Chapter Text
"I don't care what all-mother wants!" Aloy howled, throwing herself onto her bed, burying her head deep into the furs draped over the straw mattress.
"Aloy…" Rost gave a frustrated sigh and sat down at the end of her bed, his own head resting heavily in his hands.
"You just.. You just don't get it!" Sobbing, the young Aloy pulled furs over her head, trying to block out the world for just a moment.
Of course he didn't get it. Rost had grown up with the Nora. Part of the Nora, all-mother, and all she stood for actually meant something to him. What use did Aloy have for a goddess and a people that didn't even want her? She cried herself to sleep that night, with Rost sitting quietly at the foot of her bed.
—
When she woke up in the middle of the night, it was with salty tears and snot dried to her face and a splitting headache pounding behind her eyes. Aloy rolled onto her back, trying to rub the worst off the grime off her face with her arm as she snivelled. She and Rost were always fighting these days. They were either training or fighting, and it wasn't rare that both happened at the same time, or her training ended in a fight. It was usually the same few arguments with small variations over and over: that Aloy should be proud to be Nora and follow their traditions, that all-mother knows best, to be patient, to listen, to stop asking so many questions, to be better .
She slipped out of bed, avoiding the creakiest of the planks in their cabin so as to not wake Rost, and tip-toed over to the water barrel by the door to have a drink and ease her headache. Aloy filled a pitcher and grabbed a cup, before carefully opened the door to sit outside on the steps up to the cabin.
You couldn't see mothers heart directly from their cabin, but on a clear night, you could see the bonfires they kept lit near the gates.
She took a sip of water.
She would always be a half thing Aloy thought, Nora and not Nora. Even if she passed the proving, even if she won the proving. The handful of direct contact she'd had with the tribe told her that. She'd asked Rost once, when she was much younger - were there other children outcasts? That she could play with? He had looked so sad when she asked him, and he had no answers for her when she cried over being friendless and lonely. He had presented her with a doll a few days later - a lumpy little Nora brave with uneven eyes and a crooked line for a smile, made out of soft leather and black goats wool for hair. 'Maybe this can be your friend,' he had said softly. 'Until you're part of the tribe.' Aloy wasn't ashamed to say that the doll still slept with her in her bed. It was a small comfort, if one that had grown bittersweet over time, knowing her only friend was nothing more than an object. Nobody would ever love her in a world where she was half made, motherless, fatherless, and alone.
She used the last of the water to wash her face of the last residues of her meltdown and sniffed, trying to clear her nose. The night was cool, with a clear sky letting the day's warmth escape. But winter had left the worst of the chill behind, and the trees had started turning green, hints of life poked up through the dead grass and brush. She weighed her options, considering for the first time that maybe there were options. She didn’t need to look inside to feel the presence of Rost sleeping inside, although the soft snores helped.
He cared for her; Aloy knew that. And he was training her well. Maybe some time apart would help clear both their minds. She could use what he had already taught her and maybe learn something on her own. At the very least, it would clear her head of the rage that seemed to always be spilling over. She could always come back; it wasn't like he would ever leave the embrace.
The embrace. Aloy stood up and walked a few feet closer to the edge of their plot, peering into the night. The embrace, the heart of the sacred lands… but not all of it. She chewed her lip, tugging at fingers; Rost would be so mad at her if she crossed into the hunting grounds. He had been on edge lately, limiting their training more and more to the areas closest to their home. She had asked to train on one of the more challenging brave trails just the other week near the southern gate, and he had been furious when she didn't listen to his no. He muttered about the machines being more dangerous, insubordination, always looking north with a furrowed brow. Like usual, he never elaborated, never gave her more than the bare minimum. Yes, if she were to gain any independence, any control over her own life, she would leave the embrace for the hunting grounds outside of the embrace. It didn’t hurt that it would vex Rost terribly.
It wasn't hard to sneak back into the hut and pack a small bag; there wasn't much she needed. Her small firestarter set, a knife, a bedroll, and a pot to cook water in was really all she needed other than her bow and arrows and her spear. She tied it all together in a neat pack and slipped back outside with a lingering glance at Rost. He would understand - wouldn't he? He snorted in his sleep and shifted slightly and Aloys resolve hardened. If he didn't understand, it wasn't like he was her father.
—-
Like most things, leaving the embrace was both easier and more challenging than expected. There were more Braves by the gates than Aloy had expected, but the ones awake and on watch all looked north. They were clearly uninterested in any Nora wanting to leave the sacred lands, concerned only with whatever danger lurked in the outside. It gave her pause naturally. Was it really so much more dangerous outside the embrace? She shifted her pack and tapped her focus to scan the immediate area.
Nothing.
The Braves were looking at nothing, a few nocturnal rodents scurried in the brush, and an owl hooted in the distance. Nothing of consequence.
All that was required to leave was to find an unmanned section of the border of the embrace, which Aloy found just north of the northern gate. A little dip in the rock meant she could slide down easily and creep into the high brush without being spotted by the Braves who looked at nothing. It would be harder if not impossible to climb back up the same way, but that was a battle for another day.
She moved slowly until she was satisfied that no one had seen her and looked around at her surroundings. It would be dawn soon; the sky was just starting to lighten. The river babbled gently to her east, and if she squinted to the north… were those ruins from the old ones? Her mouth dropped in wonder, excited suddenly. She had long since scoured the ruins she had fallen into as a child, learning every secret she could, relistening to the unsettling last accounts of those who had killed themselves in the ruins. She had wondered often what it would take for a whole group of people to kill themselves, all at once. What horrors they were facing.
But no, no, there wasn't time yet to wander and explore ruins. Aloy did have some self-discipline after growing up with Rost. She had to find a good place to camp first and some breakfast. The hills on the other side of the river seemed promising, affording some height over the valley while still being near the river. Aloy headed northeast; hopefully, she could find a nice little grove of trees to give her some privacy. She hummed softly to herself, crossing the river carefully so as not to slip and soak her boots, hopping from stone to stone. One of a few melodies that she often heard Rost humming to himself on quiet afternoons when he himself was lost in thought.
'Rost… do you ever miss being part of the tribe?'
Aloy had asked him on one such evening, with a storm howling outside and they huddled in front of the fire. He had been quick to answer, Yes, in such a wistful tone, barely present, deep in his thoughts and memories of a time before Aloy. It was a marvel he had even heard the question. And perhaps unfortunate he didn’t see Aloy’s face drop, tear up, and harden. It was the first time she truly acknowledged he wasn’t her father. He didn't want the life he had now, she understood. He didn't want the life he had with her.
—
It was easily done to catch a few squirrels on the other side of the river. Aloy usually would use snares and trap such small game, but she didn't want to lug a boar up the hill or have to pluck a bird for breakfast. The squirrels would be easy to clean and roast on a stick over a small fire.
It didn't take long to find a suitable campsite. As the sun broke over the hills, she could see the blue lights in the ruins and knew it best not to stray too far north. And soon she found a little copse near a stream that fed into the river. She dropped her pack, and set up collecting some sizable rocks to make a campfire, and wood to cook her breakfast. She made easy work of the both, skinning and cleaning the squirrels quickly, throwing the stomach and intestines into the fire, where they sputtered and smoked, but leaving the rest of the offal to cook inside, cooking in its own juices.
Aloy's mouth was watering when she took the first squirrel, gnawing delicately first on a hind leg, but quickly losing herself to the hunger that she hadn't noticed had crept up on her through her nighttime escapades, and the second squirrel quickly followed the first. Throwing the remains into the coals of her fire, Aloy stretched out, satisfied with her day so far. Reclining, with her pack as a pillow, she took in the small copse, mentally planning out the camp as she would like to set it up. A flat spot there, would do for a small shelter, a lean-to would do fine to start with once she had cleared the brush and stamped down the earth. Though she should build a small hut, just large enough to sleep before the winter came. She would need to have something to shield herself from the worst of the winter storms. Her eyes fluttered as she tried to suppress a yawn. But sleep won over her plans.
—
She woke to laughter.
Immediately, Aloy scrambled to her feet, stamped out the last of the embers, and dove into the meagre brush, her heartbeat drowning out the noise of the people. Her hand shook as she raised it to her focus, scanning quickly, and- there .
Three men were approaching, hidden behind the bend, following the mountain stream towards her little camp, and her breath stopped with fear. Who were they? Aloy couldn’t make out words or see them. But it seemed strange, there were no machines to hunt this high up the mountain, and the brush was too spotty to hold more than the smallest of game.
Dread overcame her. Two options, hide or flee. Her eyes darted around from juniper bushes Aloy squatted in. She didn’t know the terrain here, and they were closing in soon. She dropped to her stomach, tring to ignore the thorns pricking her flesh, and hoped the strangers would leave quickly. A prayer to all-mother that Rost favoured came to mind, but she stayed silent.
She saw their boots first.
No Braves wore boots like that. Metal hooks over leather straps. Red and metal.
Aloy’s heartbeat raced. Who were these strangers? Rost never spoke of anyone other than the Nora, and thoughts came fast and heavy, outpacing her heartbeat. How large was the embrace? The sacred lands? Only the Nora lived in the sacred lands, and if these weren’t Nora, they came from outside the sacred lands. How large were the lands outside of the Nora lands? And who lived there? And why had they come he-
She screams
A hand had grabbed a fistfull of her hair and yanked her out of her hiding spot, out of her thoughts.
Her thoughts become less coherent, overcome by instinct and fear, and Aloy doesn’t hear what her captors are saying as she shrieks, beating at the arms pulling on her hair. Her curiosity has been burned away by panic, not taking in anything as she is dragged from the bushes screaming. A flash of awareness pierces Aloy’s mind, and she grabs one of her knives and gouges . The grip on her loosens just enough for her to dart out of reach.
Aloy doesn’t think she’s ever run so fast, and her memory catches up as she thinks of her would be captors. What even were they, she’d never seen metal armour like that, faces half hidden- were those feathers instead of hair?
The stream turned north around a boulder, and Aloy had no choice but to come to a sudden halt. Five more of the feathered metal monsters stood in front of her, two kneeling down filling containers with water, all staring at her. Did they even have eyes, hidden behind those metal masks?
A moment's hesitation was her downfall.
Aloy turned heel to bravely run away, recognising a fight she couldn’t win. But not fast enough to evade the three chasing her, who tackled her to the ground. She screamed more. Clawed, bit, and kicked, but the men had her pinned down on ground, jerking her arms behind her back, one grabbing her knife and tossing it a safe distance away.
Someone lifted her up and started to drag her towards the rest of the group. Still screaming and writhing, she didn’t-couldn’t hear if they were saying anything. Her eyes fell upon movement by the trees, and her voice cracked. The men were laughing.
And suddenly there were shouts. The grip on her hair loosened, and she dropped, her head banging against the ground, no hands to break her fall, as she rolled over and struggled to her feet.
Rost had found her, and she sobbed in relief.
“Aloy, run!”
She saw Rost release another arrow before losing sight as she stumbled and fell hard, so off balance without the use of her arms. Aloy rolled over in time to see one of the foreign soldiers rush him with a dagger or sword, she couldn’t tell from the angle. She was screaming again, but Rost had dropped his bow in favour of a staff and the two men were fast engaged in trading blows, fists and weapons.
The staff snapped, and-
Oh.
Time, or the air seemed to slow, like thick syrup cooked from trees. She was on her feet again, and ran towards the man who had slumped to his knees. She somehow dodged under the arm of the soldier who marched towards her with nothing but irritation lining his mouth, pulled back in a snarl. She reached Rost, sobbing, stumbling, and falling to her own knees, “I can fix this- Rost, please, tell me how to fix this” Aloy whispered through sobs.
“Aloy…” came the soft response, and she could hear the bubbling of liquid as he breathed, ragged and shallow.
They were dragging her away screaming before she heard his last words.