a torch, its flame illuminating the sleeping man below.

“That is Selene and Endymion ,” Tilda's voice echoed gently through the speaker, laced with quiet reverence. “She’s the goddess of the moon. He, a mortal shepherd—simple, unremarkable by the world’s standards. And beside her, Cupid, the god of love.”

Aloy tilted her head. “So she’s… sneaking up on him?”

“Visiting,” Tilda corrected with a faint smile. “In secret, yes—but not with malice. The torch Cupid holds represents her undying infatuation. Though fate keeps them apart, her heart continues to burn for him.”

Aloy snorted faintly. “So she watches him sleep for eternity and calls it love?”

Tilda laughed under her breath. “You make it sound sinister.”

“Isn’t it?” Aloy stepped back, arms folded. “She can descend from the sky but doesn’t wake him. Doesn’t talk to him. Just… watches. That’s not love. That’s obsession.”

Tilda’s tone cooled slightly. “Or perhaps it’s devotion. The acceptance of distance when closeness is impossible. The torch isn't just passion, Aloy—it’s sacrifice.”

Aloy turned toward the camera, her voice dry. “Right. Easy to call it sacrifice when you're the immortal one holding the torch.”

There was a pause.

“You see it as one-sided,” Tilda said quietly. “But love often is. Especially when it’s… unreciprocated.”

Aloy’s eyes flicked back to the painting. “Or when it’s selfish. She made a choice to love from afar instead of letting him live his own life without her looming over him. Love doesn’t have to be eternal. Sometimes, it’s better when it ends.”

Tilda’s voice softened, almost wistful. “Spoken like someone who’s never let themselves truly love.”

Aloy’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

“Still,” Tilda went on, “I find it fascinating how quickly you dissect myth. Always searching for motive. Weakness. A flaw in the design.”

“I’ve seen what happens when people romanticize power,” Aloy said, turning from the painting. “Whether it’s gods, machines, or people pretending to be both.”

The silence that followed lingered like smoke—thin, stretching, waiting to break.

Aloy finally gestured to the next painting, her voice low but firm. “What about this one?”

Tilda’s tone shifted into something reverent. “ Jeremiah Lamenting the Destruction of Jerusalem —by Rembrandt. A man in mourning.”

“Mourning what?”

“His home. The ancient city of Jerusalem. He foresaw its downfall but was powerless to stop it. So instead… he preserved its treasures. The knowledge, the art, the pieces of culture that would otherwise be lost to time. Much like what I’ve done here.” Tilda’s voice softened, almost wistful. “You could say we’re kindred spirits.”

Aloy frowned. “Why didn’t he save the people? If he knew what was coming, why cling to objects?”

Tilda’s smile faltered just slightly. “He tried. He warned them. But no one listened. Sometimes, the wisest voice is drowned out by the loudest denial. So, he salvaged what he could.”

Aloy crossed her arms. “So he gave up.”

Tilda’s eyes narrowed, just a touch. “He adapted. When the world refuses to change, do you throw yourself into the fire, or do you carry something out of the flames?”

Aloy didn’t flinch. “Sounds like he just picked the winning side.”

“No.” Tilda leaned forward, the light catching in her eyes. “He picked the side that would last . He saw beyond the moment—into what would matter when the dust settled.”

“And left people to die for it,” Aloy shot back. “Maybe he wasn’t a prophet. Maybe he was just practical. Cold.”

“And yet, without him, the memory of his world would have vanished completely,” Tilda countered. “Isn’t preservation a kind of mercy too?”

Aloy looked away, her jaw tightening. “Only if you believe memories matter more than lives.”

“Not more,” Tilda replied, her voice a quiet thread of thought. “But memories… they’re the only pieces of us that endure. The only part time can’t kill.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, taut and heavy.

Tilda’s gaze returned to the painting. “You know what I love most about this piece? Jeremiah sits alone—his city in ruins, the world he knew reduced to ash. And yet, Rembrandt painted him bathed in light. Subtle, but constant. Even in his grief, the light holds back the dark.”

Aloy turned back toward the painting, frowning slightly. “So there’s still hope.”

Tilda’s smile was faint, but something flickered behind it. “Precisely. Even in despair… the spark survives. You only need one ember.”

Aloy’s fingers twitched at her side. A subtle tell—wary, but grounded.

“Take as long as you like,” Tilda said gently, her voice drifting through the speakers like a distant wind.

Aloy moved on, stopping in front of the next painting. Her head tilted slightly. “A portrait?”

“Yes,” Tilda replied, a quiet fondness slipping into her tone. “A portrait of Rembrandt’s son, Titus. Depicted in the habit of a monk.”

Aloy squinted. “It’s just a boy in a hood. Let me guess—tragic backstory?”

Tilda’s smile was audible. “This time, it’s less about the story and more about the feeling. Look closely. The face—bright and tender, full of youth—but the eyes are lowered. Weighted by something unseen. The shadows behind him, creeping in, almost swallowing the light.”

Aloy studied the painting again, slower this time. “There’s a kind of… stillness. Like he’s waiting for something that’s never going to come.”

“Exactly,” Tilda said, a quiet breath catching between words. “The painting is infused with loss. A soft, aching kind of grief. Not loud. Just… there.”

A moment passed between them, quiet and not unkind.

“I guess I get it,” Aloy murmured.

“You do?” Tilda asked, surprised but intrigued.

"Yeah," Aloy said quietly, her voice almost lost in the stillness of the gallery.

Tilda didn’t respond right away. Her eyes were fixed on the portrait, her expression unreadable. Then, after a pause, she spoke—softer this time.

"Good job."

She cleared her throat, folding her arms as if bracing herself against the weight of memory.

"You know, before photography... before holos, and all the ways we document things now... art was the only way to keep someone. To hold them still in time. Paintings like this weren’t just decoration—they were how people remembered. How they made sure the ones they loved wouldn’t disappear."

Aloy glanced at her, then looked back at the painting—a young man, eyes serious, distant, as though aware of some fate no one else could see.

"He had four children with his wife," Tilda continued, her voice low and steady, "but only one survived infancy. Titus. The others died shortly after they were born. And his wife... she passed away years later. Quietly. Alone. By then, Titus was all he had left."

Aloy frowned. "So this portrait... it’s not just a likeness."

Tilda nodded. "No. It’s something far more intimate. A lifeline. Rembrandt painted his son many times, each one capturing a different moment, a different emotion. But here... here, I think he was painting the truth. Or at least trying to."

She took a step closer to the canvas.

"Titus died young. Twenty-six. A disease—incurable back then. I think Rembrandt knew something was coming. Maybe not the specifics, but he felt it. You can see it in the way he used the light, how it barely touches his son’s face. And the background—it closes in like a shadow. Like the future itself was encroaching."

Aloy crossed her arms, thoughtful. "He painted him running out of time."

"Exactly," Tilda said. "There’s this urgency in the brushwork, a kind of desperate clarity. He wasn’t just preserving his son’s image. He was recording his grief in advance."

Aloy’s brow furrowed as she studied the portrait again.

"You said he made others. Why is this one your favorite?"

Tilda didn’t answer immediately. Her voice, when it came, was almost a whisper.

"Because the others are... idealized. Smiling, vibrant, hopeful. They're beautiful, but they lie a little. This one doesn’t. This one hurts to look at. And that’s why it matters. Rembrandt wasn’t hiding behind technique or polish—he was laying himself bare. Every stroke tells you what he was feeling: the fear, the sorrow, the love so deep it nearly breaks him."

She exhaled slowly. "There’s truth in this kind of pain. And sometimes, that’s the only kind of memory that lasts."

Aloy nodded, her gaze still fixed on the painting.
“How oddly comforting,” she murmured, before slowly moving on to the next frame on the wall.

Tilda followed beside her. “That’s The Night Watch —Rembrandt’s most celebrated work. Probably the most famous painting my homeland ever produced.”

Aloy tilted her head. “So he’s a national treasure then? Where exactly are you from?”

“Rotterdam,” Tilda said with quiet pride.

Aloy gave a small shake of her head, she clearly doesn’t know where she is. Tilda caught the gesture and smiled, warm and a little wistful.

“This painting was commissioned to honor a city militia—made up of influential citizens who helped maintain order.”

Aloy glanced sideways at her, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Let me guess… you were one of those ‘influential citizens’ once?”

Tilda chuckled softly. “In my day, perhaps. But not nearly as influential as you are in this one.”

Aloy looked back at the painting. Her brow furrowed slightly. “The scene feels... chaotic. Like they’re not exactly posing for a portrait.”

“That’s the genius of it,” Tilda replied. “Most artists at the time painted such scenes in rigid, formal arrangements—static and lifeless. But Rembrandt? He broke tradition. He showed them in motion, preparing to march, weapons drawn, mid-conversation. It’s full of energy. You can almost hear the noise, feel the weight of it.”

Aloy leaned in a little. “Who’s the girl?”

Tilda’s voice dropped to something more curious, almost conspiratorial.
“She is curious, isn’t she? Bathed in golden light, right in the center... yet no one seems to notice her.”

She paused.

“Many believe she isn’t meant to be a real person. Rather, she’s symbolic—a personification of the militia itself. A living emblem of their virtue and triumph.”

“So she’s not real?” Aloy asked, brow raised.

Tilda smiled faintly. “What is real in a painting? She’s not flesh and blood, no. But perhaps she’s something more. I like to think she’s been underestimated. Look at her—there’s something in her eyes, isn’t there? Like she knows something the rest don’t. A secret, maybe. A warning.”

Aloy stared at the figure a little longer, narrowing her eyes.

“She does look... aware. Like she sees past them all.”

“Exactly,” Tilda said. “It’s easy to miss, with all the movement and noise. But she’s the still point—the eye of the storm. And if you really look... there’s so much detail to uncover. Every corner has a story. It rewards patience.”

Aloy stepped closer to The Night Watch , narrowing her eyes as she studied the canvas.

“There’s so much going on,” she muttered. “Every face is different. Some are shouting, others barely paying attention. And that guy—” she pointed to a man toward the center, “—isn’t even looking forward. His gaze is off to the side. Distracted. Like he’s somewhere else entirely.”

Tilda joined her, tilting her head. “Yes. Captain Frans Banning Cocq, leading the militia. And beside him, his lieutenant in yellow. That positioning—it's deliberate. It draws the eye.”

“But why so many people?” Aloy asked. “It’s hard to tell who’s important. Most paintings from before the Old Ones, from the ones I have seen here in your bunker, made the message clear—hero in the middle, everyone else supporting. But this?” She gestured to the canvas. “It’s messy. Crowded. No clear narrative.”

Tilda smiled, pleased by the observation. “And yet, isn’t that more honest? Leadership isn’t clean or orderly. It's chaotic. Everyone has their own role, their own priorities. Rembrandt captured that tension perfectly. That’s what makes it timeless.”

Aloy folded her arms. “Or maybe he was just being clever. Hiding meaning behind noise. Look at that guy loading his musket in the back—he’s barely visible. But you can tell he’s practiced. Focused. Probably more capable than half the men up front.”

Tilda raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Are you saying the real power lies in the background?”

“Isn’t that how it always is?” Aloy replied, almost too quickly. “The ones who get the spotlight aren’t always the ones making things happen. Sometimes the loudest voices drown out the ones that matter.”

Tilda considered that, her expression thoughtful. “A fair point. But perhaps Rembrandt knew that, too. Look closer—every figure, no matter how small, is painted with intention. He gave even the most overlooked subjects weight and presence. It’s not about hierarchy. It’s about participation.”

“Still,” Aloy pressed, “you think this girl—this ghost in gold—symbolizes virtue and victory. But no one notices her. She’s there, but she’s ignored. Doesn’t that say something too?”

Tilda turned to the glowing girl in the painting, her brow creasing slightly. “Perhaps. Or perhaps she’s meant to be above their notice. Watching. Waiting. The embodiment of what they fight for, not someone who fights with them.”

Aloy shook her head. “That feels too convenient. If she’s symbolic, why place her in the middle of chaos, instead of above it? I think she’s real. Or she was. Maybe Rembrandt gave her this light because no one else would. Maybe she’s the only honest thing in the whole painting.”

Tilda's lips parted, surprised, then smiled slowly. “You think like a rebel, Aloy.”

“I think like someone who’s seen too many people in power forget who they’re supposed to protect.”

They stood in silence for a while, both studying the painting with fresh eyes.

“Maybe that’s the point,” Tilda said at last. “That no matter how much meaning we try to draw from it, the truth shifts depending on who’s looking.”

“Like any good story,” Aloy murmured.

Tilda nodded. “Exactly.”

Aloy stepped toward the final painting and glanced over at Tilda.
"Last but not least, right?"

Tilda gave a soft hum of affirmation.
"Indeed. The Gust by Willem van de Velde the Younger. One of his most renowned maritime works."

Aloy studied the canvas—a ship braving a storm, sails taut, the sea thrashing beneath it.
"A ship crossing the unknown..." she murmured. "I guess you know something about that."

Tilda’s smile was faint but fond.
"I do. Which is why this piece speaks to me. The storm rages, the waves threaten to consume it, but the ship presses on. It clings to the light—just barely—while darkness surrounds it on all sides."

Aloy tilted her head. "Where’s it going?"

Tilda’s voice grew distant, thoughtful.
"To a faraway land, perhaps. My ancestors once sailed ships like that, chasing the edges of the map. They explored the world... though not always without a cost."

"What were they looking for?" Aloy asked.

"Whatever could be found," Tilda replied. "Gold, spice, knowledge, power. They were traders, yes—but also adventurers. They stepped into danger willingly, believing fortune favored the bold. And yet... no matter how far they went, their sails always turned home."

Aloy traced the painted ship’s outline with her eyes, absorbing the motion in the brushwork.
"So van de Velde only painted ships?"

Tilda nodded.
"Mostly. The sea was his obsession. He followed in his father’s footsteps—Willem the Elder. Both were masters of capturing not just the look of the ocean, but its feeling. Together, their journeys even brought them to the court of a foreign kingdom—England."

Aloy raised an eyebrow. "Did they ever go back home?"

Tilda looked at the painting for a long moment before answering.

"No. But their work did. Their paintings found their way back to the harbors of the Netherlands. Hung in galleries, collected in museums. It’s strange, isn’t it?" She looked at Aloy. "Sometimes art returns where the artist cannot."

Aloy’s voice was quiet.
"Like echoes finding their way back to the source."

Tilda nodded.
"Exactly. The voyage ends, but the story drifts on."

—-------------------------

Tilda finally fell silent, her gaze following Aloy as she moved further along the vault, eyes sweeping over each painting with that same steady curiosity. A soft exhale escaped her lips—barely audible, but full of feeling.

She hadn’t realized how long it had been since she’d felt this—this strange, flickering thrill. Not from control or conquest, but from connection. Genuine conversation. The kind where words weren’t weapons, but bridges.

To think that Aloy —so guarded, so sharp-edged—could speak to her like that. Not out of obligation, not with suspicion or distance, but with something like... openness. Interest. Engagement.

And about this of all things—her art. Her treasures. Paintings she had spent years, poring over in solitude. Works she knew down to the brushstroke, but had never truly shared.

Now, here came Aloy—scrutinizing, questioning, feeling the pieces with the same intensity Tilda once believed only she possessed. No formal training, no scholarly jargon. Just raw instinct, insight, clarity.

"My, my, my..." Tilda thought, her lips curving into a faint, private smile. "What a thrilling experience indeed."

It wasn’t just the art that had come alive tonight.
It was her.

“Am I late?” Aloy asked.

Tilda turned, her expression softening at the sight of her.
“No, not at all,” she replied, voice light, almost amused. “Right on time.”

Aloy glanced at the spread on the table—platters of carefully arranged food, delicate steam curling into the evening air, the scent warm and unfamiliar.

“You’ve prepared a lot,” she said, eyebrows lifting slightly. “This must’ve taken a while.”

Tilda smiled, a quiet pride in her voice.
“You were in the vault for quite some time… and for the first time in ages, I’ve had access to fresh ingredients.” She gestured gracefully to the table. “I experimented with my—occasionally functional—kitchen. Some dishes turned out better than others. I would’ve done more, but certain resources are still… limited.”

She gave a small, self-deprecating shrug, then gestured again, more warmly.
“Take your pick”

 I made it for you, after all.

Chapter Text

Aloy eyed the food warily, her fingers hovering just above the edge of the plate like she was half-expecting it to bite her. I couldn’t blame her. If our roles were reversed, I wouldn’t trust me either.

She was always evaluating—every glance, every gesture, a calculation. Smart. Careful. Exactly the kind of person I needed her to be. But tonight, I needed her walls just a little lower.

To ease the tension, I reached over with and picked up a piece of the salad I’d prepared. I brought it to my mouth, chewed slowly, then swallowed with a small nod of satisfaction—like I wasn’t trying to prove anything at all.

Aloy watched me, hesitant, then finally reached for a bite of her own. She chewed thoughtfully, eyes still locked on me as if the food might somehow betray my intentions.

I let her lead, only mirroring her movements when she tried something new—matching her pace without pushing. This wasn’t about the meal. It was a dance, one I intended to lead, eventually.

“What do you think?” I asked gently, keeping my voice low and unobtrusive, like I didn’t want to break the fragile thread of peace between us.

“It’s good,” she said after a moment. The words were simple, but the pause before them was telling.

“I’m glad you like it.” I offered her a smile—warm, subdued, carefully measured.

A beat of silence passed between us. The kind of silence that held weight. Then she swallowed, set down her fork, and looked me directly in the eye.

“So… why did you save us?”

There it was. The real reason she hadn’t tried to escape with the native boy. I folded my hands in my lap, tilted my head slightly, and let a moment of silence bloom between us. Let it feel deliberate. Vulnerable.

“I saved both of you because…” I let the words trail off, as though I were searching for something deeper than the truth. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

She didn’t react. No twitch, no blink. Just those unrelenting eyes, watching. Waiting. Always measuring.

I kept my tone soft. Measured. Honest enough to sound sincere.

“I saved Varl because…” I gave a small exhale, like it pained me. “He’s a good man. Brave. Loyal. The kind the world needs more of.”

There—just the faintest flicker across her face. A quiet softening around the eyes. Relief, perhaps. Gratitude. Maybe even trust.

Good.

What better way to gain her trust than sparing someone she cared about? Heroics are always easier to believe when someone you love benefits from them. And it looks like its working fast

“And you…” I leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the table. Not too close. Just enough to seem earnest. “You’ve been fighting alone for so long, Aloy. Carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. I just thought—for once—you shouldn’t have to.”

She blinked, but didn’t look away. Her eyes flicked down to the food, then back up again, uncertain. Suspicion hadn’t left her entirely—but it had shifted. Softened. Like someone brushing their fingers over a wound to see if it still hurts.

Good.

She didn’t trust me yet. But she wanted to. She wanted a reason to believe I was different from the others. That was the opening.

Play it slow, Tilda. Just enough truth to mask the lie

“How is Varl?”

“He’s stable,” I said, folding my hands neatly in my lap. “I’ve done what I can for now. But… don’t expect miracles. I’m no healer, and the first-aid bot here is—well—let’s just say it’s seen better centuries.”

That much was technically true, which made the lie all the easier to swallow.

In reality, the bot was pristine—top-of-the-line when I acquired it. Military-grade medtech with enough subroutines to run a clinic and a small garrison. I’d hidden it in the storage vault, tucked behind my collection of Old World paintings. No one ever looked past the art—too sacred, too intimidating. Perfect for keeping something useful out of sight.

Of course, I hadn’t let the machine work at full efficiency. I’d carefully throttled its healing protocols, ensuring Varl’s recovery would be slow but steady. Just enough improvement to give Aloy hope. Just enough delay to keep her here.

The longer she believed I was helping him, the longer she’d need me.

“Varl is strong. He’ll get through this,” she said.

Her voice pulled me back—snapping the thread of my thoughts. I blinked, focused on her again. Her expression was set, jaw clenched, fire in her eyes. That determination. That stubborn, beautiful refusal to give up.

Of course she’d say that. Of course she’d believe it. That was the part of her I’d always admired—her tireless defiance in the face of loss. It made her easy to admire. Easy to love.

“I believe he will too,” I said softly. “He just needs time. And care.”

I let my gaze linger on her, carefully neutral but touched with warmth. Just enough to suggest connection.

“You’ve built something rare with him, haven’t you?” I added, voice quiet, probing. “Trust. That doesn’t come easy in your world.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her fingers tightened slightly around the rim of her plate, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d pressed too far. But then she relaxed again, just enough to tell me I hadn’t lost the thread. Not yet.

I leaned back slightly, offering space. Always give her room to feel like she’s in control.

“I know you have no reason to believe me, Aloy,” I said, tone soft. “But I want you to know… I’m on your side.”

Not technically a lie. I was on her side. Just not the side she thought I meant.

Aloy stretched “how did you find us in the cauldron? And what did you do that caused me to black out?”

“Buisness usual now then”

Aloy raised an eyebrow

“Well we have been keeping a close eye on hephestus-”

—---------------------------------------------

Zo paced the perimeter of the base for what felt like the hundredth time. The old stones underfoot were smooth from her steps, worn down like her nerves. There was still no sign of Aloy, Varl, or Beta. Not a whisper over the Focus network. Not even a trail left in the ruins. It was like they had vanished.

They’d scoured every inch of the Gemini facility—the collapsed halls, the burned-out control nodes, even the vent shafts—but nothing. No footprints, no signals. Just scorched earth and silence.

Alva had shut herself in one of the side rooms, surrounded by cables and tech fragments they’d pulled from the rubble. Through the cracked door, Zo could hear her murmuring data logs and hypothesis strings under her breath, fingers working with nervous precision as she tested the prototype gear they'd managed to salvage.

Meanwhile, Erend and Kotallo—who usually shared more glares than words—were hunched over the holo-map together, combing through terrain scans and satellite pings, syncing recon patterns with growing frustration. They were speaking low, terse words exchanged like clipped puzzle pieces, trying to assemble a trail where none existed.

Zo drifted away from them, out onto the overlook above the canyon, where the wind whistled faintly through the cliffs. She wrapped her arms around herself and touched her stomach. A flutter, faint and uncertain. Life stirring within her—too small to understand the war unfolding around it. Too precious to lose.

Her lips trembled as she closed her eyes. Aloy wouldn’t let anything happen to them. She was a shield, a storm, a fire that refused to go out. Zo had seen her fight through wounds that would break anyone else. Seen her take on the impossible without hesitation.

But this silence—it wasn’t like Aloy.

Something was wrong. Deeply, unmistakably wrong.

And the worst part was that none of them could admit it yet. Because hope was the only thing holding them together.

—-------------------------------------

“You have a data channel, right? Is it still accessible?” Aloy asked, urgency threading through her voice. “I need you to open it.”

There it was. She always knew this moment would come—the request. The risk. She’d just hoped it might come later… or not at all.

“That’s not advisable,” she said, voice steady but tight. “If the others find out—”

“There is another way,” Aloy interrupted, her eyes fierce. “One where the Tenakth survive.”

That stopped her cold. Another way?

She studied Aloy, trying to read behind those sharp, determined eyes. Was this another bluff? Another wild gamble? But no—there was something different in her tone. Calculated. Focused.

“If you want to help,” Aloy said, stepping closer, “open the channel. I need to talk to Beta.”

Her breath caught.

She looked at Aloy fully now. There was something blooming in her chest—warmth, admiration, something. Look at her, she thought. So defiant, so sure of herself even with the world crumbling around her. That face—resolute and impossibly young, carrying too much, and still asking for more.

Aloy really had a plan, didn’t she?

It was reckless. Dangerous. If the others caught wind of the data stream being reopened, everything could unravel. But still… that look in her eyes. Like hope, burning.

She sighed, quietly. Her fingers hovered above the interface panel. Just one touch, and there’d be no turning back.

“Alright,” she whispered. 

With a breath, she keyed in the command and opened the channel.

She watches as Aloy talks with Beta—nothing out of the ordinary at first. The two mirror images stood facing one another, their voices low, the air between them shimmering with faint pulses of light. It looked almost… natural. Familiar. Like two sisters reconnecting after a long separation, bonded not by blood, but by the weight of what had been done to them.

But Tilda knew better.

Nothing about this was ordinary. Not their conversation. Not the channel. And certainly not the girl on the other end of the line—the one who knew far too much, yet still acted like a scared child.

Beta’s voice filtered through, tentative, brittle. “Aloy? What’s happening? That projection won’t stay stable for long. Aloy, I thought—”

“I need your help,” Aloy interrupted, her voice calm, deliberate. Purposeful.

Tilda’s eyes narrowed slightly.

And then—silence.

She blinked. She could still see their lips moving, Beta’s anxious expression, Aloy’s nods, the faint gestures they made as they spoke. But the audio had vanished. No signal degradation. No interference warnings. Just… gone.

Her fingers danced across the interface. Diagnostics read clean. The signal was intact. No tampering. No power fluctuation. No breach. She rerouted the feed. Still nothing.

Why couldn’t she hear them?

She stepped closer to the projection, narrowing her eyes. A whisper of unease began to thread its way through her. This wasn’t a Focus glitch—this was deliberate.

Her gaze snapped to Aloy, who was now looking down at her own Focus, thumbing something into the interface. Silent. Controlled.

Tilda’s stomach turned.

A privacy sublayer? No—Beta didn’t have the clearance to execute something like that. Not without help. Not without knowing exactly how her systems had been built.

And Aloy—clever, infuriating Aloy—had learned just enough from the ruins, from the Zenith databanks, to manipulate things in ways even she hadn’t accounted for.

She had shut Tilda out.

Tilda took a slow breath, carefully reining in the flicker of panic that threatened to rise. This wasn’t just defiance. This was strategy.

Whatever they were talking about, Aloy didn’t want her to hear it.

Tilda’s jaw tensed as she stepped back, arms crossing slowly over her chest. She stood still, statuesque, watching the silent exchange unfold between the two women. Aloy moved with confident precision, fingers sliding through interface panels, conjuring light and data midair. She was animated, purposeful—pointing to things Beta reacted to with a growing intensity.

A widening of her eyes. A nod. A tightening of her jaw. Then focus.

Whatever they were discussing, it wasn’t casual. This wasn’t just sharing intel—it was coordination. A plan. One Tilda had not been invited into.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. The audio blackout hadn't lifted. No malfunctions, no red flags, no alerts pinging her systems. A perfectly clean channel. Just… sealed. Muted. From the inside.

She exhaled slowly through her nose. Aloy had locked her out.

You clever, arrogant girl.

She turned away with calculated calm, letting her footsteps carry her to her terminal. Her fingers brushed the surface as if in idle thought, but her mind was racing. Was this Beta’s doing? No—this had Aloy’s fingerprints all over it. She’d either found a privacy layer hidden deep in the system architecture… or built one from scratch.

Either way, she was playing a dangerous game.

The moment the channel flickered out and the last residual light faded, Tilda turned, forcing a relaxed tone as she said, “What was that about?” Her voice came out smooth and sweet, a smile carefully stitched into place.

Aloy didn’t hesitate. “I’m going to take Sylens’ army off the table. I don’t need it. Just the weapon that can dismantle your shields.”

There it was. The calm defiance. The refusal to bend. The maddening certainty in her voice.

Tilda blinked. “Is that so?” Her tone didn’t shift, but a faint gleam of challenge sparked in her eyes. “And how exactly do you plan to do that? Ask him nicely?”

“Without Regalla and her rebels,” Aloy said, folding her arms, “he won’t have a choice. We’ll be his only option.”

We. That word stopped Tilda cold. She didn’t like the way it landed.

“‘We’? Option for what, exactly?” Her smile tightened. “What were you two whispering about just now?”

Aloy met her gaze with maddening calm. And worse—she smirked. “That’s between me and my sister.”

Tilda’s smile cracked for half a second. Sister? That fragile, stammering girl she’d created, the one barely able to lift her voice above a whisper? Aloy actually saw her that way?

She shouldn’t have been surprised. Aloy, with that bleeding heart, always wrapped herself around anyone who needed protecting. Still. It stung.

In such a short span of time, Beta had carved a space in her that Tilda had never managed to touch.

“We’ll be Sylens’ only way into the base,” Aloy continued, her tone cool and controlled. “I’ll fill you in later. I have things to do.”

Tilda tilted her head slightly, like a bird watching something squirm. “Oh? And what exactly are those things?”

“First,” Aloy said, already halfway to the door, “check on my friend. See how he’s doing. Then, I’ll use the override Beta gave me at Gemini… and end Regalla’s rebellion. From the air.”

She turned to leave, just like that.

And Tilda’s blood boiled.

That heat—tight, electric, almost intoxicating—flared under her skin. It had been so long since she’d felt that kind of fire. Her smile almost slipped into a sneer. But she caught herself. Straightened her spine. And softened her tone.

“Wait,” she called.

Aloy paused, glancing back, one brow raised.

Tilda lifted a hand, conjuring a glowing, rotating projection. Massive, brutal, and unmistakable—the silhouette of a dormant Horus Titan emerged, suspended in ghostly light.

“If you’re so determined to do this your way,” she said, voice as smooth as glass, “I know something that might help you make an impression on the Tenakth.”

She tapped the display. Inside the Titan’s mass, a system glowed red—deep within the belly of the beast.

“The ancient Horus units still retain electromagnetic energy cells in their dormant chassis. Powerful, unstable. Drop one into the middle of the battlefield and…” she smiled faintly, “let’s just say, it will be memorable.”

Aloy eyed the projection, the gears clearly turning behind her eyes.

Tilda had to stop herself from grinning too wide. A gift. A tool. Something to earn back a sliver of trust. Something to remind her who still mattered.

She turned away, satisfied. “Do what you must,” she said lightly. “And I will return to your base… if you manage to convince Sylens.”

“Not if ,” Aloy said behind her. “ When. ”

Tilda paused, the corners of her lips curling ever so slightly. That fire again. That certainty. It burned bright. Too bright.

“Grab your override, I will check on Varl, see if his progress is steady”

Aloy nodded

Let her have this moment. Let her think she’s gaining ground.

Sooner or later, she would come to realize: the only winning move was with Tilda… or not at all.

—---------------------------------------------

The ceiling was too white.

Sterile. Artificial. Like it had never known dust or smoke or blood.

Varl blinked against the brightness, trying to anchor himself. Every breath sent a dull ache through his side—sharp enough to remind him he was alive, but not enough to keep him down. He shifted slowly, the fabric under him smooth and cold. No reeds, no rough stone, no familiar scent of earth.

Wherever he was, it wasn’t the Base. And it sure as hell wasn’t the battlefield.

A soft hum filled the air, almost musical. Machinery. Steady. Old, but well-maintained. A quiet pulse to accompany his thoughts.

His hand drifted to his side instinctively—bandaged. Clean. Someone had tended to him. But who?

He remembered Gemini. The chaos. Beta screaming. Aloy—

Aloy.

His heart lurched.

He tried to sit up and barely managed a half-rise before the pain tethered him back down. His fingers curled into the bedding. No one else was in the room. Just him and the silence.

Then he heard footsteps. Soft, graceful. Too deliberate to be anyone from the crew.

Tilda.

She stepped into the room like she belonged there, a pale silhouette haloed by the ambient light from the corridor. No armor. No weapons. Just that impossibly calm smile.

“You’re awake,” she said, her voice gentle, like she was commenting on the weather.

Varl watched her carefully. He didn’t speak.

“I was beginning to wonder if I’d miscalculated the dosage,” she added with a faint, self-deprecating chuckle. “But you Nora, really are as resilient as Aloy says.”

At the mention of her name, his chest tightened. “Where is she?”

“She’s safe,” Tilda said, stepping closer. “She’s been busy. Planning. Plotting her next move—like always.” A slight gleam in her eyes. “You should be proud.”

Varl didn’t answer immediately. His gaze flicked around the room. Medical equipment. Advanced. Cleaner and more precise than anything even Alva would’ve dreamed of. The machine in the corner whirred softly—monitoring something. Him, probably.

She’d patched him up. Saved his life.

And yet… he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d just been moved from one battlefield to another.

“I imagine you have questions,” she said, moving to a sleek console by the wall. “But before you start grilling me—water?”

He gave a stiff nod. She returned with a small glass, crystalline and cold in his hands. He drank slowly. It tasted clean. Too clean.

She waited until he finished before speaking again.

“I stabilized you,” she said, tone soft but undeniably proud. “It wasn’t easy. Some internal damage. A fractured rib. A hole through you. A concussion. The med-bot was old, but with some coaxing, it did the job.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Med-bot?”

Tilda gave a faint smile. “I keep it hidden. Alongside the artwork.”

Right. Of course. 

Varl’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

Tilda’s head tilted, feigning innocence. “Why did I help? Because you’re important to her. And… because you matter. You fought to protect someone weaker than yourself. That’s something I can’t help but admire.”

He didn’t miss the way she phrased that. Someone weaker than yourself. Not Beta. Not a person. Just… someone. Like she still didn’t quite see her as real.

He didn’t trust Tilda. That was clear.

But he was alive. And that meant Aloy was still out there, doing what she always did: carrying too much, burning herself at both ends, fighting like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Because she did.

Tilda turned toward the door, pausing as if to say more, but chose instead to nod.

“She’ll be here soon,” she said over her shoulder. “Try not to argue with her. She’s… stubborn.”

And then she left, her footsteps fading into the distance.

Varl leaned back against the pillows, eyes closing for a moment.

Something was coming.

He could feel it.

And when it did—he needed to be ready.

—--------------------------

He felt her before he saw her—Aloy’s presence had always arrived just a little before her boots did. There was a weight to it. Steady. Grounded.

Varl shifted in the bed as the door slid open.

Aloy walked in, dust still clinging to her armor, tension coiled tight in her shoulders. She looked like she hadn’t slept, hadn’t even considered it. But her eyes were clear. Focused.

“Look at you,” she said, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Didn’t even wait for me to get back before waking up.”

Varl gave a quiet laugh. “Didn’t want you to miss the part where I start complaining about the food.”

She stepped closer, stopping just beside a console, fingers brushing it casually. Nothing to fix. Just a gesture. A cover.

Her voice lowered slightly—still easy, still relaxed. “Remember that old hunting cabin out near the cliffs? East of Mother’s Rise?”

Varl tilted his head, playing along. “Yeah. The one with the roof half caved in and the squirrel that wouldn’t leave?”

She grinned. “That’s the one. Found it before the Proving, thought I could use it as a hideout. Never did, though. But I found a note tucked under a floorboard. Said, ‘Don’t trust the cook, but eat the stew anyway. There’s always another way out—look for the back window.’ ”

Varl’s brows lifted slightly. Then, leaning back with a slow exhale, he added, “Huh. Thought I was the only one who ever read that.”

Aloy’s smile was faint, but warm. “Guess we were always better at sharing messages than we thought.”

There was a pause—measured, careful.

She reached into a pouch at her belt and placed a cloth-wrapped object on the table beside his bed. Nondescript. Meaningless, to anyone else. But not to him.

“You’re healing,” she said, her voice just a bit louder now—enough to carry through any listening walls. “That’s good. I just wanted to check in. Let you know I’m handling things.”

Varl nodded. “I figured you would. You always do.”

She lingered just a moment longer. Her eyes said what her mouth couldn’t: Trust me. Stay quiet.

Then she turned and walked out, not once looking back.

Varl waited until the door sealed behind her before he picked up the cloth bundle. Inside was a carved stone—smooth and old. Tenakth markings etched into the surface.

A symbol for deception wielded in silence.

He stared at it, smiled faintly, and leaned back into the bed.

“Guess we’re playing the long game,” he murmured to no one.

And he’d play it well.

Chapter Text

Erend stared up at the sky, the stars above blurred slightly by the steam rising from his mug. Another long night. Another long silence.

Then, suddenly—his focus chimed to life.

A voice crackled through.

“Erend?”

His breath caught. That voice… his heart skipped.

“Aloy?” he blurted, nearly dropping the mug. “By the forge—you’re okay!” He stood up so fast the chair scraped across the floor. “Is it really you? I—I've had a bit too much ale and—”

“It’s me,” she said, and he could hear it—a smile in her voice. Calm. Alive. Still her.
“Where is everyone else?”

He let out a shaky breath, hand dragging through his beard.

“We’re all here—at base. Shaken, worried out of our minds, but… we’re holding together.” He hesitated. “Where are you? Varl? Beta?”

There was a pause on her end.

“It’s… complicated,” Aloy replied. “Easier to explain in person. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Erend frowned. Work , again? Part of him wanted to push—but he knew her. If she was saying that, it meant something big was brewing.

By now, the rest of the group had filtered into the lounge, eyes fixed on him, faces tense with hope. Zo clutched at her pendant. Kotallo stood tall but unmoving. Alva’s hand hovered over her focus. They knew. They heard.

He looked around, then back to the projection flickering faintly over his focus.

“It’s really good to hear your voice, Aloy,” Erend said softly, smiling despite himself. “We’ll be here. Waiting.”

—---------------------

Zo stood just behind Erend, her arms crossed, her fingers absently rubbing the smooth edge of the pendant at her throat. She’d come to the lounge after hearing the tone in Erend’s voice shift—something in the way he said her name, Aloy, like a man surfacing from underwater.

She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding her breath until the call ended.

Aloy was alive. Alive.

Her stomach twisted with relief, but it didn’t settle the ache completely. Something is happening Like someone is walking a narrow ledge with a storm below.

She glanced around the room. Kotallo stood like a statue, his one good hand clenched at his side. Alva was blinking rapidly, already whispering to her focus, likely analyzing every word, every inflection.

But Zo didn’t move. She just stood there, one hand still pressed lightly to her abdomen, as if she could ground herself through the quiet flutter there. The life inside her had become her compass, her tether.

“She said she’d explain in person,” Erend said, still staring ahead, almost as if Aloy might reappear in front of him if he stared hard enough.

Zo nodded slowly, but didn’t speak. Her mind was already racing.

Explain what?
Why she was gone this long?
Why Beta hadn’t made contact?
Where Varl had been?

She pushed those thoughts down like stones into deep water. No use turning panic into prophecy.

Still, she couldn’t ignore it—the way Aloy hadn’t said when she’d come, only soon . And the way Erend hadn’t asked more. He felt it too, Zo could tell.

“She’s hiding something,” Kotallo said, voice low and even, but not unkind.

Zo turned her head toward him. He wasn’t wrong. 

But what she was hiding wasn’t a secret, it was burden.

She pressed a hand to her middle again, just a small touch.

You trust her.
You have to.

—----------------------------

The wind had picked up.

It tugged at Kotallo’s braids and the hem of his cloak, carrying the distant scent of rain and the low hum of coming change. He stood unmoved, eyes fixed on the path beyond the base—an unwavering figure carved into the stillness.

Then came footsteps behind him. Quick. Light. A different rhythm than Zo’s.

He didn’t need to look.

“Oh— I didn’t know you were still out here,” Alva said, slightly breathless, her voice bright against the cold edge of dusk.

Kotallo made a low sound in his throat. Not quite a word. More like acknowledgment—his version of yes .

Alva stepped up beside him, brushing wind-tossed hair from her face as she followed his gaze. Nothing moved out there but the brush swaying in the breeze.

“Anxious?” she asked, more curious than teasing.

He was quiet a moment longer before answering.

“No.”
A beat.
“Ready.”

Alva tilted her head, considering that. She didn’t press him the way others might. Instead, she crossed her arms and looked out at the trail as well.

“Who would have thought we’d be here, huh?” Alva said, voice thoughtful now—no longer light, but not quite heavy either. “We belong in different lands, literally oceans apart and now were standing watch together. Waiting for a red-haired storm to roll in.”

Kotallo glanced at her, his expression unreadable, but his silence encouraged her to go on.

She smiled faintly. “I used to spend hours alone in the archives. Just me, sometimes, with echoes of the past, and whatever scraps the ancestors left behind. But this… this is different. We're part of the story now.”

Another gust of wind swept through, colder now, and for a moment the silence between them stretched—comfortable, but charged with something unsaid.

Alva shifted her weight, and when she spoke again, her tone was quieter, more precise.

“When you listen—and watch—the audio logs as much as I do… you start to notice things. Small things. Things most people overlook.”

Kotallo turned his head slightly, giving her his full attention now.

“From the call Erend sent… something happened. With the way she sounded. I heard something else too. Faint background noise. Machinery, maybe. Or weapon systems. Not familiar. Something… foreign.”

Kotallo’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak.

Alva looked at him, her voice softer. “She’s protecting us from something. Hiding how bad it really is.”

Kotallo nodded slowly. 

Alva exhaled. 

They stood in silence again, the weight of their shared concern settling like dust on old stone.

Then Kotallo asked, “Why come here, Alva?”

Alva blinked, surprised by the question. “To see the sky.”

She smiled at his arched brow. “No ceiling. No holograms. Just real wind. Real stars. It reminds me… that this world still belongs to us. No matter how many machines try to change that.”

Kotallo looked back toward the trail, something thoughtful flickering behind his steady gaze.

“I came to listen,” Alva added, more quietly now. “Not just to the wind. Or the echoes in my focus. But… to her. When she returns.”

Kotallo nodded once. “Then we listen together.”

And together they waited, eyes fixed on the horizon. The wind howled softly around them—like a warning, or maybe a promise.

—------------------

Zo stepped quietly out of her room, fingers absently tracing the soft fabric of her shawl. Sleep had eluded her again, heavy thoughts settling over her like morning dew. She didn’t need to check the time. The hush of the base, the low hum of systems in standby—it was deep night. But she wasn’t alone.

As she turned the corner into the lounge, soft footsteps echoed from other hallways. One by one, the others arrived. Alva, hair tied hastily back. Kotallo, always alert despite the hour. Erend, rubbing at his eyes, already muttering something under his breath.

They didn’t greet each other with words. They didn’t need to. They simply moved.

Alva drifted toward the herb box first, pulling open drawers with a scholar’s familiarity. She sorted dried leaves with careful hands, the faint rustle like paper in the wind. Zo joined her, offering a small wooden spoon without a word. They exchanged a quiet nod.

Kotallo approached the water urn and began heating it. He didn’t need to ask which temperature was best for which blend—he remembered. One pot for calming Utaru blossom, another for the Tenakth spiced root tea that cleared the senses.

Erend was last, but not without purpose. He pulled down mugs from the shelf, each one worn with personal touches—Alva’s had a faded glyph from the Legacy etched in gold, Zo’s was glazed with Utaru leaf patterns, and Kotallo’s was simple, utilitarian. Erend’s own mug bore a chipped rim and a painted image of a hammer.

They moved around each other in a slow, familiar rhythm. No collisions. No fumbling. Just silent understanding—this dance of late-night tea had become tradition. The unspoken balm to days filled with chaos.

“You know,” Erend said quietly, setting mugs down at the center table, “I used to think tea was just fancy hot water. But this stuff? Hits better than ale when you need to stop thinking.”

Zo gave a soft hum in agreement. “Utaru teas are made to calm the soul. Or to give you focus. Depends what you brew.”

“I made the sleepy kind,” Alva added brightly, a little proud. “Well, mostly sleepy. I snuck in a few alert herbs so we don’t fall asleep standing.”

“That defeats the purpose of sleep tea,” Kotallo said, not unkindly.

She grinned. “Balance, Kotallo. You of all people should appreciate tactical mixtures.”

He blinked slowly, then gave a small nod of respect. “Fair.”

The soft clink of the pot settling on the table brought a moment of stillness. Steam rose into the dim light. It felt like a shared breath, a brief, fragile peace.

In that quiet, Zo allowed herself to smile—small, tired, but real. Here they were: a Tenakth warrior, a Quen diviner, an Oseram bruiser, and an Utaru grave-singer. All sipping tea together in the middle of the night, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Because now, it was.

Wet footprints tracked across the floor—just barely visible under the low, amber lights. Zo sighed, arms crossing.

“Kotallo, what did I say about the shoes?”

He glanced down, brow furrowing. “To dry them before stepping into the main room,” he recited dutifully. “But these aren’t mine. Too small. Alva was with me earlier—perhaps hers?”

Alva blinked mid-yawn and leaned in for a better look. “Nope. Not mine. Too big.”

Zo frowned. “Well, they’re not mine either.”

Erend squinted at the marks. “You know… that looks a lot like Aloy’s foot size.”

All three turned to him.

“You know Aloy’s foot size?” Alva asked, eyes narrowing.

“When you spend enough time chasing after her because she leaves without telling anyone,” Erend said, smirking faintly, “you start to notice the little things. Like how her boot tread curves just slightly to the left.”

Zo crouched to touch one of the prints. Still wet. Still fresh.

“…These marks are recent,” she murmured.

The words struck like a cold gust of wind through the room.

In an instant, tea was forgotten. Mugs abandoned mid-pour. Sleep-fogged minds snapped into focus. Boots hit the floor with urgency.

They gathered in the corridor, eyes wide with adrenaline and disbelief, and hurried up the stairs toward the GAIA chamber—toward her.

And there she was.

Aloy stood in the middle of the chamber, bathed in the soft blue glow, her silhouette calm and composed. At the sound of their footsteps, she turned, red braid catching the light like a flare in the dark.

"You’re all in one piece, I see," she said with a ghost of a smile. They were all quiet so Aloy continued “I didn’t want to wake all of you, till I finalized this plan I’m making”

Alva was the first to move. “Aloy!” she exclaimed, rushing forward and throwing her arms around her.

Aloy smiled warmly and patted the top of Alva’s head—a soft, almost sisterly gesture. There was something flickering in her eyes. Fondness, yes—but also… longing? Or maybe regret?

Zo stepped forward next, her tone more controlled. “Varl? And Beta?”

Aloy’s smile faded slightly. She held Zo’s gaze for a moment.

“Later,” she said, voice firm. She looked at the hologram of a Meta devil and sighed “We have something big to do. Get ready—we’re moving out.”

The others blinked. Confusion rippled through them. They had questions—so many—but the look in Aloy’s eyes stopped them cold. There was no room for debate. She was already walking toward the mission.

Erend stepped up and clapped a hand on her shoulder, breaking the tension. “Nice to see you back, Spark.”

Aloy chuckled, some of the weight lifting from her face. “That doesn’t sound right coming from you. That’s Petra’s nickname.”

“Oh, come on!” Erend laughed. “Let a guy have his moment.”

The tension cracked slightly. Just for a moment, it felt like before.

Aloy looked around at them—her team, her friends—and nodded. “Go get ready. We ride for the Grove at first light.”

Kotallo’s back straightened at once. “I shall prepare the mounts.” He bowed his head and strode off without another word.

“This sounds like a fight,” Erend muttered, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll gear up. Alva, come with me—we’ll get you suited.”

“Oh, did the new armor come in already?” Alva perked up, trailing after him. “And what about those knives? The ones you said were Oseram-forged?”

Aloy raised a brow, a trace of amusement slipping through her tension. “Since when did Alva get interested in weaponry?”

Zo stepped forward with purpose. “I shall prepare too, Aloy. Just tell me what you need.”

Aloy’s gaze shifted to her, and her tone softened. “Not yet. Stay behind.” She paused. “We need to talk.”

Zo blinked, surprised—but nodded slowly, sensing the seriousness beneath Aloy’s calm.

—-------------------------

Zo stood stiffly, her fingers rubbing together in a nervous rhythm she didn’t seem to notice. The weight in her chest had grown heavier with each passing hour, pressing harder now that Aloy stood in front of her—alone.

No Varl. No Beta.

They hadn’t made contact. Hadn’t returned.

She already knew where this was going.

Aloy’s voice was gentle but purposeful. “How far along are you with your studies?”

That wasn’t what Zo expected. Her eyes flicked up in surprise. “Far… I suppose,” she said, trying to summon steadiness. “There isn’t really a standard for these things.” A small, shaky smile followed, meant to lighten the moment—but it faltered just short of reaching her eyes.

Aloy gave a small nod. “Good. I don’t want to—”

There it was. The pause. The softening of voice. The prelude to bad news.

Zo exhaled sharply and cut her off. “Aloy… this isn’t the first time I’ve received bad news. You can tell me.”

Aloy hesitated. That alone said more than words.

Zo’s heart thudded harder in her chest. Her voice dropped, barely above a whisper. “Varl is dead? And Beta... she’s gone too?”

Aloy stepped forward, placing a hand over Zo’s clenched ones.

“No,” she said, firm and clear. “They’re not dead.”

Zo’s breath caught. The room suddenly felt a little less cold, a little less tight around the edges. But Aloy’s expression wasn’t one of relief—it was one of caution. Like the truth still carried teeth.

“Then where are they?” Zo asked, voice trembling.

Aloy’s eyes held Zo’s with steady weight. “Beta was taken by the Zeniths.”

Zo’s breath hitched. “But Aloy… you promised. ”

“I know,” Aloy said quietly, the regret there, sharp and raw. “But I couldn’t do it. I tried.”

“And Varl?” Zo pressed, already fearing the answer.

“He’s healing.”

The words landed with a dull thud. Healing —what did that mean? From what? Zo frowned. Aloy was deliberately vague, holding something back.

Before she could ask more, Aloy held out a data chip.

“And here. The medical data you asked for. You should be able to make use of it.”

Zo blinked. Medical data? She hadn’t requested any.

Still, she accepted it, brows furrowing deeper. Aloy had already turned away, refocusing on the holograms glowing form.

Zo’s attention drifted. She slipped the chip into her focus and opened the contents. Lines of old-world data bloomed in her view—text, diagrams, medical scans. Extensive. Much of it beyond her full understanding, but it was clear: this was cutting-edge First Age medicine. The kind the Ancients probably hoarded for their elite.

She scrolled absently until a folder caught her eye.

"So"

Her breath caught. So? Like the land-god?

The title was bolded, strangely poetic for something buried in technical archives. She tapped it open—and found a letter.

Zo glanced up. Aloy was still locked in on whatever she was planning on the machine. She raised a hand slightly, signaling that she was leaving.

Aloy gave a small nod—distracted, distant. She didn’t look at her.

How Rude. 

Unusual.  

Something wasn’t right.

As Zo left the GAIA chamber, she noticed the base had stirred fully into motion. Erend was briefing Alva near the workbench, tossing his usual bravado aside for rapid-fire practicality. Alva, wide-eyed but eager, was already slipping on components of armor. She spotted Kotallo standing silently in his quarters, arms folded, gaze fixed toward the courtyard as if bracing for something.

The storm was coming.

And in Zo’s hand, the letter pulsed in her focus

Once she reached her room she opened the letter 

Zo,

If you're reading this, it means you've found the file I planted. Good. That means you’re paying attention—like you always do.

I’m sorry I couldn’t say all of this to you in person. But I have to be careful. There’s a chance Tilda is monitoring my focus feed,I haven’t figured out how yet, but I will. Until then, I’m keeping my cards close. I hope you understand.

Here’s what you need to know:

At GEMINI, we succeeded in integrating HEPHAESTUS. Barely. But the Zeniths arrived before we could extract. Beta was taken. Varl got into a fight and was stabbed by one of the zeniths, Erik

I thought I lost him. 

But Tilda intervened. She pulled us out. She saved him—or so she says. He’s still alive. But injured. Not just physically.

I don’t trust her. I don’t buy her kindness. The way she treated Beta? Leaving her like that, there’s something off. 

Which brings me to why I left this data for you.

You have a gift for learning, for adaptation. I've seen it again and again. This medical data I left—it's only the beginning. It contains old-world knowledge on regenerative treatment, cellular repair, and immune response. Stuff well beyond what even the best Tanakth or Utaru healers know. I hope you can interpret it, and apply it. Focus on Medabots for now, specifically the latest model of ERGO GENETICS

I need you to study this, Zo. Deeply. Quietly. Because when the time comes, I don’t want Varl in Tilda’s care another second longer. He needs to get out, because I have a plan, and I need to make sure Tilda can’t use him as bait

Don’t tell anyone what’s in this message. Not yet. Just pretend it’s another file in the batch. I’ll handle the rest. 

—Aloy

Varl…… Bait…….?

Zo saw red

—-------------------------

Erend grunted as he hoisted the last of the gear onto his mount. "You know, we should really look into getting those... what do you call 'em? Ekimatos?"

"Escalators, Erend," Alva corrected without missing a beat, tightening the straps on her own pack. She still wore her Quen robes, though pieces of newly-forged armor now covered her chest and shoulders—practical, protective, and a little mismatched. With a very large machete on her back "And even if we could build one, it wouldn't be very effective in a secret base."

"Yeah, well," Erend muttered, dusting his hands, "it’s not that secret anymore. Not with everyone and their grandma popping in and out."

"That was one Carja," Kotallo said dryly from where he stood beside his charger. "And she was trusted by Aloy, I thought you two were close."

Erend rolled his eyes. "Still counts."

A rustle behind them made the three turn. Zo climbed down from the platform with quiet precision, her mount already trailing behind her, ready. There was a tension in her jaw, in the way she moved—controlled, but tight, like someone keeping a pot from boiling over.

Alva blinked, sensing it instantly. “She’s upset.”

“You think?” Erend muttered. He straightened as Zo passed by without a word, her face unreadable but her silence loud. “That’s not ‘I skipped breakfast’ mad—that’s ‘someone said something real stupid’ mad.”

Kotallo nodded slightly, his eyes following Zo with silent concern. “Something happened. Between her and Aloy.”

“Yeah…” Alva murmured. “Whatever it was—it wasn’t small.”

She watched the Utaru’s back as she disappeared around the bend. “She’s angry. Really angry.”

Aloy descended from the upper platform, the wind catching the edge of her cloak. Her expression was focused, though her eyes scanned each of them carefully—measuring, as always.

“Everyone ready to go?” she asked, her gaze pausing as it landed on Alva. Her brow lifted. “Wait… Alva, is that a machete on your back?”

Alva beamed. “Yeah!”

“Oseram or Tenakth?”

“Oseram!” she replied proudly, 

Aloy blinked and turned to Erend and Kotallo,

“Okay what are looking at me like that for” Erend exclaimed

“Aloy, Alva needs protection” Kotallo added

“What he said,” Erend nodded. “And what better way than with high-quality Oseram steel?”

“A giant machete? Can she even wield that?” Aloy asked, then glanced at Alva again. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Alva said brightly. “I have… very noodle-like arms. But do not doubt—I’m stronger than I look. Zo taught me how to use it.”

Aloy’s eyebrows shot up. “ Zo ?”

The trio tensed and tried to look casual. When Zo’s face morphs from angry into serene calm “I also think Alva should be well protected, don’t worry the three of us prepared her” 

Aloy gave a small smile. “That’s good to hear. Alright—listen up.”

She raised her hand and activated her focus. A glowing hologram of the Grove flared to life in the air between them, casting soft light across their faces.

“In less than a day, Regalla will launch an assault on the Grove.”

Kotallo straightened, jaw tightening. The weight of what that meant settled on the group like a drawn bowstring.

“This is it,” Aloy continued. “The final push. She’ll throw everything she has at it. Which means you need to be there first. Warn the Grove. Help them fortify. Keep people alive.”

Kotallo stepped forward. “Most of the Tenakth commanders are already stationed at the Grove. With Regalla’s attack looming, few have left their posts. Preparations have been… intense.”

“What about the settlements?” Erend asked.

“Their second-in-commands are holding the lines,” Kotallo answered. “The Grove is the priority.”

“Good,” Aloy nodded. “More fighters in one place means we’ve got a better chance of holding the line. What’s the current status?”

Kotallo’s expression turned sharp with purpose. “We’ve cut off multiple access points. The walls are reinforced. Guards posted around the clock. We’ve even repositioned the arena ballistae for high-range defense. And the smiths are stripping machine cannons for extra firepower.”

Aloy let out a breath, eyes scanning the projection with grim approval. “That’s solid work. Now make sure it holds. Ride fast, back them up, and do everything you can to keep the casualties low.”

Erend crossed his arms, squinting at the map. “How many machines do you think she’s sending?”

Aloy’s voice dropped a notch. “All of them.”

Silence fell for a beat.

“Then we ride now ,” Kotallo said, already turning toward the chargers.

Without hesitation, the others followed, climbing into their saddles with practiced ease. But when Alva glanced back, she noticed something.

“Aloy?” she called. “Aren’t you coming?”

Aloy didn’t move to mount. Her eyes remained on the hologram, the map flickering in front of her like a battlefield waiting to be drawn.

“I’ve got something else to handle,” she said.

Alva tilted her head. “What could be more important than—?”

Aloy cut in gently, “You’ll see. Just… look to the skies when the time comes.”

For a moment, no one spoke. But the message was clear. Whatever she was planning, it was big.

Erend gave a low whistle. “Alright then. Just don’t do anything too crazy without us.”

Aloy smiled, small and fierce. “No promises.”

With that, the group kicked off, thundering down the trail toward the Grove—toward war.

As the others rode off, Aloy turned back toward the soft glow of the map, the Grove’s defenses shifting and rotating in real-time across the projection. Then—faint but clear—her voice drifted through the wind

“Tilda, send the schematics. I’m heading there now.”

The group slowed instinctively, exchanging glances.

Zo’s face hardened. Without a word, she snapped the reins and urged her mount forward, riding faster, wind tugging at her braids.

Erend frowned, Kotallo’s grip tightened on his charger’s reins. And Alva’s brows drew together, voice quiet but edged with worry.

The three stared back at the shrinking figure of Aloy behind them—still standing alone in the glow of the map—before kicking their mounts into full gear to catch up to Zo, the unspoken agreement between them loud and clear:

Keep moving. Watch Aloy’s back. And don’t trust that woman.

Chapter Text

The team arrived at the Grove just as the sun began to crest over the mountains, casting long golden beams through the still-settling mist. As they approached, all conversation and movement in the area seemed to slow.

Four riders—an Oseram, a Tenakth, an Utaru, and a Quen—mounted on machines, heading straight for the heart of the Grove. It was a sight few had ever seen, and many never expected to. Eyes followed them—dozens of warriors, scouts, and mechanics pausing in their duties to stare openly.

The weight of those gazes pressed against their backs like heat from a forge.

They dismounted in practiced synchrony, securing their mounts at the outer posts. Kotallo barely spared the stares a glance, his posture tall, used to scrutiny. Erend muttered under his breath and adjusted his gauntlet, visibly irritated. Zo exhaled through her nose, brushing back strands of hair with a stiff flick—clearly not in the mood for theatrics.

And then there was Alva.

She had hopped off her charger with barely-contained excitement, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her eyes sparkled as they scanned the Grove—its architecture, its people, its fortified defenses. She whispered rapid notes to herself, hands fluttering like she was sketching the scene midair.

The other three turned to look at her.

“She’s... having fun,” Erend muttered.

Kotallo raised a brow. “Remarkably so.”

Zo sighed, hands on her hips. “I suppose the stares only bother us.”

Alva, still beaming, finally noticed their looks and tilted her head. “What?”

Erend smirked. “Nothing. Just glad someone’s enjoying the diplomatic tension.”

Alva shrugged, completely unfazed. 

Zo shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “Let’s just hope they think we’re all interesting… for the right reasons.”

Kotallo took the lead, stepping forward with the steady confidence of one who belonged. He addressed the two Tenakth guards stationed at the gate. “We request an audience with Chief Hekarro.”

One of the guards straightened, already opening his mouth to challenge the request—when a familiar voice cut through the morning haze.

“Oh, skip the formality,” Dekka said, striding up from behind them with her usual sharp-eyed authority. “Let them through. That’s Aloy’s squad.”

The guards blinked, then quickly stood aside, granting the group passage without further protest.

Kotallo dipped his head respectfully and fell into step beside her. “Thank you for—”

“No need for that,” she said briskly, waving off his gratitude. “You’ve done more than enough for the Grove, all of you.”

She cast a quick glance over the group as they walked.

The Oseram grit was written plainly across Erend’s face—jaw set, eyes sharp beneath his brow. He carried his hammer like a limb, a part of him forged in battle and stubbornness. Every step he took seemed to challenge the earth beneath him, daring it to shift.

Beside him, Alva practically vibrated with barely contained excitement. The Quen scholar’s eyes darted from structure to structure, soaking in every detail of the Grove’s architecture, the Tenakth armor patterns, even the way the guards held their spears. She fired off a rapid question about the layout of the walls—"are those reinforcements made of repurposed Ravager plating?"—to Zo, who answered with her usual measured calm.

The Utaru’s presence was like a steady heartbeat—quiet, grounded, constant. Zo’s hands moved as she spoke, guiding Alva’s attention gently but efficiently, not missing a step. She moved with the kind of ease that came from both trust in her surroundings and the burden of unspoken thoughts.

Dekka took them all in, these mismatched warriors from distant lands, and saw more than their differences. She saw the rhythm they walked in, how they fell into unspoken synchrony without trying. A band of outlanders maybe—but one that moved as one.

Her lips curled into something halfway between a grin and a smirk. 

“You’re quite the sight. A strange, impressive little warband,” she said.

“They’re good people,” Kotallo replied simply, his tone steady and proud.

Dekka chuckled, low and warm. “Oh, I’m sure. Aloy wouldn’t choose otherwise. She may be reckless, but she’s not foolish.”

They stepped into the Hall of the Grove, boots thudding softly against the worn stone as the towering doors closed behind them. The space was vast, lit by firelight and sunbeams slicing through slits in the high ceiling. The Grove’s heart pulsed with tension—and now, curiosity.

At the far end, Chief Hekarro sat tall on his throne of carved wood and machine sinew, each piece a symbol of victories past. His presence commanded the room, flanked by his Marshals, who stood silent and vigilant like statues carved from resolve.

“Kotallo,” the Chief greeted, his voice calm but edged with the gravity of a warrior leader.

“Chief,” Kotallo returned with a respectful nod, posture straight and voice steady.

But it wasn’t just him the Hall had fixed its attention on.

The rest of the squad stood just behind him—an Oseram, a Quen, and an Utaru. Out of place, yes—but not unsure. Every eye in the chamber was on them. Murmured whispers slid across the hall like distant thunder. Curious glances lingered on Alva’s mixed armor and the blade at her back. Erend shifted under the scrutiny with a grunt. Zo held her composure, but her eyes were scanning everything, noting every raised brow and twitch of a hand.

Hekarro’s gaze swept across the group, weighing each of them.

“I welcome you back to the Grove,” he said, voice rising enough for all to hear, “and I see you’ve brought your squad.”

“Indeed I have,” Kotallo said, stepping forward. “And we come bearing urgent news.”

The air shifted. The low murmurs dulled into silence, like the hush before a coming storm.

“Regalla is preparing to strike.”

“We are aware,” Hekarro replied, measured but firm. “Our scouts have reported unusual movement. We’ve begun preparations.”

Kotallo’s jaw tightened. “With respect, Chief—we mean now. The attack is imminent. Within hours.”

A beat of stillness.

Then, like a ripple in water, tension spread across the hall. Marshals exchanged sharp glances. Advisors shifted on their feet. The quiet unease of an approaching war settled in the bones of the room.

“And you were sent to assist in the defense?” Hekarro asked, voice calm, but there was a flicker of urgency in his eyes.

“Yes,” Kotallo affirmed. “Aloy sent us ahead. She has her own plan in motion.”

Hekarro leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing in thought. “And where is Aloy? I would expect grave news such as this to be delivered by her own lips.”

Erend stepped up beside Kotallo, arms crossed, voice casual but certain. “Don’t worry, Chief. She’s bringing the cavalry.”

That drew a few confused murmurs from the back.

Hekarro sat back, his expression unreadable, but not dismissive. “Then we prepare. You’ve arrived in time—barely. The Grove will not fall today.”

—---------------------------------------

While the rest of the group busied themselves with planning—voices raised, ideas clashing, energy sparking from every direction—Alva found herself once again on the periphery. The Tenakth, for all their warrior pride and occasional attempts at civility, kept a quiet but consistent distance from her. They were never unkind, exactly—offering the occasional nod or strained attempt at conversation—but the unease lingered in their eyes, as if her presence disrupted some unspoken order.

So, she had retreated

 —-----------------------------------

Erend spotted Alva across the grove, standing still—too still—for someone surrounded by Old World holograms. Normally she’d be buzzing with energy, pointing out symbols, rattling off data, eyes gleaming with curiosity. But now she stood frozen, her shoulders tense, brow furrowed as flickering blue light danced across her face.

It was enough to make Erend pause mid-step. This was Ancestor tech. This was her thing . So why did she look like she’d just lost a friend?

Erend came to stand beside her and cleared his throat.

“So… what are these?” he asked, nodding toward the projections.

Alva didn’t look at him. Her voice was quiet. “You already know, Erend. These are from Aloy’s logs. The ones tied to the Hot Zone Crisis.”

Erend rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah. I remember. Just… never seen it like this.”

They both stared at the central hologram. A scorched desert landscape shimmered into view—windswept, dry, eerily silent. Dust storms roiled in the distance. Then came the soldiers, boots stomping in rhythmic unison, weapons raised. They moved with purpose—through sand and smoke, carving paths through what could only be described as chaos.

“The Hot Zone Crisis,” Alva murmured. “One of the first major fractures in the Old World—decades before the Faro Plague.”

Erend glanced sideways at her. 

“By the 2030s,” she continued, “the world’s climate had already collapsed in some places. Nevada became a death zone—too hot, too dry, too toxic. They called it a ‘Hot Zone.’ Not because of war, but because it was uninhabitable. The government issued Executive Order 73-H. Evacuate all surrounding areas. Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Phoenix… gone.”

The image shifted. Tents now. Scrap-made barricades. Children crouched beneath tarps while armed civilians kept watch. Makeshift flags flapped in digital wind.

“But people stayed. They wouldn’t leave their homes. And then came the Ten,” she said, her voice softening. “Joint Task Force Ten,” Alva said, reverently. “Soldiers who disobeyed evacuation orders to defend the people. Their commander—Colonel Edward De La Hoya—refused to stand down.”

Erend raised an eyebrow smirking. “They went AWOL for civilians?”

“Yes.” Alva nodded. “But it wasn’t just about compassion. A corporate group—Rare Earth—had investments in the region. Their leader, Roberto Medina, didn’t want the evacuation interfering with his mining operations. He backed the resistance—used them to keep extraction sites open while selling the illusion of heroism.”

The projection glitched. A moment’s static. 

“The government responded with force. Automated drones. Machine armies against human defenders. The Hot Zone became a battlefield. And when the Battle of the Mojave happened…”

Erend winced as he now looked at the hologram 

“A fission-level explosion. Nine hundred dead. Most of the Ten. All of the refugees. Nothing left but ash and silence.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The grove around them buzzed faintly, the hum of failing power beneath their boots.

“So much for the noble Old Ones,” Erend muttered.

Alva’s eyes stayed locked on the projection.

“This wasn’t just a battle. It was a betrayal. A warning. The Old World turned its weapons on its own people. Technology meant to protect became the executioner.”

Then her voice shifted. Warmer. Steady.

“But still… the Ten stood their ground. That’s why the Tenakth honor them—not for victory, but for defiance. For choosing people over power. Even if it cost them everything.”

Erend smiled faintly. That spark in her tone—it was a relief to hear.

Now it was safe “You’re being shelly again.”

Alva groaned. “Erend, please stop using that word.”

He shrugged. “C’mon. You get all shelled up and quote things dramatically. It fits.”

She rolled her eyes. Then gestured subtly toward the surrounding camp. Erend followed her motion. The Tenakth were keeping their distance. Not openly hostile—just… politely avoiding her. 

Erend blinked, then gave her a look. 

Alva didn’t answer, but the tightness in her expression was enough.

“What’s wrong with them?” he muttered. “You’re the most non-lethal person in this entire valley. And you’re, like, this tall.” He held a hand low, earning the ghost of a smile from her.

Erend looked back at the hologram, then at her again. He cleared his throat.

“You know what? Forget them. You’re coming with me. I’m helping reinforce the lower ridges—just in case we get Rockbreaker trouble.”

Alva eyed the worksite, where Tenakth were hauling massive beams and stone blocks.

“Erend… I have noodle arms. I’d be a walking hazard. I could drop a plank and break someone’s toe. Possibly my own.”

He smirked. “Did I mention it’s right next to that massive server bunk you’ve been eyeing since you discovered where Aloy found Aether?”

She lit up instantly.

“Why didn’t you say that before?!”

She was already turning toward the path.

Erend watched her go, then gave himself a satisfied nod and a firm pat on the back.

“Still got it.”

—-------------------

"I was wondering where you'd gone."

Kotallo’s voice cut through the quiet, pulling Zo from her focused tapping at the interface panel.

Startled, she blinked and turned toward him. "I’m sorry for worrying you," she said, powering down the screen with a sigh.

Kotallo stepped inside the chamber, his expression calm but curious at the panel. He didn’t press her with questions, and Zo appreciated that.

"There’s no need to apologize," he said evenly. "I came because of the ‘911 emergency’ message Erend sent out."

Zo raised an eyebrow, her fingers flying over the panel again. "Erend sent a 911 message?"

A quick check of her inbox confirmed it. Sure enough, a hastily flagged alert: “URGENT. 911.”

She frowned. "What’s happening? Is it Regalla? Early movement?"

Kotallo shook his head. "I don’t know. That’s why I came looking for you. You know how things go—when Aloy and Varl vanish off, you’re next in line."

Zo gave him a pointed look. "Since when did I agree to that ?"

He tilted his head, almost amused. "Because you have the longest patience of us all."

She narrowed her eyes, catching on. "Ahh… so you didn’t want to deal with Erend yourself."

Kotallo nodded without hesitation. "Precisely."

Zo sighed, standing up. “Let’s head out, Erend doesn’t send 911 for nothing”

“That is true”

Suddenly, the heavy thud of boots echoed down the corridor.

Zo and Kotallo exchanged a glance.

"That sound can only belong to one person," Zo muttered.

Right on cue, Erend appeared, a little breathless and very annoyed.

"Has it ever occurred to you that your timing is almost supernatural?" Kotallo asked dryly.

"Would’ve been nice if it worked like that when my sister was getting tortured and then killed," Erend snapped, marching toward them without missing a beat.

Zo raised a brow. "Dead sister sarcasm. That’s… serious."

"Very serious," Erend said grimly, pointing past them. "Look down."

Zo and Kotallo moved to the edge of the platform and surveyed the area below. A dozen Tenakth moved about, some carrying supplies, others keeping watch. Nothing unusual—until they spotted the group near the deck. Huddled close, quiet, just a few strides from where Alva stood alone, her back turned.

"Those Tenakth," Erend said. "See the ones clustered together? Not doing much. Just... watching her."

Zo narrowed her eyes. "Infiltrators?"

"Possibly," Kotallo said, hand drifting toward his weapon as he took in their subtle gestures—tight grips on their spears, tense stances.

They were seconds away from moving when Erend leaned in and whispered:
"They’re talking bad about Alva."

Kotallo froze. "...What?"

Erend nodded solemnly. "I caught them whispering—quiet, nasty little things. Suspicious eyes, dismissive tone. Like the snakes in the Sun Court back in Meridian. They’re wary of her. Real wary."

Zo gave him a flat look. "Erend, we were about to jump in spears drawn. You could’ve led with that."

Kotallo exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You had us thinking they were traitors."

Erend blinked. "What? I figured you —" he jabbed a thumb at Kotallo, "—would recognize your own people, Tenakth."

Kotallo’s sigh this time was deep, long-suffering, and utterly exhausted. "Erend…"

"Hey," Erend said, holding up a hand, "I’m just saying"

Zo pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh, eyes crinkling with amusement. Kotallo simply shook his head and muttered something in low Tenakth that definitely wasn’t complimentary.

Zo composed herself. “It’s nice to see you in a not-depressing mood, Erend. But… why exactly did you send out a 911 emergency?”

Erend crossed his arms and answered flatly, “The Tenakth are talking trash about Alva.”

Zo blinked. “I don’t mean to sound dismissive, Erend, but... that’s it?”

“This is super serious,” he insisted, jabbing a finger toward the deck. “Team spirit!”

“Perhaps,” Kotallo said thoughtfully, “My clan is wary of her. She is a Seeker of holograms—words and data. They value strength, battle. She may be better received after speaking with the Chaplains.”

Erend squinted at him. “So what you’re saying is… this is a classic nerd and jock situation?”

Kotallo frowned. “A… what?”

Zo burst into a laugh. “Kotallo, you really should’ve joined us for Mean Girls night.”

“Not my fault,” he said coolly. “I was summoned for urgent clan matters.”

“We’re rewatching it,” Erend said, turning to Zo, who nodded solemnly in agreement.

Erend leaned back on his heels. “Anyway—back on topic. These Chaplains, Kotallo. Are they wise, elder-looking folks? Maybe a little beardy? Intimidating in a ‘spiritual’ way?”

Kotallo gave him a flat look. “That is a crude way to describe them… but yes, generally.”

“Right,” Erend said, his voice dropping. “Well, even they’ve been giving Alva the cold shoulder.”

Kotallo blinked. “That’s… impossible. The Chaplains are the stewards of vision and interpretation. If anyone would embrace her, it would be them.”

“Yeah, well,” Erend said, tilting his head, “Turns out they’re not big on it.”

Zo stepped away from the conversation and turned her gaze back to the deck below. Her amusement faded as her brow furrowed.

Down by the supply crates, Alva was handing a fallen spear to a Sky Clan warrior. The Tenakth took it like she’d just passed him a burning coal—clenched jaw, no eye contact, and no word of thanks. He turned and walked off, leaving Alva blinking after him, still holding the empty air where the spear had been.

Zo’s arms folded slowly.

“Okay,” Zo said quietly, her eyes still following the scene below. “Maybe this is serious.”

Erend threw his hands in the air, half in triumph, half in frustration. “See? This is like racism, right? Or maybe… tribism?” He paused, frowning in thought. “Yeah—tribism. That’s what this is. It’s a form of prejudice. Where people are judged, excluded, or treated unfairly based on their tribe or cultural group, not race or gender or anything personal. It’s like racism, but about identity—tribal affiliation, beliefs, customs. Stuff you didn’t choose, but people still use to box you in.”

There was a rare moment of silence as the words settled.

Kotallo turned to look at him, one brow raised. “…You surprise me again, Erend.”

“Hey,” Erend said, nudging him with an elbow.

Kotallo didn’t smile. In fact, his jaw tightened as he looked down at the deck again. His voice, when it came, was low. “My people pride themselves on strength. Endurance. Honor. But this? Whispering behind someone’s back? Avoiding a comrade because she reads from machines instead of sparring with blades?” He exhaled through his nose, sharp and frustrated. “That’s not strength. That’s fear in disguise.”

“So what do we do?” Erend asked, his voice quieter now. “Tell ‘em to shape up? Make a speech? Challenge ‘em?”

Kotallo’s expression didn’t shift, but his eyes flicked toward Erend. “They wouldn’t listen to you.”

“Rude.”

“They wouldn’t listen to me , either,” Kotallo added, voice heavier. “Not on this. I may be of the Sky Clan, but Alva is still an outsider to them. A scholar among warriors. And the more we try to defend her, the more they’ll resent her.”

Zo sighed, rubbing her temples as the tension between them thickened like fog. “Maybe,” she said softly, “instead of jumping in ourselves and making it worse, we should speak to someone who can actually shift the conversation. I mean, come on—this has to be some sort of misunderstanding.”

Kotallo gave a solemn nod. Erend exhaled like he’d been holding back a storm.

“A misunderstanding that smells a lot like fear to me,” he muttered, but followed anyway as Zo turned and began walking toward the nearest cluster of tents near the cliff's edge. The pale sunlight caught in her braids as the wind stirred. The two men kept pace behind her.

Before long, they found Dekka—Chaplain of the Lowlands—near a gathering of young Tenakth warriors practicing form strikes with blunt spears. The Chaplain was speaking to them calmly, her voice carrying a quiet authority that made even the most impulsive among them listen.

Zo offered a respectful nod as they approached. “Chaplain Dekka.”

The older woman turned from where she’d been overseeing a group of young warriors. Her weathered face lit up in a warm, knowing smile. “Zo. Kotallo. And... Erend, yes? The hammer-swinging one.”

Erend gave a lopsided grin. “Guilty as charged.”

Dekka chuckled, folding her arms. “Thank you for aiding the preparations. With the winds shifting and the days growing tense, every hand makes a difference.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Zo said, gesturing between them. “An ally of Aloy’s is an ally of ours.”

Dekka nodded, her eyes briefly scanning the horizon. “A loyal squad. Aloy is fortunate to have you.”

Zo hesitated, then stepped forward, her tone shifting slightly. “We wanted to properly introduce ourselves. There's one more among us—Alva. She's somewhere nearby.”

Dekka’s expression didn’t fade, but it changed—becoming distant, measured. “Yes... the one from across the sea. I almost didn’t believe it when I heard.”

Zo nodded. “Understandable. A tribe sailing that far? Even in a small group, the odds of survival alone are slim. But they made it. Somehow.” She paused, then gently pressed, “What else do you think of her?”

Behind her, Kotallo leaned toward Erend with a whisper. “Smooth.”

Erend smirked. “Very.”

Dekka’s eyes narrowed—not with suspicion, but with something more reflective. “She is brilliant,” she said. “Alarmingly so.”

The elder turned her gaze toward the grove, where flickers of light from active holos danced in the trees like distant stars.

“I saw her studying one of the visions,” Dekka continued. “She didn’t just look at it—she read it. The same way a war-chief reads a battlefield. Her eyes tracked the lines, the patterns, as if she already knew what it was saying. Within hours, she understood the lay of the grove, the resources, the strategy behind the ruins. Warriors spend weeks learning that. And she—” she exhaled slowly, “—carried it like breath.”

She looked back to them. “And then there’s the blade.”

“The one she handed back to that Sky Clan scout?” Erend asked.

Dekka nodded. “That weapon is forged heavy, and she picked it up. Like she’s done it a hundred times. The boy she handed it to? Flinched like it burned. Didn’t even say thank you.”

Zo's brow furrowed as the pieces began to slot into place. “So… you're afraid of her.”

Dekka didn’t blink. “Yes.”

The admission landed like a stone. Silence stretched for a moment, taut and complicated.

Erend shifted his weight. “You’re not afraid she’ll hurt anyone, though. Right?”

Dekka looked at him with ancient eyes. “Her people have killed many —and efficiently.”

Zo opened her mouth, then stopped herself—partly out of respect, partly because she and the others were using every bit of restraint not to laugh.

Of course Alva didn’t flinch at the Tenakth weapon. she’d been hauling Oseram steel since the day she arrived. And of course she grasped the grove’s layout and the visions' meanings— they'd all been studying those holo-recordings together back at base. Alva just retained it like a sponge and recalled it. 

Zo composed herself “She is a very good person, would not harm a fly” 

The chaplain nods and says “we will see”

The group makes their excuse and beelines to Alva

—---------------------------------

Alva was a scholar. A seeker of truth. A rational, composed, professional mind trained to unlock the mysteries of the Old World.

She did not pout.

...Until today.

Because today, the Tenakth had apparently decided that she was not just an outsider, but a terrifying outsider. They flinched when she passed, muttered under their breath, and one had even dropped his bowl of food when she asked if he knew the diameter of the Grove’s central support column.

“Rude,” she muttered, adjusting the satchel she wore like a badge of honor and burden. “I just wanted to share my map overlay…”

Then, like a miracle, she spotted them—Zo, Kotallo, and Erend, coming straight toward her. Her eyes lit up.

“Guys—”

She was immediately intercepted.

Zo grabbed her by the arm with surgical precision, Erend slipped in behind like a sneaky bodyguard, and Kotallo wordlessly flanked her. Together, they moved her away from the watchful stares like a coordinated extraction team.

“Did I miss something?” Alva asked as they ducked into the shade of one of the Grove’s alcoves.

Erend grinned. “Not something, Alva. You missed the part where half the Tenakth now think you're a walking, talking killbot wrapped in silk.”

Alva blinked. “What?! I am not—! I won’t do that. I don’t even own a killbot, nor did I discover it’s meaning till 3 weeks ago, thank you very much.”

Zo tried not to laugh. “They’re not used to someone who can read their visions for the “first” time and also carry a blade longer than their arm.”

“I carry the blade for practical reasons! And because you guys told me to get a better one!” Alva protested. “There are wild machines you said that Kotallo, and vines! jungle vines, Terrifying! You said that Zo”

Suddenly Alva realized something like a splash of cold water “ Also —I do not claim all the killings of my clan. That wasn’t me! I didn’t sign off on the massacres! I didn’t know they were even doing some of it!”

That was it. Erend snorted so hard he nearly doubled over.

Kotallo tried to keep a straight face. Failed.

Zo was already gone, laughing into her scarf.

Alva narrowed her eyes. “I’m serious! I have proof timetables that I was inside ancient ruins when it happened—”

“Your Quen , ” Zo giggled.

“Still does not count!” Alva declared with indignant pride. “Besides, I was raised in a library, the most dangerous weapon I wielded was a scroll with a papercut. Then the “usuitable knife” I carried on my voyage”

“Alva,” Kotallo said solemnly, his expression deadpan. “They fear your brain.”

“ What? ”

“It’s true,” Zo added, wiping her eyes. “You walked into the Grove, looked at one hologram, and immediately started suggesting terrain-based advantages. Then you casually lifted a Sky Clan blade and handed it back like it was a breadstick.”

Alva raised her arms, exasperated. “Again! Practical reasons! I’ve been carrying Oseram steel for a while now—I barely notice the weight! And also, WE ALL know about the visions in the grove! We studied that together! Again I don’t claim all my clan’s killings!”

Erend wheezed, grabbing a wall for support. “You’ve said that three times now, Alva!”

“Because it’s important! ” she huffed. “I do not want to be held responsible for the sins of imperial expansion!”

“Don’t worry,” Kotallo said dryly. “We’ll carve that on your gravestone.”

“ That’s not funny! ”

“‘Here lies Alva,’” Erend gasped between fits of laughter. “‘Scholar, adventurer, not responsible for mass slaughter.’”

Zo added, “ Mostly not. ”

“I take back every map I was going to show you,” Alva muttered, crossing her arms.

“Oh come on,” Erend said, grinning. “We’re only teasing because we love you.”

Alva softened, just a little. “Really?”

Kotallo nodded. “And also because you're funnier when you're morally panicking.”

Zo laughed again, hooking an arm around Alva’s shoulder. “Now, what was that amazing discovery you were about to tell us before your emergency extraction?”

“Oh!” Alva’s eyes lit up again, just like that. “There’s a sealed conduit chamber beneath the Grove, and I think—based on the resonance patterns—I may have found the entry point to a defensive system from the Hot Zone Crisis era! And I swear, it has nothing to do with warfare... except maybe a little bit. For defense! Just defense!”

The three of them started walking, Alva animatedly gesturing as she rattled off technical terms and theories, her earlier fluster already fading.

Erend smirks. “Now lead the way, killbot”

Alva groaned. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

—------------

Varl took a deep breath, slow and steady, as if the air itself might lend him strength. The sterile scent of antiseptics and cold metal clung to the artificial atmosphere around him. The med-bay was silent, save for the soft mechanical hum of the ever-watchful medical drone parked in the corner — its blinking red eye monitoring him with quiet menace.

He glanced at the ceiling: pale, spotless, white. Everything in this place was too clean, too still. It felt less like a place for healing and more like a cage that smiled at you.

Gritting his teeth, Varl slid one hand across the silky smooth surface of the medical bed. His fingertips grazed a sharp edge on a seam, a rare imperfection in this fortress of design — it grounded him. He moved slowly, testing each part of his body like it belonged to someone else. Pain flared across his ribs, raw and stubborn, a sharp reminder of the last fight — the one he didn’t win.

“It may not look like much,” he muttered to no one, “but this is a battlefield.”

The sheets slid off as he pulled his legs over the edge. Muscles screamed in protest, a twinge in his side caused his breath to hitch. He blinked back the light-headedness. His bare feet met the cold floor — smooth, polished, unwelcoming.

One hand clutched the edge of the bed, the other braced on his knee. His arms shook, sweat already beading along his brow. For all the warriors he’d stood beside, for all the battles he’d charged into without hesitation — this felt different. Here, there was no enemy to see. No blade to block. Just this invisible weight pressing down on him, daring him to rise.

Inch by inch, he pushed. His knees trembled as he rose into a crouch, chest tight with the strain of movement. A flare of heat burst across his stitches, followed by a hot trickle — the bandages pulling apart.

The drone stirred, letting out a polite chime that might as well have been a warning.

“I’m fine,” he grunted.

He wasn’t.

The room wobbled. He steadied himself against the wall, heart pounding like war drums in his ears. He took a step — one step — and the world lurched sideways.

“Stubborn,” came a voice behind him.

Varl turned, barely.

Tilda stood at the door, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Her silhouette was framed by the light like a porcelain statue: elegant, clinical, untouchable.

“You always wait until I’m at my weakest, don’t you?” he rasped.

She offered a small, cool smile — the kind that never reached her eyes. “That’s when the mask slips. When people show who they really are.”

Varl forced himself straighter, even as his legs threatened to fold. “Then watch closely. You might learn something.”

“You’re bleeding,” she noted casually.

“Still standing,” he replied.

“For now,” she said. She tapped a panel by the wall. Behind him, the drone reawakened, its needles gleaming under the lights.

Varl barely had time to curse before something hissed in the air. A sharp sting kissed his neck — cold, then fire — and his legs gave way. He collapsed into the waiting arms of the drone.

Tilda stepped forward, her heels echoing softly as she approached his fading vision. She crouched next to him, her voice almost gentle.

She leaned in “You play strong, Varl. Noble. Defiant. Keep this up and you’ll die, for real this time” 

Darkness closed around him like a velvet curtain. His last thought, bitter and stubborn, was that he would try again — and next time, he'd get further.

Chapter Text

Yes, I’m Alive (Barely). No, the Story’s Not Dead.

Hi everyone! Let’s clear this up right away:
No, I’m not quitting writing.
No, the AO3 curse didn’t get me (I dodged that hex like a pro).
The real villain? My island’s power grid, apparently held together by duct tape and good intentions.

We’ve been blessed (read: cursed) with the most chaotic power schedule known to humankind. Just look at this madness:

⚡ ON: 1 AM – 3 AM

❌ OFF: 4 AM – 8 AM

⚡ ON: 9 AM – 10 AM

❌ OFF: 11 AM – 7 PM

⚡ ON: 8 PM – 9 PM

❌ OFF: 10 PM – 12 AM

And that’s a good day. Sometimes it’s just… darkness. All. Day. Long.

At first, we all laughed it off — “Oh haha, this’ll pass in a few days.”
Spoiler alert: it did not. It’s been weeks. Shops are closing, transport’s a joke, routines are nonexistent, and honestly, I’ve started to forget what cold water and fully charged devices feel like. Mind you I live in a TROPICAL ISLAND on a country known to be the "RING OF FIRE", so that means I have been melting my ass off

And get this — the official explanation?
"A lizard died on the generator."
A LIZARD. I didn’t realize a single reptile could hold an entire island’s sanity hostage.

That said, I am still writing — when I can, in the small pockets of electricity and willpower I have left. Thank you so much for your patience and for sticking with me through this wild ride. Updates are coming — just as soon as the power gods grant me mercy.