Archive of Our Own

Aloy finds Nil on a rise overlooking the bandit camp they arranged to meet at, not far from Meridian. He removes the necklace he’s wearing when he sees Aloy, holds it out to her. She takes it, puzzled.

It takes her a moment to realise it’s made of human teeth.

“Every one from a different bandit you struck down,” he says. “Each a different life. Keep it; it’s yours.”

Is he serious? It must have taken a long time, ripping teeth out of body after body, checking each one to see whether it was his victim or hers. It would feel genuinely thoughtful if it weren’t so horrifying.

“Well,” Aloy says, uncertain, “it’s good to see you doing something creative.” She’s wondered before whether he ever does anything but kill; she supposes this technically qualifies. “Have you considered any other hobbies? Writing poetry, perhaps?”

“There’s no poetry like an arrow striking home in a man’s throat,” Nil says.

Should probably have seen that coming. She tucks the necklace away in her pouch, where it can no doubt alarm her the next time she’s looking for shards. “So what else do you do when you aren’t killing people?”

“Searching for new targets,” Nil says. “Maintaining my weapons. Watching.”

She may regret this. “Watching what, exactly?”

“Perhaps you’ve noticed,” he says. “I don’t participate in your slaughter unless you break cover. Seeing a master at work is enough for me.” He shrugs. “Well, I might have to spill some blood afterwards to relieve the tension, but I’m prepared to let you take the lead on our excursions.”

“How generous,” Aloy says.

“Of course. It’s a greater gift than any necklace. I know you appreciate it.”

“A new bow is a gift,” Aloy says. “It’s not the word I’d use for the opportunity to carve through a bandit camp.”

Nil considers her for a moment, smiling slightly. “A person can go through life without killing, I’m told, although why they would want to is another matter. If you didn’t enjoy it, you wouldn’t be here. You’d leave the work to other hands. Even your example of a gift is a tool for death.”

Aloy takes a small step away from him. “I use my bow to hunt machines.”

“A disappointing way to spend your arrows,” Nil says, “but I know for a fact that’s not all you use it for.” He pauses. “Still, I wouldn’t want to offer this pleasure to someone who wouldn’t enjoy it. I could stop this camp’s breathing alone. Would you like me to do that?”

It’s clear that he knows how she’ll answer. She’s furious with him for giving her the option.

“I’ll come,” she says. “But only to make sure you make it out alive.”

“Of course,” Nil says, with a smile. “Together, then.”

It feels like a bad idea to keep working with Nil. But somehow she keeps ending up back at this point.

There’s a question that’s been haunting her. She thinks she might have to ask. “Was your partner really killed by bandits?”

“Well, he wouldn’t have died if he hadn’t tried to take on a bandit camp without company,” Nil says. “Not then, at least. So you could say that.”

She’d expected him to at least hesitate before answering. “You killed him for fighting bandits alone?”

Nil shrugs. He doesn’t seem at all concerned to be caught. “We’d scouted it together. All the preparation was done. What would you do if a roast boar ate the feast laid out for you?”

Aloy takes a deep breath. “Are you planning to kill me?”

Nil pauses. “Hoping might be a better word.”

That’s probably her cue to sever contact. For some reason, though, when it comes to Nil, she’s let cue after cue pass her by.

Aloy once saw two Glinthawks tear a woman apart. An unpleasant sight, but she couldn’t look away. Maybe it’s a similar unwanted fascination that keeps drawing her back to Nil.

She probably shouldn’t mention that Glinthawk incident to Nil. She doesn’t like the thought of how he might interpret it.

“And if I don’t want to be killed?” she asks.

“You’re in no danger from me now,” Nil says. “There are still bandit camps to be dyed red. I haven’t had my fill of watching you work.”

“Maybe I’ll leave the bandits to thrive, if I know an attempt on my life is waiting at the end of it.”

“You won’t,” Nil says. “A fish can only breathe in water. You and I, we breathe in blood.”

Aloy touches her spear, the reassuring weight of it on her back. “Well, if you attack me, maybe I’ll be the one to kill you instead.”

“Is that a downside?” Nil asks. “Do you think I dream of dying in my sleep at eighty-three?”

“I try not to think about your dreams, Nil,” Aloy says.

“I know you’d give the experience the weight it deserves.” The way he’s looking at her might be admiration. It might be hunger. “A person can only die once. If you take my life, that’s something no one but you will ever have. The truest form of intimacy, don’t you think?”

“I’m not sure I do,” Aloy says. “I’ll admit I’ve never really considered the intimacy of killing my... friends? Are we friends?” Something about the thought doesn’t sit right with her.

“I’d say we’re kindred spirits,” Nil says.

She likes that even less. “Anyway, this doesn’t have to end with either of us dead.”

She hadn’t realised until this moment, saying it aloud, that she doesn’t believe it.

“You’ll have a choice in it, of course,” Nil says. He seems amused. “I’ll invite you to fight me when the time comes. You’ll be free to turn me down.”

She’s not sure she will be.

Nil feels like a pit she’s fallen into. At first she was just exploring around the edges, knowing it was dangerous, too curious to walk away. By this point, she’s felt the earth give way under her feet.

It’s too late for choices. She’s already falling. There’s only one way this can end.

Aloy draws her sharpshot bow on the bandit leader. Keeps the arrow poised, every muscle in her arms singing with the effort of holding the bowstring taut.

They haven’t been noticed yet. When she takes this shot, the whole camp will know to be afraid.

“What would you do if I turned and shot this at you instead?” she asks, keeping her voice low.

Nil laughs, quietly. “It’s good to see you getting into the spirit of things. Tell me how you’d kill me, at the end.”

She’s not going to play this game.

“I would shove my spear into you,” Aloy says, “and you’d die.”

She was hoping such a short, blunt description wouldn’t be enough to thrill him. But the need to stay quiet adds a quality to the exchange that prickles her skin somehow. The two of them hiding close in the long grass, whispering about killing, as she sights down her bow at the bandit whose life she’s about to end.

“Good,” Nil breathes. “The spear is more intimate than the bow. More personal. Your skill with the bow is something to behold, of course, but I’d prefer the spear for myself.”

Aloy lets the arrow fly. She’s put all the tension in her body into it, and she almost gasps as it strikes.

Nil shoots the last man in the camp through the neck. Watches him writhe and die, choking on his own blood. It takes a long time.

Aloy watches Nil. Will he do the same to her, if he gets the upper hand in their fight? Fatally wound her, relish every one of her drawn-out last minutes? Or will he show her mercy, end it there?

Perhaps they’ll both inflict fatal wounds and crawl into each other’s arms and bleed to death together.

It doesn’t occur to her, not until long after the bandit has drawn his last gasping breath, that she could have shown mercy herself.

When at last the camp goes silent, Nil closes his eyes and breathes out, slowly, through his open mouth. From anyone else, Aloy would take it for exhaustion. It’s a little uncomfortable to watch.

“Another time?” he asks Aloy. “I know of a camp in Shadow Carja land that’s crying out for your spear.”

She thinks about walking away. Ending their strange, bloodstained acquaintance, leaving them both to live on.

She thinks about killing him here and now.

“Another time,” she says.

She takes to wearing the necklace Nil made her, the rattle of the teeth around her throat a constant reminder of the lives she’s taken. A constant reminder of the promise Nil’s made her: their acquaintance ends in blood, his or hers.

It does reduce the amount of unwanted flirtation she hears, at least.