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MERIDIAN, 3040
The battle was grueling, the stench of the aftermath nestling itself deep in Aloy’s nostrils. She helps carry the wounded over to tents set up inside what is left of the walls, helps staunch wounds and apply ointments.
None of it feels real but the pounding inside her head says, I’ve done it, I did it, it’s over – and if she smiles without anything in particular prompting it no one mentions it.
There’s blood on her hands and a tiredness like pure lead in her muscles and bones but her heart is filled with the warmest warmth and sunlight because it’s over. HADES is gone and there, in that bright flash when she used the Master Override, she saw Elisabet in an ethereal appearance. Like she’s watching over her.
Aloy finds herself humming under her breath by the time she’s sat down near a small stream with her gear, using a clay bowl to hold water and an old rag to wipe everything down. She’s been up into the city briefly, experienced the long stares and awed gazes before deciding to stay close to the Nora encampment instead.
Avad will want to speak with her soon, and Erend probably still has many things to say to her, but for now she’s avoiding both. Let the Vanguard deal with most of the mess, her instincts say. The wounded need her more than the squabbling rich, the people talking policies while the fields are still filled with debris.
She wipes down her boots, brushes the mud and dust from the leather and straps. The hymn is repeating itself in her head, making her hum the notes softly. It’s a Nora hymn because of course it is – one of the few Rost would sing to her when she was much, much younger. The words she’s long forgotten but the tune is still there, a gentle melody that wraps her in thoughts of a cherished past.
Footsteps alert her to a nearby presence and a cursory glance over her shoulder reveals Varl, his face breaking into a sheepish expression when he notices he’s been caught sneaking up on her.
“The song of rivers, huh?” he says, taking her raised brow as a cue to continue. “Where the weary rest, where Mother sees, our quiet plight, our faithful pleas.”
It’s oddly fitting, she supposes as she lets her eyes rest on the murmuring stream. She rinses the rag, twisting it to get rid of excess moisture, and takes a moment to look at Varl. His mood seems upbeat, his shoulders loose and relaxed – but he carries signs of the battle with him, too, scrapes on his hands and singed marks on the fabric and leather of his armor.
“I don’t remember it that well,” she ends up saying, emptying the clay bowl on the grass near the riverbed.
Varl crosses his arms lightly, resting his weight on one foot more than the other. “Suppose you never joined any of the Braves for a hunt.” His tone isn’t accusatory – if anything, she’d consider it to be almost wistful, in a way.
“Wasn’t given the chance,” she adds, knowing fully well Varl would be aware of that. He’s Sona’s son, after all.
He nods, scoring the dust of the path next to the stream, drawing circles with the tip of his boot. “Shame,” he says and isn’t able to meet her eyes quite yet until he seems to reach a conclusion. “We should hunt, you and I, as Braves – or Brave and Anointed –”
Aloy turns on the spot, groaning and mock-walking towards the edge of the stream. “I can’t hear you,” she says as she hears him laugh behind her. “I’m going to drown myself so I can’t hear you.”
“Best of luck with that shallow water!” Varl calls after her, and her mouth splits into a grin.
Shaking her head she returns to where he’s standing, spinning the clay bowl in her hands. “You want to hunt,” she says, slowly, “with me. I’m – not a pack hunter. There are other Braves here. Why?”
He’s quiet for a moment, looking at her with calm eyes. “You fight like no one I’ve ever seen – beating back Corruption as though it should be afraid of you instead, and you fight – with knowledge of these things, these machines, beyond what any of the Braves know. Beyond the knowledge of the Matriarchs.
“I’ve wanted to talk to you for a long time but I was afraid, and then we had to fight – but now… the dust is settling, and we are both still here. I was hoping you would share what you’ve learned with me, now.”
Her heart thuds at the prospect of telling someone her story – the horrors she’s learned of, the history she’s found deep in the ruins of the Old Ones. Her birth, GAIA, Elisabet – the truths she’s come to accept. She’s been alone for so much of it – and Sylens can hardly be called good company when all he does is complain about her methods and then disappear, only returning when something needs to be done that favors him.
“Or – or we could – hunt,” Varl stammers, mistaking her silence for disapproval.
“Tomorrow,” she says. “Sundown. Meet me at the northern bridge.”
---
She half expects him not to show up at all, but he’s there, waiting for her arrival. His eyes flash with relief when he sees her.
They head down the north eastern path, wary of Snapmaws and Broadheads, but the land is quiet – peaceful. Aloy takes lead without realizing it at first and Varl follows, silent, faithful. Her initial plan is to hunt for boars, but Varl’s words have repeated themselves over and over in her head. He wants to know. She could tell him, and he’d be grateful to listen.
But where should she start?
Her thoughts steal her patience, making her take them from one hiding spot to another, never resting long enough for animals to return or pass nearby. She knows Rost would chastise her – can hear his words in her ears – but Varl doesn’t say anything.
They end up taking a path back up the cliff sides where Aloy goes to the edge and sits down, dangling her legs over the steep drop. It takes a little longer – and some silent coaching, some patting of the sand next to her – before Varl sits down, too.
“What if,” she starts, noticing how Varl perks up immediately, “I told you… the Old Ones created all the machines.”
She leaves it at that in favor of watching Varl’s reaction closely – how his eyes widen as he seems to think about what she just said. There’s a second where she imagines how he’ll refuse to believe what she’s saying, how he’ll call her a liar and leave, but Varl doesn’t do any of those things. Instead he slowly nods his head.
“I’m not sure if I can understand how, but…” He pauses, his eyes moving from the fall of the land to meet hers. “How… did they create all the machines? Did – did All-Mother teach them how to do it?”
“Umh, no.” Aloy rubs a hand along the back of her neck, fingers automatically searching for tender spots. “They umh… the whole story of how they were exiled after they tried to get the Nora to join them outside the Sacred Land? None of that is true because they died.”
“After creating the machines?”
“No,” Aloy says. “I mean, yes, they did – after creating some of the machines, but the Nora and the Old Ones – they never lived during the same time. None of your ancestors have ever met an Old One in person.”
“But…”
Aloy shakes her head. “Not one of them. The Old Ones were dead for hundreds of years before the first Nora ever set foot on the Sacred Land.”
“But that means…”
“That the machines were here long before the Nora? Yeah. And speaking of – the Metal Devil? The Old Ones made those too, and there’s at least a thousand of them out there.”
Varl’s eyes widen significantly at that. “Alive?” he chokes out, and Aloy quickly shakes her head again. “A thousand?” he says next, and she nods. “Why would they make them?”
This time she can only shrug. “Not all of the Old Ones did,” she says. “From what I’ve found, I believe only a few Old Ones actually made machines, and even fewer made the Metal Devils. Did you know the Metal Devils were here first, before all the other machines?” Of course not – every word she’s saying must be blasphemous enough to be made an outcast for life. “Those few Old Ones made the Metal Devils, the Corruptors, and the Deathbringers, and then those machines killed all of the Old Ones.”
Varl is silent for much longer this time, his thumbs hooking under the machine cables wrapped around his wrists. “All-Mother punished them,” he says quietly, and Aloy wants to groan, wants to hide her face in her hands and muffle the yells of frustration behind them, but she holds everything in.
He’s trying to understand, and she’s had so much more time to come to terms with all she’s learned.
“She didn’t… exactly…” Aloy sighs. “The Old Ones made a mistake while making the machines and they turned against them, but there were other Old Ones, good people, and they found a way to defeat the Metal Devils and their brood.”
There’s a frown on Varl’s face. “But you said they all died.”
“They did.”
Somehow it feels harder to talk about it all the closer they get to the truth of Project Zero Dawn. As much as Varl needs to process everything at his own pace, Aloy finds that she needs more time, too. Everything is still so raw – and there are things she needs to do, for herself, to get a sense of closure.
Next to her, Varl makes a whistling sound before turning back to her. “That’s rough, Aloy.”
“Mm?”
“For you, to have found all this knowledge alone. How long have you been carrying this around with you?”
She tries to count back the moons, but gives up when days start to blend together. “A while,” she says instead. “I would find small pieces here and there, messages left in the ruins, and then it… became a song. A history. Forgotten by everyone.”
“Not everyone,” Varl says. “Not anymore – you’ve found their story. You can share it. You are sharing it, making their voices heard once more.”
There’s that warmth again, that soft light deep inside of her. She hums, swinging her legs back and forth once. Maybe Elisabet, where ever she is – if she’s still out there, – would be proud of her. Maybe Rost would have been, too.
Varl coughs once, clearing his throat. “So the uh, the Old Ones – they weren’t… faithless? Or tainted?”
She pauses. “I don’t think so? Some of them? Not all of them.”
“And the Nora never cast them out, because they were already, um. Dead.”
“Yeah.”
“So… who are the Carja, then? If they’re not – from the Old Ones?”
Oh.
A grin creeps up on her, makes her trap her lower lip between her teeth. She glances over at Varl – sees the genuine confusion in his eyes – and chuckles. “Oh, I found something,” she says. “The Carja’s ancestors weren’t Old Ones. They were – wait, I want you to guess first.”
“I – I don’t know –”
“Guess.”
Varl shakes his head while making a helpless gesture with one hand. “Machines?”
Ohhhh. He’s so close to the truth and yet so far from it.
Aloy snickers. “Nora.”
The face Varl makes is something she wishes she could capture as a holo-image, to look at it from time to time, because it’s the most wonderful and bizarre mix of disgust, bafflement, and distrust.
“You lie,” he says, nose wrinkling. “The Carja Faithless couldn’t have – they’re not –”
“Of all the things I tell you, this is where you start doubting me?”
“It’s the Carja!”
She points her finger at him. “I have proof. Sort of. Their first Sun-King was cast out of the Sacred Land for searching the ruins and finding the Old Ones’ writings. I think. Araman and a bunch of other Nora left and founded Meridian.”
Varl doesn’t seem to have any coherent words left in reply at the moment, sputtering and frowning at Aloy as she scoots away from the ledge and rises to her feet. “How?” he stammers. “When? Aloy – wait!”
Shrugging, Aloy turns her back on him, setting course for the quarry north of Meridian. “Ask the Nora – or your mother!” she calls over her shoulder.
---
A week passes. The wounded slowly heal, the uninjured working hard on rebuilding Meridian’s defenses. Aloy brings back meat from her hunts, sometimes asking the workers what they need – if there are any essential parts she can gather for them – before disappearing into the wilds again.
Erend only manages to corner her once, asking for details of the battle. What she remembers, what she saw through her Focus. She can tell it’s really Avad who wants to know these things, and she answers the questions with terse words. An Oseram arrives with a more urgent request for Erend, and Aloy makes use of the distraction to slip away.
She holds a Snapmaw lens in her hands before the day is done, dropping it off at the worker’s station after dark.
Aloy hesitates, but then she sets out to find Teb. He’s still up, working hard to fulfill his task as Nora ambassador, poring over scrolls that entail requests from both tribes. His face lights up when he sees her enter his tent.
“You look well!” he says after greeting her, and Aloy endures his inspections of her armor with quiet mirth. “Let me know when you need repairs. I – I’m busy, but I’ll make time for that, always!”
“I’ll stop by,” she says, and actually considers doing so in the future. For now she asks if she can leave him a message. “For Varl. To meet me in Brightmarket three days from now. High noon. I’ll be at the water’s edge. Don’t tell anyone else, alright?”
The other Nora would no doubt disapprove – to venture further into these tainted lands – but Teb isn’t like them. He nods, understanding without the judgment most Nora would hold for her. “Be safe!” he says, and she gives him a smile before she leaves.
---
Time passes quickly until it slows to an unbearable crawl. The sun has barely grazed the rooftops of Brightmarket when Aloy gets there. She tries to take her time bargaining wares with the merchants, taking note of their stock and offering to supply some of them with machine parts after her next hunt.
She finds the sun hardly moved from its place in the sky when she’s done. With nothing else to do Aloy makes her way to the inn, resigned to staring at drunken travelers until it’s time to meet up with Varl – if he’ll even be there to see her.
Maybe after their talk, he’s decided to stick to the Nora ways. Maybe he considers the risk of leaving the encampment too great a price in order to come see her. It’d be hard to blame him, given the strict rules. Asking him to come to Brightmarket is a test, of sorts. A trial.
There’s so much Aloy has had to give up on while learning more about the Old Ones. Every word of faith and religion Rost had given her turned out to be completely different when faced with history – and she was never as devout as he was in the first place.
It made her wonder; how far is Varl willing to go?
A heavy hand settles on her shoulder. She twists around, ready to meet whoever touched her with a fist when she’s greeted with a joyful, ‘Aloy!’ and Varl’s wide grin.
“You’re here!” she cries out, and in a spur of the moment decision wraps her arms around him, then separates from the embrace to hold him at an arm’s length. His scrapes are healing, his outfit has been mended.
“Of course,” he says with a laugh, looking her over in a similar manner. “I came early – didn’t want to risk missing you.”
“I didn’t think you’d be here,” she confesses. “After what I told you –”
He shakes his head in quick, sharp movements. “Of course I’m here. I told you I’m here to listen to anything you want to tell me. I meant that. I still do.”
There’s something in his eyes, in his smile, that reminds her of Vala. That same openness, a willingness to speak with her – to see her for the person she is and not just an outcast.
A loud cough behind them draws their attention back to the fact they are standing in the doorway of the inn, patrons all around them having stopped their activities to listen in on their conversation.
“If yer gonna stand there an’ occupy my tavern, yer gonna have to order a drink,” the barman says.
Aloy considers the establishment, the prying eyes and ears, and then rolls her eyes for Varl to see. “Let’s get out of here.”
They end up sitting in the shadow of one of the cliffs, far enough from the town and roads for anyone to take note of them. Aloy shares one of the fruits she got at the market while Varl gives her some meat jerky. It tastes rich and nutty – like home. Must be from the Nora’s stock, then.
“So,” she starts with, “I didn’t scare you off.”
“Which part was meant to scare me?” Varl asks. “Although I have to admit – the Carja coming from Nora blood… that’s messed up.”
She hums softly, eating a slice of fruit.
“I tried asking around,” Varl continues. “I was discreet, but it seems like no one knows anything about that – except for when I tried to ask Sona.” He pauses, his gaze lowering to the grass. “She… didn’t answer.”
A part of her wants to apologize for putting him in this situation – one where he is starting to doubt the word of those around him. For her there was only ever Rost to truly disappoint before she set off on her journey. At the same time, Varl came to her for answers, and she’s trying to give them to him.
“What do you believe?” she asks.
He releases a long breath, his shoulders slumping. “I think… you could be right. Even if I don’t know how to explain what you’re telling me. You’re not afraid, unlike the other Nora, and I can’t imagine a reason for you to lie to me.”
Halting her chewing, Aloy snorts at his last words. “’cause I’m an outcast,” she says.
“You’re a Brave,” Varl corrects her. “You’ve proven your worth over and over. All the other Nora have opinions on the things we cannot explain outside of All-Mother’s workings, but you are the only one who was willing to take the risk to find out what is truly going on in this world – the lands outside the Embrace. Without you, we would already have been dead.”
“Careful now,” Aloy says in a mocking tone of voice. “Those words of yours are pretty blasphemous.”
Varl’s lips quirk into a smile. “Maybe so,” he admits, “but I trust the company I’m in.”
Chewing up another piece of fruit, Aloy plucks her Focus from her temple, holding it out in front of her in careful consideration. She moves her hand over to Varl, catching his wide-eyed look before he schools his features into a more neutral expression.
“Your trinket,” Varl says, spurring a ton of memories of Rost where he called it a trinket, too, and –
“It’s not a trinket,” Aloy replies. “I found it in one of the ruins. One of the tainted ruins. It’s something the Old Ones made. It helps me see things you cannot see with your eye.” She shakes her hand at him. “Take it.”
He does – although reluctantly – and holds the Focus between his fingers with care. “This is… tainted.”
“No, of course not,” Aloy snaps. “The ruins aren’t tainted, that’s nonsense – why would they be tainted? That’s all a tale to keep people from finding anything interesting down there, like the leaves Araman found before you lot kicked him out.”
Her outburst leaves a strained silence in its wake, and she regrets her heated tone almost immediately. It’s just so frustrating how everything that could in some way help people learn of the Old Ones’ history is immediately labeled as tainted and cursed before being given an honest, open-minded look – but none of that is Varl’s fault.
She crosses her arms over her lower ribs, holding herself as the shade suddenly turns colder. “Sorry,” she mumbles.
“Alright,” Varl says, more forgiving and patient than she maybe deserves. “So how does it work?”
She shows him, explaining where to put the device on his temple and what to expect – the ‘spirits’ of light he’ll see once it activates. At first she’s unsure if he actually activated it, but then he moves his head around slowly.
“They do appear like spirits, these lights,” he says. “What else can it do?”
She makes him follow her along the sloped hillsides, all the while allowing him to wear the Focus. It takes a while before she finds what she’s looking for – a lone Watcher patrolling a small herd of Chargers – and instructs him to follow her into the underbrush.
“There,” she whispers, pointing the machine out. “Look at it.”
“Nothing’s –”
“Shh! Just look!”
She’s waiting for the Focus to scan the machine and for Varl to react to the information he’ll be given. It must be unlike anything he’s ever seen before, she figures, but when there’s no gasp of surprise Aloy tugs on a dry flake of skin attached to her lower lip with her teeth.
“Well?” she enquirers.
Varl looks at her, his eyebrows raised. “It’s showing me the path the Watcher will take, but not much else.”
Her jaw goes slack. “What do you mean not much else,” she whispers harshly, “it also shows you its weaknesses! What type of machine it is! If it’s been touched by Corruption!”
Shrugging one shoulder, Varl purses his lips. “Yeah, but… if you look at it with your eyes, you can tell most of that anyway, and you only need patience to figure out their paths. You don’t need a trinket – or jewel – from the Old Ones to show you that.” He grins at her. “Finding their weaknesses isn’t hard either. Eyes, blaze, joints – get the plating off and – boosh! Just have to know what to look for.”
Aloy feels the sting of insult while listening to him tear apart her Focus. It is useful! She doesn’t always need it, that’s true, but predicting machine movements and outlining their parts is just one of its many uses.
She rises to her feet, ignoring Varl’s eyes going wide again, and says, “Some of us don’t have time to sit on our asses all day to figure out where the Watcher is going,” before realizing her mistake.
As a stampede of hooves takes off with the intent to get as far away from them as possible, there’s a confused whir and a bright, orange light shining on the side of Aloy’s face.
Orange turns to red. The whirs change into a long, angry screech and even as she’s reaching for her spear, Aloy is mortified.
She quickly settles in for a fight – her against a single Watcher – when Varl springs from the bushes holding his own spear. They move quickly, making it hard for the machine to focus an attack on just one of them, and almost before it’s begun Aloy strikes the Watcher’s eye with her spear. Her move is followed by Varl thrusting his through the Watcher’s body, driving it to the ground.
Despite the short duration, Aloy finds herself breathing hard and she wipes a hand across her forehead, drawing away sweat. She sets her foot on the Watcher’s head, grasps the shaft of her spear and pulls it out. What’s left of the lens shatters, splinters scattering in the grass.
Looking over at Varl she finds the hunter blowing out long breaths himself, his hands settled on his sides. He catches her eyes and she stills, her cheeks burning fiercely.
“Oops,” she squeaks, her voice small – which is all it takes for Varl to start laughing.
Aloy scrubs at her cheeks, willing the heat to dissipate as she inspects her spear before kneeling over the Watcher and trying to find useful parts for the traders and merchants. This would be easier if she had her Focus, but no, Varl is still not-using it – and he’s still laughing.
It’s only after he’s pulled out his own spear that he stops, taking a moment to remove the Focus from his temple and give it back. “A very useful tool,” he says. “Clearly something our Anointed needs.”
“You’re mocking me.”
“Nooo,” Varl says, helping her strip the Watcher. “Perhaps – only slightly. You have to admit, the way that Watcher, heh – ” he breaks off into laughter.
“Not funny, Varl.”
She settles her Focus back against her temple, the interface a welcome distraction from her mistake. Varl keeps snickering as they work.
Maybe it was a little funny.
---
Next time they meet Aloy makes Varl climb up the path to the quarry, showing him the Eagle Canyon vantage point.
“See,” she says, and he nods, lips pursed as he examines the time capsule left by Bashar Mati. “It’s not just for machine things.”
They sit in silence as he listens to the recording, and then Aloy helps him figure out how to read the attached transcript. Varl struggles far more with the Old Ones’ script than Aloy does – which is only fair, she’s had many more years to practice – but reads out the first few lines of text, stumbles and all.
“You read this all the time?” he asks, and she nods. “Yeesh. Some of the letters are shaped all wrong.”
She shrugs. “You get used to it – and it can translate a lot of other symbols. It’s very useful, sometimes.”
This time Varl doesn’t dispute her. “Better than the machine thing,” he says. He hands the Focus over and looks at the view in front of them – the massive wilderness and the parts of it that have been tamed by the Carja and Oseram.
“That man,” he says slowly. “I couldn’t understand a lot of what he was saying – so many strange words – but his mother, she was dying?”
Aloy sucks in a breath. “Yeah. I think he left these datapoints as a tribute to her. A way to remember her and preserve the way their world looked. What it was like.”
She’s been thinking about mothers a lot, lately. With the battle for the Spire anchoring itself further in the past with each day that passes, Aloy’s mind has time to ponder everything she’s put on hold while figuring out how to stop HADES.
“It’s beautiful,” Varl says, softly. “To honor his mother’s memory in this way. I never imagined the Old Ones to have rituals like that. I never imagined them to be… anything.”
“They were like us,” Aloy adds. “People.”
“What happened to them? Why did they create the Metal Devil?”
Aloy leans back on her elbows, tilting her head up to the sky. It’s a warm day with just enough clouds for it to be pleasant outside. “I think it was a single tribe who did that. A very large tribe – a company, they called it. FAS. Faro Automated Solutions. Their leader –” she hesitates, then decides not to name him, “– he was offered a large reward for creating the Metal Devils and the other machines. They were supposed to be soldiers, fighters for whoever could afford them.
“These machines could be controlled from a distance – be given orders – but someone made a mistake. Turns out once they were activated, the machines refused to listen to new orders. They were hungry. They started to feed on – the Old Ones call it biomatter conversion, but –”
Varl turns his head to look at her. “Trees,” he says. “Animals. The fallen. I’ve heard the stories from survivors who saw the machines feed.”
“It’s not that different from how our machines feed,” Aloy says, a rueful smile making its way to her lips as a heavy feeling settles in her stomach. “FAS’ machines just didn’t… stop. Our machines come from Cauldrons, but the ones from FAS can reproduce by themselves – if they consume enough. No one knew how to stop them.”
“But they were stopped. Someone must have found a way to stop the abominations.”
It’s what her first thoughts had been too after hearing the audio logs and seeing the holo recordings, and Elisabet and her team did find a way to shut down the Faro bots – even if the cost was life itself.
“There was a team,” Aloy says, following up on her train of thought, “lead by a woman called Elisabet Sobeck. They figured the only solution was to starve the FAS machines and then… sow seeds for new life, and it worked. The Metal Devils were stopped and our machines were born to replenish the earth. To shape a world for us to live in.”
Varl is quiet once more and Aloy figures she’s given him enough to think about for now. She pushes herself upright, crossing her legs. The sun is starting its downwards glide to the horizon and her stomach is empty. She hung a turkey earlier to bleed out while she met up with Varl. Maybe she can roast it?
There’s something else she wanted to mention to Varl, and now their meeting is coming to an end she finds her tongue heavy and her stomach complaining not just with hunger, but with the knotted, jumbled feeling of nerves, too.
“I have to go,” she says, forcing the words out.
Varl nods in an instant. “Of course.”
“No, I mean… I’m leaving. There’s a place I need to visit and it’s… far from here. Westward. I don’t know how long it’ll take.”
“Oh.”
His voice doesn’t sound nearly as disappointed as she’d imagined, which in turn makes her feel… confused? His face expresses mild surprise instead of anger or betrayal or whatever else she’d feared.
“What, you don’t disapprove?” she asks, pulling her knees up to her chest, and Varl shakes his head.
“The Anointed does as she pleases,” he answers. The way he says her title is different than when others use it. As if it’s something they made up together – the Anointed – a name to call her in kind jest. “Besides, this makes my own news easier to pass on. We, the other Nora I mean, we’re leaving Meridian soon.”
“… oh.”
“I wasn’t sure whether to invite you along or… if you’d be insulted by something like that,” he adds. “The Embrace would welcome you with open arms if you were to… but…”
“I have my own plans,” Aloy finishes for him, and he gives her another nod.
“Then I suppose this is goodbye.”
The reality of their meetings coming to an end starts to fully dawn on her, and her throat clogs up in protest. She swallows, rubbing her knuckles along the underside of her jaw. She’s enjoyed the time spent with Varl – being able to talk about so many things she’s kept bottled up and having someone actually willing to listen.
Varl is a good listener – a learner – and he’s gentle at heart. She can tell by the way he mentions the Old Ones now, and she wishes they could keep planning these meetings. It would give her something to look forward to. Maybe she could even convince him to ride a Strider sometime – which would probably be very amusing.
Or… would have been amusing, if they’d gotten round to it.
For a moment she’d considered inviting Varl along with her, but the dangers ahead – the fact she’ll be heading into the Forbidden West not knowing what’s out there exactly… and that’s not even considering what Varl would need to be willing to give up on, the push-back he’d experience when explaining to the other Nora…
It’s better this way.
“May the Mother guide you,” Aloy says, hugging one arm around her knees tightly.
Varl gives her a thankful smile. “May She keep you safe, Aloy.”
---
UNKNOWN, 3040
The Forbidden West is lonely and contradictory. It’s grim and beautiful, it’s dangerous and calm. It makes Aloy experience gratefulness and a deep, deep sadness at the same time. One moon passes, then another.
Aloy finds herself drifting, spending many days without seeing another human face. There’s much to consider, many thoughts to settle into the fast landscape of her mind. She plans, writes notes on her Focus, then scraps her ideas to start again from the bottom.
There has to be more she can do.
She finds more ruins, more messages, more bits and pieces to connect to the ever-growing puzzle of the Old Ones and Zero Dawn. Her bow breaks – she repairs it. Her scalp itches for a long time when she’s unable to find a proper stream to wash in, and she comes to appreciate the grit of sand in her meals when it means having a meal at all – but in the end she finds herself drawn back east.
The rooftops of Meridian are a sight for sore eyes, as are the familiar canyons leading to Lone Light. Having to dress warmer instead of lighter is a pleasant change of pace by the time she reaches Daytower.
People hush when they see her. No one seems to have known where she’s been. Aloy pretends not to hear their murmurs, and then passes on through heading south.
Home, her heart whispers. Home? It is and it isn’t – the landscape soothing and familiar grounds, but the people strangers – at best vague acquaintances.
A Nora hunting party asks for her help when she rides through Mother’s Crown. The fort is looking better than it did after the attacks, but the Nora’s numbers are small. Aloy assists the Braves as they bring down two Bellowbacks for much needed blaze and parts. The Braves offer her food and shelter in return and sing hunting songs at the campfire that night.
She leaves before first light.
Everywhere she goes she notices the absence of Nora, and the Embrace is no exception. The northern gate is open but only guarded by two Braves, and on her way to Rost’s grave she only sees one hunter from afar.
She restores his grave site – dusting off and straightening the bowls and candles, placing a small offering once she’s done – and then they talk.
Well. She talks, and if he’s still around, Rost listens. It’s the most she’s said to another person in many weeks and the irony of the situation doesn’t escape her. She mentions it. Perhaps Rost would laugh, if he could reply.
She’s about to leave, to see if the hovel is still the way she left it, when she hears footsteps behind her, crunching the undisturbed snow. Her heartbeat spikes and she turns around quickly –
It’s Varl – because of course it’s him – !
She lets out a nervous, breathless laugh, rubbing her face with snow-cold hands. “You scare me every time you do that,” she says, her voice strained from her previous conversation.
“Me, frighten the Anointed?” he answers, his face breaking out into a grin as he approaches her.
They embrace – Varl’s arms around her a little tighter than ever before, and she finds herself clutching his shoulders more firmly, too. When they break apart she studies his face. He seems tired, but happier than most days.
“She kept you safe,” he says, hands squeezing her upper arms, and she breathes in shakily.
“I – I found her,” she stammers, not sure if it’s the cold or the fact she’s actually saying the words out loud that is making her do so. “She was there, in the west, I – f – found her, my, my mother – ”
His eyes widen, his hands squeezing once more. “Your mother?” he repeats. “Aloy, that’s amazing! That’s – ”
He falls silent as her eyes fills themselves with tears and she blinks furiously, looking over his shoulder as she wipes them away.
“I’m so sorry, Aloy,” he says softly.
She can only shake her head and shrug as she tries to pull herself together. “I didn’t think it was possible to – to find her, alive, but part of me – ”
Varl touches the palm of his hand to her cheek briefly before embracing her again, letting her head rest on his shoulder.
A part of her had hoped to find Elisabet in good health, even with Sylens’ words running through her head, even if it would’ve been beyond impossible. Her mother, the woman who made sure life could blossom after everything had been lost. How perfect it would have been to find her preserved and breathing after all those years – to meet her and…
It’s pointless to imagine the types of conversations she might have had with Elisabet Sobeck, but that hasn’t stopped Aloy from picturing them over and over and over.
Tears flow in silence as Varl holds her, providing a solid rock of comfort to cling to. She hasn’t been comforted by someone like this in a long time – and she’d surely survive without it – but it’s nice to be held by someone she trusts while the world tries to take away her footing.
She can hear Varl’s voice rumble in his chest when he says, quietly, “All-Mother, hear our prayer. We come before you, pleading for strength and understanding. In your eternal memory, please keep Aloy’s mother…”
“Elisabet,” she whispers.
“Please keep Aloy’s mother Elisabet there. Remember her. We beg you.”
---
Varl surprises her by leading the way to Rost’s home and then surprises her further by showing her inside, revealing the interior to be in a well-kept state. He apologizes for trespassing.
“It’s the only place inside the Embrace I know no one will follow me,” he says. “I wanted to make sure it was still there after Meridian, and then I wanted to keep it in order. For you. For Rost’s memory.”
Aloy sits on some of the pelts – a few of them new – as she takes the place in and Varl lights the fireplace. Most things are exactly the way she remembers them, only without the layer of dust that would settle on objects between her visits. As the fire crackles, the smell of food rises into the air and Aloy notices the metal pot hanging over it.
“Leftover stew,” Varl clarifies, sitting down on a wooden stump opposite her. “I made it yesterday. Do you want some?”
Aloy nods. “’m starving.”
As the inside of Rost’s home warms, the snow on Aloy’s gear and armor melts and she takes off most of it, seeing Varl do the same on the other end of the room. She wraps herself in one of the large quilts from the bed before settling down again, waiting for the food to be ready.
“There’s something I want to show you,” Varl says, his frame smaller without all the fur and machine parts covering him. He’s holding a small object in his hand, a triangular shape…
A Focus.
Aloy reaches for her temple out of habit but finds her own device safely there. “You found one,” she says. “But – how? Where? The only place you can find them here is in the ruins.”
There’s a twinkle in his eyes as Varl nods, attaching the Focus to his face. “As it turns out, you were right. The only dangers I came across down there were rats. Was afraid I’d trip over one of them, bash my head against a ridge…”
He’s making jokes about the ruins.
“You could be cast out for that,” Aloy says, her voice dropping to a low, rushed murmur. “Those places are forbidden – were you seen?”
“Of course not,” he says, sitting down next to her on the pelts.
“Idiot.”
“I was careful. I only go at night, always make sure there’s no one around –”
All she hears is how apparently he’s been down into the ruins multiple times, and her jaw drops. “You Grazer-dung licking idiot,” she hisses. “Sona wouldn’t hesitate – !”
“I know, I know,” Varl says, “but I haven’t been seen. I don’t take the trinket with me when I go down the mountain. The other Nora believe I come up here to honor the man who raised the Anointed – which is true.”
It’s the most irresponsible thing she’s heard of Varl doing in the time she’s known him, even if it’s something she does without second thought, but it’s different when he does it. The consequences he faces are much more dire and will impact a larger part of his life if he’s caught snooping around.
Aloy tugs the blanket tighter around her body. “It’s reckless, Varl,” she says, but she can’t bring herself to sound any more disapproving.
He looks down at his hands, rubbing them together. “Maybe so.”
The silence between them can only last for so long before Aloy asks, “What else did you find?” and Varl’s eyes light up with mischief.
“Old Ones,” he says, excitement over the fact bleeding through the hushed tones he speaks in. Then a more solemn look creeps into his eyes. “Their messages. Last words. I don’t know what happened to them but I figured… they were afraid of the Metal Devils. I prayed to All-Mother for them.”
“The swarm – the Metal Devils and other FAS machines – would have found them in less than a day,” Aloy says, filling in the gaps of what Varl learned. “The people inside that ruin, they were part of that team – the one working to save everything.”
“The one led by the woman, Elisabet Sobeck,” Varl adds with a knowing nod of his head, taking Aloy by surprise.
“You remembered.”
He rises to his feet, taking two bowls with him to the fireplace. “Of course I do,” he says while scooping stew into one bowl after another. He brings them back to her, handing over a bowl and a wooden spoon.
The stew is piping hot and the best meal Aloy’s had in a long time. It’s not quite the way Rost would make it, but it comes close enough to give birth to a feeling of intense nostalgia while sitting in the home she grew up in, eating from those familiar bowls and spoons.
“I have to ask,” Varl says when the worst of their hunger has been satisfied. “The woman who led the Old Ones… and your mother. Their names… is that a coincidence?”
Aloy freezes, her spoon twisted in the stew. It’s a question she could have seen coming the moment Varl revealed he’d remembered the name, but maybe a part of her had hoped he wouldn’t notice. Of all the things she’s willing to tell Varl, this is one she’s uncertain of – because who would ever believe her to be the daughter of a machine and a long dead woman?
It’s a part of the story she sometimes struggles to fully understand herself.
Her silence must speak for her, as Varl gives her an earnest look. “It would explain why the Matriarchs could never find her,” he says, speaking gently. “Although I don’t understand how that could be possible.”
Aloy’s heart settles in her throat, preventing her from eating anymore at the moment. She wipes the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, scraping her throat in an attempt to clear it. “I can show you,” she says, her voice rough. “I know it’s hard to believe, but there’s proof inside All-Mother Mountain. If you come with me –”
“And enter the holy sanctum of All-Mother Herself? I, a lowly Brave, a servant of the Goddess – Aloy, how could I ever –”
Reaching out with one hand, Aloy clasps Varl’s wrist tightly. “Please, Varl, trust me.” Her heart is still pounding fiercely, but she pushes through, saying, “You won’t be punished. The Goddess has spoken to me and… and She needs our help. You have a Focus now, you can listen to Her words.”
She squeezes his wrist. Please, her mind whispers, please come with me, and she hopes he can see that part of her reflected in her eyes.
A small eternity passes between them and Aloy holds her breath, silently begging Varl to not back down again. After everything she’s told him – everything he’s seen for himself – it would be such a shame for his curiosity to retreat.
Finally, Varl shifts, placing his own hand atop of hers, his gaze certain.
“I trust you.”
---
Mother’s Watch is quiet. The skies have turned dark by the time Aloy and Varl reach it, passing through the gate under the watchful eyes of guarding Braves. There’s no reason for anyone but a matriarch to visit the mountain at this time, but no one tries to stop them.
It’s only when they’ve walked down the wooden ramp leading to the facility door’s hall that they are met with a familiar face. Aloy inclines her head in greeting, then notices Varl is no longer walking besides her. She turns around and finds him kneeling.
“The Anointed,” High Matriarch Jezza says, giving Aloy a nod in return before looking at Varl. “Rise, young Brave. Explain why you are here.”
Aloy can see him hesitate in his movements, slowly getting up from the floor. His eyes meet hers for a brief second and she captures the nervousness in them.
“He’s with me,” Aloy says, addressing Jezza. “We’ve come to speak with the Goddess.”
The matriarch regards them in silence before turning around and leading the way into the inner sanctum. “Come,” she says, “if the Goddess wishes it so, it shall be.”
The hall is empty, brightly lit by candles all around. Jezza leads them up to the plateau and then stays there, letting Varl and Aloy approach the door alone.
“Hold for identiscan,” the synthetic voice says, activating the red light that takes in Aloy’s features. She notices how Varl keeps his distance ever so slightly behind her as the door continues its scan.
There’s no Alpha Registry to restore this time and the protective plating starts sliding upwards with a loud clang.
“Genetic identity confirmed. Entry authorized. Greetings, Dr. Sobeck. You are cleared to proceed.”
Aloy can hear an awed gasp from Varl behind her and then the door opens, bright blue light pouring out into the hall. She turns around halfway, holding out her hand to Varl. “It’s okay,” she says. “She wants to meet you.”
His steps are still slow and hesitant as they enter the facility, and Varl jumps when the door falls shut behind them. The initial bright lights leading into the main hall fade away, showing the dimly lit interior of the E-9 facility. It’s operating in low power mode, just like most other ruins out there.
Everything is much the same from last time Aloy visited, but when she looks at Varl it’s almost as if she’s seeing the place for the very first time, too. His mouth slightly parted, his eyes gliding over the roof of the hall and then the hole in the middle, the classrooms of APOLLO leading further below.
Then his attention shifts to the walls – the drawings of the first humans created inside the facility – and he steps closer, raising one of his hands to almost trace the drawings, never quite touching them.
“Who made these?” he asks, his voice shaking. His eyes reflect the dimmed lights of the facility when he looks at Aloy.
She joins him. “Your ancestors,” she murmurs. “The first Nora.”
Varl’s brow furrows, his eyes gleaming. He squeezes them shut and slowly shakes his head, looking as if he’s in pain. “They came from here, from inside of All-Mother,” he says, “but this… this looks like a ruin. How can that be?” He takes in a sharp breath, opening his eyes again. “How can that be, Aloy?”
“It’s okay,” she soothes, reaching out to hold one of his hands. His skin is warm compared to the rest of the facility. Aloy tugs him along gently, moving towards the other rooms. “Don’t be afraid.”
There’s so much she wants to show him and so much she wants to talk about – to share her birthplace and the classrooms, to show him the nurseries and explain how the facility malfunctioned. What was supposed to have happened, if APOLLO hadn’t been deleted, but all of that has to wait.
She leads him up into the main control room, holding his hand the entire way. His fingers hold the palm of her hand in a tight grip. It’s dark, the consoles at the back spreading a dim glow along the walls while the main holo platform remains quiet.
Aloy gives Varl’s hand another quick squeeze before dropping it. “Take out your Focus.”
He follows her command with trembling fingers, waiting until she gives him a silent cue to attach the device to his temple. His eyes search the room before cycling back to her. “Is She here?”
It’ll change everything he’s ever believed in.
She nods, shared emotions catching up to her and forming a blockade in her throat. Just like her, he won’t be able to see any part of his religion in the same way after this. The ugly fear of rejection rears its head at her, its sly whispers asking what she’ll do if he never wants to speak with her after this ever again – but she owes it to him.
Swallowing thickly, Aloy swipes her fingers through empty air, using her Focus to activate GAIA’s final message – her dying plea.
The room darkens, the sub-functions’ icons appearing in a circle on the holo platform and GAIA rises from their combined streams of knowledge. Her image is calm, her arms spread out as her robe forms around her virtual body. Aloy’s chest aches at the sight of her.
There’s a loud thud that doesn’t belong to the original message, drawing Aloy’s attention to her side. Varl has dropped to his knees, his face resting on the metal floor of the facility, his arms stretched above his head clutching at each other.
He’s mumbling a Nora prayer but stops the moment GAIA speaks.
“Elisabet. This message serves to inform you of an unforeseen and catastrophic anomaly.”
Aloy crouches next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You can look – Varl, look at her. Listen.”
He slowly raises his head, revealing the tears brimming on his lower eyelids as he watches GAIA’s form relay the message she recorded for Aloy. He hardly moves, only his eyes narrowing in response to the mentioning of HADES, but then GAIA mentions the explosion of Gaia Prime – and her subsequent demise – and his whole body tenses up.
“It’s okay, Varl,” Aloy whispers to him. “Just listen to her. It’s okay.”
She’s able to coach him into sitting up for the rest of the message. She notices his glance at the image of Elisabet Sobeck, but then starts to listen to the rest of the recording herself instead of paying attention to Varl.
“That is all. I only wish that I could hear your voice again.”
The holo fades away, GAIA’s last words lingering with bittersweet desire.
Oh, GAIA.
How Aloy wishes she could speak to GAIA herself and relay how the plan worked – how HADES was defeated.
The control room returns as the artificial darkness retreats into the holo platform.
“I don’t understand,” Varl croaks, meeting Aloy’s eyes. “All-Mother is… gone? Where is She? She was speaking to Elisabet – to your mother? And to you – but… how? All Her words of wisdom – what do they mean? Did we fail Her?”
Aloy shakes her head, reaching for Varl’s hands. “All-Mother – GAIA – she isn’t dead. She just needs us. It’s like she said, all we need to do is find the other facilities – ruins – and use their technologies to forge her a path. A new temple. It’ll take time but… she believes in us. HADES is gone, all we need to do is –”
“We?” Varl’s brow furrows deeper, the wrinkles on his forehead becoming more pronounced. “Aloy – She was speaking to Elisabet, or, or to you – not me. I am a Brave, I’m not even a matriarch nor will I ever be. This doesn’t sound like the role the Goddess intended me to bear.”
“No,” Aloy breathes. “You’re wrong. GAIA – All-Mother – may have created me and she may have given me the gene print of Elisabet necessary to open doors and reveal messages, but Elisabet had a team of people she trusted to help her in her time, and I am alone. I need you, Varl. There’s so much that needs to be done. I can’t do it alone… and I trust you.”
It takes a long and uncomfortable silence before Varl nods – the movement itself small and insignificant. The tension in Aloy’s shoulders collapses as she lets go of her breathing, watching Varl nod again, his eyes pressed shut, his grip on her hands firm. When his eyes open, there’s resolve in them.
She shows him the rest of the facility, explaining as best as she can how she and the first Nora were born – and then introduces him to the holo of Samina and the idea that there was so much more GAIA and the rest of Project Zero Dawn had wanted them to know as the first humans.
She shows him more datapoints and holograms – not all of them, but a lot – and watches him slowly regain the calm and sure posture he carries outside of the facility.
“There’s so much,” he says, his voice wrapped in wonder. “I never thought I would see the Goddess before my time or that I would be allowed to see any part of Her plans.”
“And here you are,” Aloy adds, feeling her chest warm with the smile that spreads on Varl’s face.
“Where do we start?”
She hadn’t thought this far ahead, the idea of Varl accepting the truth she’d show him the furthest Aloy’d dared to imagine, so she confesses, “I don’t know but… we’ll figure it out,” because she’s sure they will.
---
THE CUT, 3041
The cold bites at his fingers.
How the Banuk shamans can stand it Varl will never understand. He wraps himself in their thick furs and padded coats, covering every inch of skin possible, hiding his face as much as he can in the coat’s hood.
The tribe is kind to him, an outlander. They were informed of his arrival and they treat him as a guest, offering him food and shelter. He’s sure to thank them for every hospitable gesture they make.
The Banuk are not Carja. They’re not Nora or Oseram. They are Banuk – fearless yet humble before the forces of nature and machine. They tell tales of the machines – of the Banuk’s bond with them – and Varl feels fortunate to be in a position to listen to them.
Would Sona be able to listen to these tales and not judge them for the things Nora consider blasphemous? He loves his mother dearly and she is a great War-Chief, but Varl isn’t so sure she would have the patience to sit in his place without first entering All-Mother Mountain and learning the truth herself.
But she would never. Not unless the Goddess Herself would tell her to.
Aratak – the Chieftain of the settlement – is someone Varl has seen before from a distance. He came to Meridian’s aid when everyone was rallied, but Varl did not have a chance to speak with him back then.
Now they sit at the same campfire.
The Chieftain is by no means a small man, and Varl can see why he would be considered a leader. It’s in the way he moves and talks, similar to Sona. Aratak laughs loudly, voice echoing over snowy plains.
“Carja we observe with weary eyes, Oseram we barter with, but Nora…” Aratak leans closer, the brown of his eyes a sharp contrast to all the white in their surrounding landscape. “Your kind does not come to us often.”
“Most Nora do not leave our lands,” Varl says, cracking a smile after Aratak’s laugh rumbles free from deep within his chest.
“Most Nora,” he repeats. “Then you are not most. How could you be, if you’re following her?”
There’s no need for either of them to clarify who he’s talking about.
Varl is given supplies for the rest of his journey and instructions on how to get where he is going. He turns on his trinket, the Focus he found back home, and uses it to set course for the northern peaks of the mountains.
On the second day he gets a message – the image of Aloy appearing before his eyes in a mesh of purple lines.
“Well?” she asks. He can’t make out any of her surroundings but she must be somewhere inside, her head uncovered and her forearms bare.
Varl observes the terrain around him, the white blanket covering every foreseeable peak and hill. “It’s cold,” he says, making Aloy snort.
“It’s The Cut, of course it is. I meant, where are you?”
He keeps walking – able to speak and move at the same time, after all. It still amazes him how the image of Aloy keeps up with him as he does without her figure moving. “I’ve passed the great stone wall.”
“Greycatch.”
“I see… mountains. The Focus tells me I am on track.”
Aloy crosses her arms, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Good. Send me a message when you’re at the door.”
“Aloy – wait!” The hand of her hologram stops reaching for her Focus device and she looks at him expectantly. Varl sighs, his breath forming a cloud of fog in front of his face. “When will you tell me what you’ve found?”
She grins, her teeth showing up a light purple in their hologram form. “You’ll see. Hurry, Varl.”
The holo blinks out of existence. Varl groans, wiping a gloved hand over his eyes trying to make the yellow afterimage he sees in the snow disappear quicker.
It is a long miserable climb up to the door Aloy pointed out to him and he does as she commanded – touching the Old Ones’ sigils on the floating interface of the Focus to make a short message.
FROM: Unknown Sender
TO: Unknown Recipient
SUBJECT: (no subject)i am her e . oqen d oor .
Varl sticks his hands under his arms, keeping them close to his body as he paces side to side. He isn’t prepared for the door to open that quickly, even less prepared for the pale face that greets him. It’s not Aloy, but there’s just as much mischief in the hazel eyes that judge him.
“Varl, I take it,” the stranger says, making a gesture for him to follow inside. “I am Ikrie. Aloy said you were here.”
As soon as they pass through the door’s opening, the metal plates slide back into their place, blocking the cold outside. They head down ice covered stairs and as they move deeper into the ruin, Varl notices a flow of air that isn’t threatening to freeze the tip of his nose. His voice still makes clouds in the air when he says, “Aloy’s got you doing her bidding too, huh?” and Ikrie grins.
“I’m a snow-ghost these days, outlander. I do whatever I want.” Then, with a slight roll of her eyes, “and yes, that includes sometimes listening to Aloy.”
Still nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the main room – machine parts strewn everywhere, the walls covered in paintings and tapestries, the floor an almost impossible to cross surface of furs, candles, and tinkered things – and in the midst of it all, Aloy, her braids a mess, speaking to a hologram of…
… a blue ball?
Aloy spots him, grinning widely as she rises. She takes practiced steps between projects and parts until she makes it to the entrance of the room. “Thanks for letting him in, Ikrie,” she says, then turns to only face him. He can tell she’s thinking something – always thinking – when she reaches out, tapping the token hung around his neck and her grin is subdued to a smile. “Seeker.”
He gives her a formal nod and says, with the same level of severity, “Anointed,” before they break from their roles and embrace.
“I can’t believe it’s happening,” Aloy says next to his half-frozen ear. She sounds almost giddy. “But it is though. It’s going to work. I’m sure of it.”
He laughs, patting her back before breaking apart. “I believe you.”
“This –” she tugs him along, shoving aside things on the floor with her boots so they don’t trip, “– is CYAN. Say hello, CYAN.”
He feels the heavy thuds of his heart when the blue ball swivels around and ‘looks’ at him. “Hello, Varl,” it says, its voice sounding like a mixture of machine and human. “I am grateful you are here. Aloy has explained to me your goal. To reboot GAIA. I look forward to working with you. I, too, wish to meet her.”
“It speaks,” he finds himself whispering. “The blue ball speaks.”
Ikrie manages to surprise him a second time by suddenly appearing on his left. “You get used to it,” she faux-whispers, and he hears Aloy snort on his right.
The blue ball moves in a way that somehow conveys regret. “Oh no,” it says. “I did not mean to startle you, Varl of the Nora.”
He’s seen many things thanks to Aloy but a talking blue ball is definitely a first. “I um,” he clears his throat, “I was not startled. Merely… astounded. By your… presence.”
“I am glad,” CYAN says, and Aloy pats Varl on the back before she moves away. “I have been asked to inform you of recent discoveries. Would you like me to tell you them?”
Later, much later, Varl finds himself resting on a bed of fur, his stomach filled with a broth he’s quite sure Ikrie made. The snow-ghost herself is snoring on one of the other beds. CYAN is gone for the moment, having explained all Varl needed to hear. There’s much to be done in the morning – ruins to explore, parts to find – but now they rest.
Except for Aloy.
Varl watches her tinker by the dim candlelight, machine oil on her cheek, a strange self-made tool in hand. He almost drifts off when he hears her hum a familiar tune that reminds him of home no matter how far from the Sacred Land they are. The song of rivers. A song of hope and faith.
He rests. Tomorrow they rise again.
For the sake of the world.
For All-Mother GAIA.
Fin