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VALA

When she hunts, Vala is graceful and clever, a silent huntress focused on her prey. When she awakens, Vala is anything but. Grumbling and graceless and half-heartedly fighting the warm calloused hands that lightly jostle her into wakefulness. Her eyes open blearily, blurring with sleep as she takes a moment to focus. The room is dim, the candles having long-since burned down to the stubby wick, losing their battle against the dark of the night, and the sky itself has not yet awoken, still held under the thick blanket of night and the pale watching moon. Eventually, her eyes adjust enough to take in the figure stood before her. 

“Varl? It’s… too early in the morning.” She jolts into wakefulness at once, her mind beginning to race. “Has something happened? Is mother–”

“Still asleep,” her brother reassures her, and she takes the moment to notice he is dressed and his mark already painted, his weapons held in their various places on his person, “I just… Get ready. Quietly . I’ll be waiting outside.” 

The sky is beginning to glow faintly with mild flickerings of red like coals in a firepit when Vala makes her way outside, settling her fur shawl about her shoulders and swinging her bow onto her back to nestle with her quiver. Her brother is shuffling from foot to foot and fidgeting with his bracers, a nervous habit she knows he has worked hard to temper around their mother’s watchful eyes. 

“This better not be some trick to psyche me out before the Proving,” she slinks forward, tone half-joking and half-accusing. 

She doubts he would do anything to that degree, but the competitiveness stoked between them by their mother has always made them more rivals than siblings. Vala knows herself well enough to admit the guilt and regret that sits heavy in her chest when she sees other siblings in the Embrace and wonders what that might feel like. 

“No, I promise it’s not a trick,” there’s a crease in his brow, a quaver to his voice and she realises oh, he’s hurt that I would think that about him . “Just… follow me.” 

She follows silently at his back, occasionally picking up ridgewood and hintergold and salvebrush to restock her supplies as they head up the mountain. They keep a slow, steady pace. There is no race, no competition. It feels very solemn. Almost mournful. She wonders if her brother is jealous, resigned to her coming victory. They are both far too aware of their mother’s expectations, and from her, the expectations of the tribe. They are the War-Chief’s children. They must excel .  Varl did not win his Proving.  Their mother has forever been colder to him for it, her gaze sterner, more unyielding.  Vala knows the only real competition she has is from Bast- sharp-eyed, an expert archer, swift, but easy to anger, stubborn, reckless (quiet, anxious, cornered by his family).  Her mother has barely given her a second of rest in the past weeks, sending her constantly running the Brave trails and hunting as practice.  There is a particular pressure in being the War-Chief’s daughter . One Vala would willingly give up with little thought. She cares little for the pressures put upon her, lets it slide off her like water off a duck’s back. She keeps her head high and takes pride in her accomplishments, regardless of whether or not they meet her mother’s exacting expectations. 

They are nearly at the mountain’s peak. Her breath comes in heavy silvering clouds, her fingers grow numb at the tips, her legs are beginning to ache. She knows she is wrong. For all that Vala acts as if she is above her mother’s stern gaze, for all that she acts as if she is happy regardless, she knows it is untrue. Vala fights to meet their mother’s expectations. She pushes herself and revels in competition. What has she gotten for it? The faint feeling of a low-roaring fire igniting in her chest when she gets an approving nod or when she completes a challenge to no immediate critique, the strength and endurance of a brave several years more experienced, a brother she barely knows and hardly understands. Vala knows she will be happy regardless of whether or not she wins the Proving (although it would be a great pleasure to beat Bast), but deep down, she knows she hungers for those faint scraps of approval her mother rarely deigns to provide.

The dark clouds of the night have begun to subside, journeying across the horizon to allow for the growing colours of the day, the sky bleeding vibrant reds and dark purples that soak into softer oranges and blues and pinks. The sun, a brilliant eye, continues its steady ascension in the distance, spreading a gentle warmth across the land. 

Varl turns to her, hands outstretched, fingers dusted yellow from the bunches of Golden Blooms. “I would wish you luck, but out of the two of us, you’ve never really needed it. You have All-Mother’s Blessing. And our mother’s blessing. I wish you well for your Proving. And look forward to celebrating your victory afterwards.” 

Even though he, too, expects her to win, it feels a lot less crushing come from him. She’s always had better luck than him: Being naturally competitive. Being less moved by the expectations of others. Being born a girl. As she gently takes the flowers from her brother’s outstretched, welcoming hands, there is a moment of regret and roiling guilt at knowing she has taken so much from her brother. There is also a low, simmering anger at their mother for building this chasm between them, for making them believe that they have had to take from each other, for making them enemies before they could be siblings.

In this moment, yellow pollen dusting both of them, Golden Blooms in his hands and on her spear, there is something more important than Vala’s pride and her mother’s expectations: “Do I have yours?” His brows furrow, and she takes his hand in hers, clasping the bright flowers between them. “Do I have your blessing? Will you be cheering for me during the Proving?” 

A soft smile dawns on her brother’s face and there is a realisation that she has never seen him smile like this because of her . “Of course, you have my blessing. I will be cheering you on the whole time.” 

“Maybe, after the Proving and the celebrations, we could… go on a hunt together? You could tell me about your Proving? And about your time as a Brave? I’d appreciate hearing your stories, and learning from your experiences.”

“I would like that.” 

When they head back down the mountain, they don’t race for their mother’s approval. They race for the joy of leaping from tree to tree, for the joy of feeling the wind swell past them as they rappel down cliff faces, for the joy of being together. 

Vala has changed her mind on what boon she will request should she win the Proving. She looks forward to more races like this one, just spending time with a brother she is now starting to get to know.

*** 

BAST 

The outcast is of age to run in the Proving. The outcast. That small, wild haired girl he threw a rock at so long ago. The motherless child who got to have that mountain of a man at her back to protect her. What trick had she pulled on All-Mother that she might have a father, a parent, a caring guardian to watch over her while Bast had his taken from him? Where was All-Mother’s love in that?  The motherless red-haired girl who had thrown his own defiance back at him, made herself the better person and returned a hit that stopped his own. She had survived a motherless upbringing and now had the strength to run in the Proving. The outcast was of age to run in the Proving, and she had the ability to win it. 

That’s all Bast really takes in from all of Loma’s grumbling, and Resh’s crazed ranting and spineless pleading, as he tries to convince High Matriarch Lansra to remove the outcast from the Proving. She can’t, of course. It goes against the sacred traditions of the Nora (although this tradition has only ever had one reason to come into play before, not that it was accepted), and to act against it would require the agreement of both High Matriarch Jezza and High Matriarch Teersa. 

“Teersa would not hear of it. And Jezza is too soft to stand against it. There is nothing I can do,” Bast’s wizened great-grandmother snarls from the head of the table, Loma mumbling her support of her mother. 

Den sits quietly by Bast’s side, eyes on the breakfast spread of berries, bread, and cured meat before them, though no one but Loma has reached for the food yet. An overwhelming wash of icy cold overtakes Bast, and he looks up to find himself caught in the dark burning gaze of the High Matriarch. He has always found these ‘family meetings’ unpleasant, the stifling opinions and expectations of High Matriarch Lansra and his uncle oppressive and inescapable, while his grandmother does nothing but agree and go along with them. No matter how hard he tries to follow after their example, there is always something not quite right . A bitter taste in his mouth, an anxious swoop in his stomach, a pain in his chest. He does his best to ignore these feelings.

“Bast,” the hiss of his name from the High Matriarch’s lips brings him back to attention. 

“Yes, great-grandmother?” 

“You must win the Proving. You, or the War-Chief’s girl. If the outcast runs, and I fear she will, you must do all in your power to ensure she fails. Do what you must, no matter the cost, she must not succeed. She must not be allowed to join the tribe. Do you understand?” 

“And don’t get caught.” Loma murmurs, disinterestedly. “No point being outcast yourself.”

Resh jumps into the conversation before Bast has to say anything and he takes a short, shaking breath, looking away from his great-grandmother and uncle as they scheme against the outcast, and his grandmother picks at the food on the table. Den catches his gaze, gesturing towards the door and, together, the two of them sneak out unnoticed by their plotting relatives.

The sky is still light with early morning sunlight, but the streets of Mother’s Heart are already abuzz with activity as everyone makes the final preparations for the Proving and celebrations. There are strings of lanterns being attached from rooftop to rooftop, decorative rope ties being hung and stages set up. Bast has always loved the Proving celebrations- the food, the singing and folktales, the tribe coming together from all corners of the Sacred Lands to celebrate as one. The Proving has always been the closest he has felt to All-Mother’s love, the warmth of all the Nora combining. Faintly, he recalls attending the celebrations with his parents: being carried in his mother’s arms while Den perched atop their father’s shoulders. Those memories feel long ago now, lost to flames and scarlet silks. His dark mood lifts when he sees the pair waiting up the path, their smiles growing to match his as he runs his way over. 

“So, ready for the race of a lifetime?” Nakoa’s grin is sharp but he sees no threat in it, and never has, despite what others say about his friend (and he hears the whispers. That she’s damaged , broken , not quite right after what happened all those years ago, back home in Mother’s Rise). 

“Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting years for this. I’ll finally get to be out with all of you. Not cooped up training.” 

“We’ve been waiting just as long, you know.” Yan laughs, guiding them all through Mother’s Heart towards one of the campfires, already burning. “Now, time to get you a proper breakfast befitting of a soon-to-be Brave.” 

Ferl and Muns join them as they feast and laugh around the fire, sharing stories of their own Provings that Bast has heard a dozen times and will hear a dozen more. 

At one point, he catches sight of High Matriarch Lansra moving through the crowd, Resh on her heels as they head towards All-Mother Mountain, and he feels his good mood start to fade. 

Nakoa, of course, as sharp-eyed as him, catches it. “So, how are you really feeling?” 

“Angry. The outcast,” his voice quavers. He pushes forward, spitting the words, “the outcast is running in the Proving. And they think she has a chance. I can’t let that motherless curse steal my chances of winning. Our chances of winning. Nakoa, I won’t .”

Nakoa’s gaze goes soft, something sad shimmering in her eyes briefly before she answers. “It doesn’t matter what she does. If she even shows. Bast, you just run that Proving. Don’t think about her, don’t think about Vala. Just keep going, and know that Den and Yan, and Ferl and Muns, and I- we’re all cheering for you. Besides, even if you don’t win… I’ve got a plan.” 

Bast’s face contorts in confusion. “What sort of plan? If you’re hoping High Matriarch Lansra will help you because we’re friends–”

Nakoa scoffs. “Yeah, already tried that. Didn’t work. Unsurprisingly. But, I've got a back up plan.” 

“Well, you don't need your back up plan. Because I am going to win the Proving, and get us that boon.” 

There is a solemnity in her eyes as she reaches one hand out to him. “Bast, you’ll become a Brave, as you deserve. And the tribe will be lucky to have a Brave like you. Just– don’t put too much on this. Whatever happens, we will get justice for our families.” 

Between the discussion in the house and the sadness in Nakoa’s smile (he doesn’t understand, there’s something she’s keeping from him, why won’t she tell him?), Bast feels the anger surging within him. 

He leaps to his feet and snarls (all too much like his great-grandmother, a small part of him cries). “I will win, Nakoa. Not Vala, not some feral flame-haired outcast. Me . I’ll win and we’ll get our boon and then we’ll go and make him pay for what he did. For what he took from us. I swear on All-Mother, and if you won’t believe me, I’ll prove it.” 

He doesn’t wait around for a reply, marching off from the fireside gathering to gather his weapons and prepare for the approaching fight.

***

Vala

The first Vala hears of an outcast running the Proving is from rumours swirling around Mother’s Heart, and the angered mutterings of Bast as he marches past (no doubt rooted in him from High Matriarch Lansra and her prejudices). The first Vala hears confirmation of an outcast running the Proving is from her mother lecturing the Braves who will be serving as proctors. 

“I understand that there are some concerns regarding the rumours circling about the possibility of an outcast running in the Proving. Allow me to put any such concerns to rest,” Vala can see the tension leaving Resh (the least loyal and most prejudiced of the Braves) as her mother addresses the proctors. “These rumours are correct. The outcast girl shall be running in the Proving, as is her right to fight for the chance to join our tribe and to join our number, as a Brave. I understand there are some who are… unhappy with this news. So take heed. Should I learn of any interference in our sacred right, you shall find yourself outcast. Am I understood?”

The chorus of affirmatives that follow includes a notably quiet Resh (Vala suspects he was silent and just mouthed the words) before the proctors all scatter to prepare or celebrate. 

Vala wanders over to her mother, painting a curious but innocent expression across her face. “What do you know of this outcast? You seem… protective of her.”

“It is an affront upon All-Mother to go against our sacred ways and deny the outcast her chance to truly complete and earn her place amongst the tribe.” 

“Do you know anything about her?” She fights not to shrink back under the sharp gaze of her mother. “I want to prepare myself for the competition, knowing my opponents can keep me ahead. Is… she competition?”

Sona snorts. “She is indeed. She was trained by Rost.” 

For a moment, a shadow falls over her mother’s face. A darkness, a pain that Vala has never seen before. But as soon as it arrives, it disappears, falling back beneath the unreadable expression her mother wears most often. 

“Rost was once the best of us. An expert hunter, an expert fighter and an expert teacher . She will be a great opponent. Trust me, daughter, when I say this: never before has there been such a close competition amongst the winners of a Proving. The victor shall be you, Bast, or Aloy.”  

Her mother tries to walk away and Vala finds herself jogging after her. Vala is notoriously curious. Her mother knows it, her brother knows it, the whole Nora tribe knows it. Does it get her in trouble? Occasionally. Is the trouble worth it? Absolutely. And this outcast girl, Aloy? Vala is dying with curiosity to find out more about her. Especially now hearing how skilled she will be. 

“What more do you know? Surely , you must know more. You’re the War-Chief!”

“Enough, Vala,” the War-Chief’s voice is sharp and commanding (there has rarely been much difference between her mother Sona and War-Chief Sona, but in this moment, the difference is stark), “prepare yourself as best you can. But I can give you no more. Nor shall I. You shall win by your own merit. And I hope you will win. Do me proud.”

Vala, Bast or Aloy. 

It was certainly shaping up to be an interesting Proving, Vala thought to herself, heading off to prepare herself for the coming trial.

Chapter Text

VALA

Mother’s Heart surges to life under the bright evening sky. The air glows with merriment and lanterns, the scents of cooked meats wafting through the air, and the voices of Nora from all across the Sacred Lands coming together in joyous song. 

The Proving has always been a lesson in contradiction for Vala. She feels so at home amongst her tribe, so warmly welcomed within the embrace of All-Mother and Her favoured children. And yet, so invariably separate. 

The daughter of the War-Chief: a study in how to become a perfect young huntress and to hold yourself with the due weight of what it means to be a Nora. She knows they look up to her, knows they look upon her as an example, and she knows they look upon her with respect just as much as with jealousy and fear. She knows she has a power amongst the Nora from her station that others do not, especially those her own age. 

She is the War-Chief’s daughter. They listen when she speaks. They consider her words, even when they do not appreciate them. 

She is aware that some of her ideas are less than traditional, that should those words come from any other Nora, they would be ignored or scorned. But from Vala, the War-Chief’s daughter, they listen and they consider. 

Vala is the War-Chief’s daughter, the perfect huntress expected to one day take up the mantle of War-Chief once her mother is gone (no one ever says it, not around Vala, but she knows. She sees. Vala is all too aware that she is being groomed for a purpose)– that means leading Braves into battle. And while Vala enjoys the hunt, she has greater aspirations. 

Aspirations that turn her eyes outward, beyond the borders of the Sacred Lands. 

The world is large, the people diverse, and Vala wants to see it. Vala wants more than the same hunting grounds, the same brave trails, the same machines, and the occasional new deranged machine that pierces its way through their defences like an arrow through a gap in armour. There is so much more than the Sacred Lands, and Vala wants to experience it for herself. 

More than that, Vala wants to experience the wider world so she can help. 

She has seen how tradition has led to the stagnation within her tribe, how harsh beliefs have led to a quiet divide amongst her people that no one will discuss for fear of retribution, how their defences and their training is steadily growing to be not enough. 

Vala has seen the aftermath of machine hunts over the years. She has taken note of how more and more casualties are returning from each hunt. How sometimes, it’s not even casualties that return, but bodies. The world is changing, and the Nora are not. Instead they struggle, holding tightly to their traditions and isolationism. 

There are too many disruptions to their old way of life – lacklustre foraging harvests occurring with steadier regularity, the Derangement of the machines, the losses and aftermath of the Red Raids – for them to maintain it with any success. 

The Nora need to grow. The Nora need to change. The Nora need to evolve . 

Vala has ideas. 

Grand plans and schemes and dangerous, dangerous ideas to protect her people and help them recover from their wounds while preparing for the next threat. 

Plans and schemes and ideas she knows will not be accepted nor listened to. 

Not yet.

She can see the crowds beginning to gather at the vigil site– voices and arms raised in prayer to All-Mother, the songs and music beginning to fade away as the ritual begins. Braves and Stitchers and Mothers all stood together with outlanders. 

And drat, she hasn’t had the chance to talk to the outlanders yet!

The Carja priest fascinates her. From what little she knows of the Carja (besides the long and bloody Red Raids and the stains they left behind), they prize education above all except their precious sun. To see the scroll he bore at the High Matriarch’s Lodge solidified her idea that she must learn more. What are their glyphs like? How do they teach them? Are all allowed to learn the glyphs? 

While it would seem the Carja are growing from their mistakes during the reign of their previous king, she still has her doubts about the change their new king will bring. She has heard tales of the mistreatment of Carja women – silenced and forbidden from hunting, kept caged and locked up in silks and golden thread – and rumours of the system of slavery stretching far into the past of Carja history. 

Perhaps, Vala thinks, the Carja have as much change to invoke as the Nora do. 

As keen as she is to learn more about her neighbours, she’s hesitant to speak with this priest– he’s clearly skittish and unable to stand up for himself. She wonders if that is a Sun Priest thing, a Carja thing or a this-particular-guy thing. 

The other outlanders are Oseram. The bald Oseram seems less personable than even the Carja priest, avoiding conversation where possible and sticking to the sidelines. There is a strange air about him; a shiftiness that Vala finds herself wary of. She doesn’t like the way he keeps disappearing and hiding away– it seems antithetical to all she knows of the Oseram. 

Vala had immediately taken notice of the other Oseram. It was hard not to, given the way he had interposed himself between the Carja priest and the stream of fruit. He was fairly well-spoken for a man who hails from a society known for its drinking and brawling. He certainly sounded well-travelled and full of stories. Perhaps he might be open to sharing some of them? Most importantly, he likely had connections. He has to be someone important to have been sent as escort for the Carja priest. 

Vala makes her way to the vigil site, her lantern cradled in her hands. It is beautiful. She didn’t know her mother could make something so fine and fragile– plant fibres plaited and wound into arrows that fly the circumference of the lantern, spearheads of blooming crimson, blue paint marking her name just as surely as her mother had declared it at the Naming Cliff.

Vala has plans for the future, but a boon will not be enough to grant them. 

She will require time, effort and, perhaps, All-Mother’s Blessing.

***

BAST

The night goes on and the air is alive with the singing of celebrants and the drunken hollers of Braves. The mountains sing back to them, All-Mother Herself returning the revels two-fold, echoing their joy. The sweet scent of cooked meat and spiced fruit and honey baked goods wafts through the air. Everyone is together, everyone is jubilant, everyone is swept up in the festivities. 

Bast ignores it all. 

He finds himself a quiet corner in the shadow of a lodge at the edge of Mother’s Heart, up high, nestled in the cliffs and stares down with tear-blurred eyes at the lantern in his hands. 

Various grasses and plant fibres of golds and browns and greens braided and looped, leaves and berries and flowers gently pressed and tucked into the plant-weave. He follows the braids and loops with his finger, finding one that curls into a little fox like the wooden figure he remembers his father carving for him as a child, that he had refused to part with until it was lost along with his parents. And finally, nestled in a little circlet of leaves and flowers, he finds his name, stitched neatly and painted in vibrant blue. 

Here in his hands, a lantern. Unlit. Beautiful. Precious. 

The most important thing he owns. The last gift his mother will ever give him. 

In but a few hours, he will have to release his hold and deliver this most precious object to the wind and to All-Mother. He does not want to. He wants to hold onto this lantern forever, this beautiful handmade creation from his mother, soaked with her love for him and her hopes for him and her belief in his future. Surrendering the lantern feels like surrendering her and Bast loves All-Mother, he does. He is devout and loving and a good child who follows Her teachings and he knows that his mother now lives in All-Mother’s eternal memory, but Bast’s memory is not eternal. Bast’s memory is mortal and fading. The summers and winters pass, years fly by and he grows and grows but the memories fade and become soft and half-remembered and he is slowly beginning to forget and he does not want to forget. 

The day that Bast realised he could not clearly remember his father’s laugh, he curled into himself and spent an entire day crying, mourning the loss and the hole of where that love and feeling of happiness should have been. 

Footsteps crunch through the snow-dusted path behind him. 

“I’ll be along in a moment, Den,” he scrubs at his eyes and tries to ignore the scratchy quaver of his voice. 

“Sharp-eyed, but not so much sharp-eared,” Nakoa’s grin is clear as she sits herself down beside him. He is grateful that she doesn’t look at him for a few minutes. Doubly grateful when she holds out a waterskin for him to take hiccuping sips from. They sit in silence for a while, before she speaks in a low, sad murmur. “I felt the same. Having to give up the lantern, knowing I wouldn’t get any gift like it from my parents ever again. Solai and Yan had to calm me down.” 

“And I get you?” The joke is thrown off by the shakiness of his voice. 

“Would you prefer Lansra? Or Resh?” 

“Sweet All-Mother, no! You can stay!” 

Laughing with Nakoa lessens the pain, allowing it to fall away to a dull ache alongside the ember of anxiety that forever glows within him.

“You’re missing some party down there, you know.” Nakoa nudges his shoulder. “Ferl and Muns decided to put their hand to entertainment.” 

Bast laughs, clear and full. “Oh no, what did they do?”

“Well, first they stole some poor drummer’s instruments and then they created the most All-Mother cursed din you’ve ever heard. I never thought it possible to play a drum poorly, but Ferl and Muns have proven me wrong. It was certainly an experience. They did, of course, then end up being chased away by the drummer reclaiming his instruments and got some fruit to the back of the head for their troubles.” 

“Wonder if they’ll remember that in the morning. Probably embellish it into some grand tale to tell foolish young braves-in-training.” 

“Lucky for those young braves-in-training, they’ll have you to tell the story right. Oh! You’ll never guess what Jarg did.” 

“Oh no,” Bast groans, “he didn’t! Please tell me he didn’t climb on top of one of the lodges while drunk again. Nakoa!” 

“Proving tradition!” She cackles. “One of these years I hope he tries to clamber up the Matriarch’s Lodge. Now that would be a spectacle.” 

“Someone really needs to tie that man down during the Proving celebration.” He mutters, ribs sore from laughing and face aching from his grin. He takes a steady breath, looking back to his closest friend, the sun striking her hair shining gold. “Thanks, Nakoa.” 

The sky is darkening to a hazy purple, touched with dark blue and streaks of wispy grey clouds. The lights strewn throughout Mother’s Heart are brilliant beacons in the growing night. 

“I should probably head to the Vigil Site now.” Neither of them make to move. 

“It doesn’t matter if you win, you know.” Nakoa whispers into the night, breath a fine shivering mist. “You don’t need to put that pressure on yourself. Just– run in the Proving. Enjoy it for what it is.” 

Bast feels lost. For years now, he has trained for the Proving under the determined belief that he will win and gain Seeker rights for himself and Nakoa. He doesn’t understand why all of a sudden, Nakoa is backing out. He knows the pain, the rage, the despair she felt after so narrowly missing the win in her own Proving and he appreciates that she must be trying to protect him, but– “I’ve not come this far just to back down now.” 

“I’m just saying– Don’t tear yourself apart if you don’t win the boon. No matter what happens, I will get us our justice.” 

The silence sits heavy between them, Bast trying to fight off his anger at so suddenly being thrown aside by the only person he truly feels he can be open with and attempting to understand what would cause Nakoa to change so suddenly. 

“Did my great-grandmother say something?” He whispers, curling into her. “I’m not stupid, I see how she looks at you. Her and Resh and the other Braves and Nora. Like they’re scared you’ll turn and attack them. Like they see something–” 

Monstrous, he does not say. Because Nakoa has heard it enough and she will not hear it from his lips. Bast’s eyes are sharp, and he notices– too much, he sometimes thinks. It scares him sometimes, when he notices the dark looks Nakoa receives. It scares him that he doesn’t know what hides behind those eyes, scares him that for all the whispers he does hear (cursed, tainted, All-Mother Forsaken), there are many more he doesn’t. 

“Don’t worry about me, eagle-eyes.” Nakoa smiles. Her smiles are soft and secret, hidden away from the rest of the world by sharp grins and harsh stares. Each smile is a treasure, a reminder of how wrong everyone is about Nakoa. She reaches a scarred hand to cup his face, “let’s worry about you. We can’t have you going down there with smudged paint.” 

Bast sits patiently as his sister in all but blood (his sister in loss, his sister in rage, his sister in seeking) reapplies his family mark with gentle hands. A peaceful silence settles between them as Bast desperately tries to ignore the well of fear and anxiety within him. 

***

The Vigil Site is ringed by Nora, the few outlanders stood off to the side, and the High Matriarchs stood on the platform above the celebrants. Bast kneels before his mother’s lantern. Vala is to his far right, calm and collected as ever. It is no coincidence that the two of them are at the front of the congregation. He recognises the aspirants behind him, some lanterns he even recognises the handiwork of. He knows these Nora, has trained with them, has spoken with them, or at the very least knows of them. He does not recognise the lantern between Vala and himself, does not recognise the space that lies unoccupied. 

Until he sees a blaze of wild red flicker in the corner of his vision. 

He can hear her footsteps slowing, and hears the low murmurs of the High Matriarchs as she approaches the stage. He hears High-Matriarch Teersa’s declaration– the lantern was created for the outcast. Not by her mother, but by High-Matriarch Teersa. 

His great-grandmother’s scorn drifts in the breeze. 

The outcast turns to meet his gaze and all he can do is shake his head at her. 

How can she run in the Proving? More than that, how can she take part in a ceremony such as this without a gift from her mother? Nora Mothers craft the lantern when they discover they are with child. The outcast’s lantern was made by a High-Matriarch. Perhaps she truly is motherless. How could such a thing be? How could All-Mother allow such a thing? 

“For my mother, and all she taught me. My father, and all he gave me. For strength, that I may bring them the justice they have been denied.” He lights the lantern, cradling it and with a heavy heart, he releases the first and last gift from his mother into the sky, and into All-Mother’s embrace along with his prayers for justice, for guidance, for freedom. 

Maybe this time, just this once, All-Mother might grant him Her ear.

***

The Aspirant’s Lodge is warm and bright, the fire already roaring in the hearth. The bunks made ready, furs draped across the walls and floors, Nora crafts and charms strewn from ceiling beams. It would be welcoming, homely, were it not for Bast’s uncle manning the door.

Resh pulls him aside, hand grasping Bast’s shoulder, clutching like thorns as he growls in Bast’s ear: “mind what High-Matriarch Lansra bid you do. Whatever it takes. Do not let that motherless curse into our home, unless you want to spread her corruption and offend All-Mother.” 

Bast leaves Resh to his door duty, hoping that he will hear no more from him. 

It feels almost freeing to be in the shared lodge, after so many years trapped in the individual lodge he has lived in with his family due to his great-grandmother’s position as High-Matriarch. But all the same, the swell of anxiety once again grows within him, his uncle at the door, ever-present and ever-watching, his fellow aspirants who he feels so distant from. Vala has wandered into a cluster of aspirants, chatting with them and joking with them and wishing them well. Bast keeps to himself, taking a seat by the bunk he has claimed for himself and setting out his gear, busying himself with crafting extra arrows and checking his bowstring as he tries to figure out what he should do. 

He cannot go to bed too early, lest he seem lazy or worried. 

However, if he stays up too late, he will be seen as overconfident or anxious. 

There is a disturbance at the door. 

Bast can hear the raised voice of his uncle, spitting and harsh. 

The door opens and he catches sight of his uncle’s sneering face before the outcast slams the door in his face. But not before his uncle’s hateful eyes land on Bast. He knows he will be listening. Bast gets up from his chair. “Well, well– look who’s come in from the wild! The motherless outcast!” The words feel automatic, as if they aren’t even his (all he can hear is the echo of his great-grandmother, his grandmother, his uncle– is he really just like them?), “I see you’ve still got a scar from where that rock I threw hit you. Now, that’s a cherished memory.” 

Vala leans into his space. Vala, who has always seen through him better than most to the heart of the storm cast by his relatives, who refuses to let her thoughts be left unspoken, who looks at him with disappointment. “You can be a real lard sometimes, Bast. Cut it out.” 

Her frosty gaze brushes over him and she stalks off to claim her bunk. Bast notes that she takes the bunk next to the single bed that has been laid out, unclaimed, for the outcast.  

The door beyond the outcast is still closed, but he knows how voices carry through the lodges. He knows Resh is outside waiting for the yelling, for the outcast to march out (he takes in her stance, and knows without a doubt that whatever barbs he sends her way she will simply pluck out and move on. She is unshakeable, she will not be scared off). 

“You didn’t know the words to the Blessing, did you? But no one hears your prayers, anyway.” He spits. 

Bast doesn’t think All-Mother hears his prayers either, or maybe he’s just not faithful enough, or maybe All-Mother just doesn’t love him . Every blessing and prayer has been drilled into him with a scalding tongue and a freezing glare, and weapon-calloused hands holding too tight to his arm. Perhaps All-Mother sees his hesitance, perhaps She sees how he shies away from attention and tries to remain in the trees and the bushes out of sight, perhaps She sees that he doesn’t really believe any mother could love him but the one taken from him. 

The outcast approaches with determined steps and a harsh frown, and Bast immediately prepares for a fight, hurling insults like he thinks they will have any impact. 

(He has seen what she has withstood– stones and insults and shunning. She has survived alone but for the mountain of a man that once shadowed her in the wilds, she has survived alone in Mother’s Heart. Nothing he can do can hurt her. But if he does nothing, he knows there will be consequences. Bast has always been a coward in the face of his extended family. He will always hide from his uncle and grandmother and great-grandmother, lock in step with them and pretend he feels like he belongs). 

Her clothes are new. Carefully stitched. The outfit of a true Nora Brave. Where could she have gotten those? Her protector in the wilds? High Matriarch Teersa? The patterns in soft blue silk are personal, the armour perfectly fitting. Someone cared about her enough to create this outfit for her personally. Bast hasn’t had any such carefully crafted clothing since he was a child in Mother’s Rise. Since being moved to Mother’s Heart and the care of his relatives, he has always been made to fight for what he has, to craft it himself, forbidden from depending on others to do the job for him. Time after time after time, he has been told that he cannot expect his uncle or his grandmother or his great-grandmother to do things for him or gift things to him when he is capable of doing them himself. He’s starting to think that they, like All-Mother, simply never had the time to care for him. 

“So this is how it’s going to be with you, is it?” She doesn’t sound insulted. She sounds bored . 

“This is how it’s going to be with everyone, outcast.” And why does it sound so much like a warning when he says it? “You belong in the wilds, not Mother’s Heart. And you definitely don’t belong in the Proving.” 

She raises her chin in defiance, the shadow of a smirk playing across her lips. “You can sense it. You already know you’re going to lose.” 

“Ha! I’ve trained all my life for the Proving! I’m not afraid of you– I’m not afraid of anything.” He’s afraid of what will happen if he fails. If he lets down Nakoa, and has to watch her drift again, fury bubbling beneath her skin and eyes distant. He’s afraid of why she has suddenly changed her tune, suddenly seemingly so uncaring of whether or not he earns the boon. He’s afraid of what will happen after the snow settles on the Proving, of what happens after. He is afraid of angering Resh and his great-grandmother… 

“Really? Confidence is quiet. You’re not.”  

The wind has changed. Bast is on the backfoot. He can’t lose here. To her. Not with Resh in hearing range. “You know, I often think of the day I gave you that scar. It’s a cherished memory.” 

“Yeah,” the outcast grins, eyes bright with mocking, “the look on your face when I knocked that stone out of your hand was pretty entertaining. But I suppose you leave that part out of the story when you tell it, don’t you?” 

She’s speaking too loud. Resh will hear and Bast very carefully doesn’t mention the outcast’s own rock throw. He has to cut this off, has to get a win, has to take control of the conversation again. 

“I branded you that day to mark your shame.” That sounds good. A strong point. Resh can’t be angered by that, surely. 

“All you did that day was make me stronger,” no, she’s winning again, how does he turn this around? “Just wait. I’ll show you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, right!” He scoffs. “This is boring. Time for Bast to get some sleep.” 

He can’t win this verbal battle, he has to end it. Now. 

“You’ll be the one surprised tomorrow, outcast. Not me.” 

Is that another warning? Even he doesn’t know what Resh will do to stop her from finishing the Proving trail. 

“Oh. Are you going to shut your mouth? Because that would be a surprise.” 

He stands in silence as she walks away over to the single bed. His gaze flicks towards the door, and he feels himself shrink in on himself. What will Resh say? What will High Matriarch Lansra say when Resh tells her how badly he was beaten by an outcast in a battle of words? 

Briefly, he catches Vala’s eyes. She is angry at him (who isn’t really) but he can see the dim glow of pity in her eyes. She always knows too much, pokes her nose into things she shouldn’t. He feels the anxiety crushing him. All he can do is sit back down on the chair and while away the evening checking and double-checking his gear for tomorrow. 

All he can do is pray to All-Mother for guidance and strength and peace. 

He doubts She has any to send his way. 

She never does. 

***

VALA 

Vala feels the excitement and eagerness permeating the air of the lodge, everyone looking forward to the Proving, but the atmosphere is underscored by nervousness. And no one is more unsettled than Bast. 

Vala is perceptive, it’s a skill that’s been drilled into her. 

“Always be aware of your surroundings, girl. Don’t give your opponent any advantage.” She can still hear the gruff command of her mother ringing in her mind. 

No one is as perceptive as Bast– he is the best scout and archer to run Proving in years (so says her mother, but Vala has seen Bast’s skills and is more than inclined to agree). However, Vala’s real skills in perception are in her ability to read people. And Bast is painfully easy to read once you know how to peel back the layers of bravado. She can so clearly see the nervousness rolling off of him: the way he curls in on himself like a kicked hunting fox, the way he glances to the door, the way he keeps fiddling with his already well-looked over gear. She sees through the hurled insults and cruel sneers. 

Vala has always felt the pressure from her mother. She can’t imagine what it must be like to have pressure put upon you from a High Matriarch. Let alone that High Matriarch being Lansra. 

Bast’s whole conversation with the outcast ( Aloy , she corrects herself) sounded empty and rehearsed. Noise for the sake of noise. The sort of noise that regularly comes from Resh or Loma or Lansra. Bast can be a prick, and an arrogant shit and a menace, but mostly? He’s just quiet. More often than not, Bast will hide himself away in the back of a group, or up somewhere high. He watches and he waits and he stays far away from anyone who’s not his brother or the hunter and brave sibling pair that he knew back in Mother’s Rise. The only times Bast is really loud or aggressive or cruel is when Resh or Loma or Lansra are around. Vala’s not sure she likes what that implies about his family relationships, but she is nowhere near a position to call out a High Matriarch and her dynasty. 

“Nice job handling Bast,” she grins to the flashing crimson cloud that storms past, “that should keep him quiet. ‘Til morning, anyway.” 

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Aloy.” 

That has to be the most stilted introduction Vala has ever heard. Then again, she supposes, outcasts don’t exactly get to introduce themselves often. 

“Oh, I know who you are. The competition. The others? They’ll finish the Proving. Most of them. But win it? That’s down to Bast, you… Or me. Vala.” 

“Nice to meet you, Vala. You’re right. I am going to win tomorrow.” 

Oh, Vala likes this girl. She’s just as fiery as her hair. It’s a shame she’s been an outcast all this time, Vala has a feeling they would’ve made a great team together in training. Still… 

“Never celebrate a victory before it’s earned, girl. My mother taught me that.” She smiles goodnaturedly, showing she isn’t threatening Aloy and gets a flickering half-smile in return. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I'm going to get some sleep. I plan to be well-rested when I run you into the ground tomorrow.” 

She gets a small laugh for that. Vala counts it as a victory. “Your bunk’s right there when you want it.” 

“Okay. Thanks.” 

Poor girl acts like she’s never been treated kindly by others before, Vala thinks, watching as Aloy glares across the room to Bast and some of the other aspirants. Almost like she expects them to try something. Probably from experience, Vala winces. She knows how affected former outcasts can be when they return to the tribe after being shunned. She can’t begin to imagine what it must be like for someone who has known nothing but being shunned. The shunning is an old, ingrained tradition. She wonders what might have happened to Aloy had Rost not been outcast himself (and wonders what he could have been outcast for that he would still be trusted to care for a child. More than that, he holds the respect of her mother , which is no mean feat. Vala finds she has more and more questions regarding Aloy the more she thinks about her). Perhaps one day, when she has power and credibility outside being the War-Chief’s daughter, she will look into changing the practice. Making it kinder. A thought for another day. 

Outside, the party continues, but inside the Aspirant’s Lodge, there is only the low murmuring of discussion, the sound of carving knife on wood and the echo of the festivities. 

“So, your first day in Mother’s Heart. What do you think?” When Vala rolls over to look at her, Aloy is still perched on her bunk, glancing around as if she expects an attack. “You’ve never slept in a Nora lodge before. Not very private.” 

“Comforts and distractions. That’s what I think.” 

She certainly doesn’t look too comfortable now. Perched on her bed, watching the other aspirants, tense like a bowstring ready to snap. “Not all comforts are bad.” 

“Comforts are weaknesses.” 

“You sound just like my mother.” Vala feels a brief sting as she considers how much her mother would like Aloy. “You can always go back to living in the wilds if you have to. In the meantime, get some rest.”

And eventually, she watches as Aloy leans back, untensing and readies herself for sleep.

Chapter Text

ALOY

The day of the Proving dawns bright and calm. Aloy lies on the too-comfy bed in the aspirants lodge, listening to the quiet breaths and soft snores of the others. There is a soft light trickling in through the edges of the leather sheets that cover the windows, a dusky pink of the cold outdoors that glows welcomingly in a way the silence of the lodge does not. She pulls her outer layers on and then hesitates, hand hovering by the side of her bed. Her bow and quiver are still stored below. The box is made of dark wood, carved with the symbols and sigils of the Nora, Mother’s Heart and All-Mother Mountain carefully scored into the wood. 

The carvings are edged by blue rope, twisted and looped in knots. She traces them with a finger. The knot for bravery, the knot for good hunting, the knot for wisdom. The ropes are ageing, frayed in some places, turning pale in others. They still stand the test of time, strong and sure and unyielding, ready to stand against many years more. 

Her brow furrows and her finger comes to a stop as she trials into a pattern she doesn’t recognise. Aloy finds herself drawn back to the warmth of memory: of dark winter nights spent at Rost’s knee as the fire crackled before them and he instructed her in Nora knotcraft. Each fold of rope, each loop and each meaning made clear in Rost’s steady voice. She recalls the indignation at the limits of her allowed knowledge– the knots she could not learn because she did not have a mother, did not have a Matriarch, did not have a family to teach her. She recalls storming across the lodge to hide beneath her blankets, refusing to learn any more. What was the point in trying to learn if the knowledge was kept from her? It was just one more wound, one more punishment from the Nora for something she had no control over. She remembers shouting at Rost when he tried to continue their lessons, turning her anger on him, bitter and cold and burning, and he had stood silent and stalwart. They did not work on knotwork again, and Aloy did not ask about it, instead she watched silently at the tremble in Rost’s hand as he made a knot she did not know. She asked him about it once, the answer being distant, shadowed eyes and the explanation that it was a knot made by adults, one Rost hoped Aloy would never have a use for. A knot of mourning. She didn’t ask about knots she didn’t know again. 

Her mind returns to the present, hand still tracing across the box, ending at the tie that opens it. Slowly, she moves her hand away, turning and leaving her gear stored in the chest underneath the bed. 

The heavy wooden doors open with nary a sound, and Aloy is relieved to find that Resh has long since disappeared, leaving the lodge unguarded and her with the freedom to wander. 

The sun is a faint glow at the edge of the horizon, snowflakes floating down from the few feathery clouds that remain from last night’s snowfall. Aloy is the first to awaken; the first to crunch footprints into the new-fallen snow, hair speckling white as she wanders through Mother’s Heart. She feels like a ghost, wandering the silent streets, passing lodges and stages and fire pits that only hours ago had been full of people, ringing with singing and shouting and laughter. She has to tell herself that the isolation of the morning is from her own nerves and her own choosing, not the shunning of the Nora. It feels like mornings up at the lodge she and Rost share. 

Shared. 

She aches at the thought of him. At the thought of his betrayal. All these years by her side, guiding her and watching her back and now he, too, has decided to shun her. She feels the embers of her anger beginning to fire up again. It doesn’t matter what Rost has decided, doesn’t matter where he goes, doesn’t matter if he wants her to stay here amongst the tribe and forget him. There is nowhere he can go where she won’t find him. He taught her too well. 

Eventually, she finds herself lost, overwhelmed by the sprawling forest of lodges and the winding tracks between them. She turns her gaze down to her fresh prints, following them back down the mountain. She is almost back at the aspirants lodge when Vala finds her, a grin on her face and a warm loaf of bread in each hand.

“There you are. Here,” she passes Aloy one of the breads, laughing at her no doubt confused expression, “come on, some of the other early risers are at Kela’s lodge getting first pick of the spread.” 

Vala’s free hand wraps around Aloy’s, slow and gentle and giving her time to pull away. She doesn’t. Instead, Aloy watches a brighter smile bloom across the other girl’s face as she pulls her down the path and to a lodge with a chimney of bright aromatic smoke, taking quick bites from her bread as she goes. The lodge they enter is smaller than the one Aloy and the others had slept in the night before. It is filled with long tables and benches, a large fire burning at the back with a series of pots and griddles sitting over the crackling flames tended to by a grey-haired Nora matriarch with a series of burn scars crawling across her left arm and neck. Vala guides her over to one of the tables, where a few other aspirants mill around, eating and chattering and laughing. Bast, Aloy notices, is determinedly ignoring her gaze and maintaining a distance of three aspirants and a quarter of a bench from her. 

“So,” Vala’s voice, bright and joy-filled, draws her focus away from the surly Nora, “first morning in Mother’s Heart, what do you think?” 

Aloy huffs a bemused laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to ask me what I think for every “first” I experience in Mother’s Heart?” 

“Of course not.” The other girl replies straight-faced. “I’m sure there will be plenty of firsts outside of Mother’s Heart, too.” 

Vala breaks into raucous laughter and Aloy can’t help but join her. She catches a flash of thatch-yellow at the edge of her vision and she turns to briefly catch Bast’s eyes before he disappears out the door. 

She sneers as the door closes behind him, turning to Vala. “What’s his problem? I mean, not that I’m complaining, but I expected him to be more… confrontational. Didn’t really expect to get through breakfast without at least one comment about my being a motherless curse or something.” 

Vala sighs, a small sad smile overtaking her face as she pokes at the food in front of her. “Well, Kela’s over tending the fire, so… There’s no one watching, is there?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Bast and I aren’t close. Honestly? I don’t think Bast is actually close with anyone besides his brother and a pair of siblings he and Den knew back when they lived in Mother’s Rise and they… Well, Nakoa isn’t very well-liked. Point is– Bast keeps to himself. He’s… quiet . Sticks to the outskirts, tries to stay out of sight and out of conversation. I guarantee, if you get Bast alone, without any adults watching, he won’t say anything to you. Honestly, he’d be more likely to avoid you entirely.” 

Vala must see the look on her face, because she quickly cuts in, “ not because you’re an outcast. He’d be the same with anyone. He just avoids people in general. Unless adults are watching.” 

Aloy leans back with a frown, chewing through another bread roll (this one speckled with berries and glazed with honey), mulling through what Vala has just told her. “So, you’re saying Bast is… acting cruel?” 

“Now you’ve got it.” 

“Why?” 

“Bast’s family are very strict traditionalists and believe that any crime should be seen as a direct slight against All-Mother and lead to outcasting and shunning. And… well, I’d say more but, I’ll put it simply: High Matriarch Lansra is Bast’s great-grandmother and Resh is his uncle.” 

Aloy’s eyes widen. “Oh.” 

“Yeah. Bast’s brother, Den, got out of that lodge as fast as he could, got himself into a position as brave out around Mother’s Rise where they grew up. Since Den took off, Bast’s been alone with Lansra and Resh watching him to make sure he doesn’t step out of line. I do honestly think that you and Bast might get along without his family’s interference. I can tell you for a fact that he’s not as keen on Lansra and Resh’s ideals as he acts.” 

“What makes you so sure?”

Vala’s face contorts into a grimace. “Nakoa. She’s one of the siblings Bast and Den knew before they came to Mother’s Heart. She… was affected pretty badly by the Red Raids. It’s honestly a miracle that she hasn’t been outcast. Although, she’s practically shunned- if unofficially. Fact is: most Nora aren’t keen on Nakoa and would be happy to see her gone, but she’s Bast’s closest friend. Given that friendship and how much Lansra has pushed for Nakoa to be outcast…” Vala shakes her head. “Anyway, I do think that you’ll have a better time with him after the Proving. Hopefully.” 

Aloy hums noncommittally. “We’ll see, I guess.” 

“So,” Vala picks up a handful of blueberries, dropping a few into her mouth, “still under the misguided impression that you’re going to win?” 

Aloy laughs and immediately, all thoughts of Bast are gone.

Aloy has no issues with Bast the rest of the morning. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for (as she has recently discovered) his uncle.

“Just give up now, outcast, and save yourself the trouble.” 

“And save you the embarrassment? Not a chance.” 

Resh sneers. “The only one embarrassed will be you. Bast has been training for the Proving for years, under the best hunters High-Matriarch Lansra could spare.” 

“How fortunate for him. Maybe he will have a chance against me.” And before he has the chance to open his mouth, she is pushing past him and into the lodge, determined not to be held up. She reckons she can guess who one of those so-called “best hunters” might be, she thinks with a scoff. Immediately after stepping inside, Aloy can tell something is wrong. All the beds are empty, all other aspirants’ gear missing despite everyone at breakfast being without it. All except hers. Her bed sits as she left it this morning, her gear exactly where she had placed it the night before. She rushes over, checking and double-checking, but there are no signs of sabotage. Something is wrong, but she can’t put a finger on it. 

Then she hears the heavy boom of wood falling on wood. She races back to the door, but it won’t budge. She growls a curse. Resh has locked her in. If he thinks this will keep Aloy from running in the Proving, he is dead wrong. She begins scanning the lodge with her eyes, looking for an exit: the windows are too small, the chimney is too narrow to clamber up and she has no hope of budging the doors and whatever is holding them closed. 

She raises a hand to her temple, activating her focus and watching as it lights the room in swathes of purple. 

“A loose roofboard,” she grins to herself, “just what I was looking for.” 

Compared with the icy cliff faces, creaking branches and crumbling old brave trails she’s been climbing since childhood, making her way into the rafters of the lodge is ridiculously easy. The loose board comes away with a small amount of leverage from her spear, letting in a rush of chill fresh air. Resh has vacated the area, clearly having presumed she would be unable to escape the lodge. She feels mildly insulted that he thought such a minor inconvenience would stop her. 

She finds the other aspirants at the gate of Mother’s Heart, geared up and ready to go. Resh remains blessedly absent and Aloy is glad to see that, while not amongst the early group to have arrived, she is certainly not the last. She makes her way over to Vala, shaking her head at the questioning look she receives, and catches a wince from Bast, stood to the side, separate from everyone else. She sends a glare his way, but seeing the way he hunches in on himself, his position outside of the chattering group and what Vala had told her over their meal, she is inclined to believe that Bast had nothing to do with the trap in the lodge. More than that, he seems to be sorry and as if he is preparing himself for a confrontation. At most, Bast seems to have suspected that her lateness was due to some delay and that he would be blamed. But the blame lies on Resh, and Aloy, at least, will not blame a child for the crime of their family. She finds herself all the more determined to win the Proving; to show that no matter what they try, they will not be able to stop her or get in her way. Aloy has a mission. She has trained all her life to win this boon. She will not lose. She cannot. 

*** 

BAST

He doesn’t know what it is Resh did, but he clearly did something . The outcast was late to the meeting. Not the latest, certainly – that particular honour went to Kan – but late enough to be noticeable. Late enough that Bast had been watching Vala grow steadily more unsettled and twitchy. 

He hadn’t expected the outcast to so quickly bond with other aspirants, but he supposes that it makes sense that she and Vala would become so close so quickly. He’s glad for her; Vala is a good ally to have. She is smart, strong and has an element of power she is unafraid to use to her advantage. The outcast will need an ally like that. He hopes that if all goes well, the two get to stay together. Bast has noticed that it’s not just the outcast who seems to be getting some good from the growing friendship. 

He is the first to spot the outcast’s approach; her brilliant hair unmissable, standing out like hintergold in the snow. Bast can admit to himself that he is more than a little relieved at her arrival. He knows that he shouldn’t be. Not only for the threat she poses to his family ( from his family), but for the threat she poses to his run for the boon. She does not seem happy and he reckons he has a very good idea why, given the ferocious glare she sends his way. Bast winces, feeling himself tense, shoulders rising to his ears. To his surprise, she makes no move to confront him on what has happened. In fact, she stops glaring entirely, a look of mild confusion marring her face, before she turns to Vala, leaving him to the quiet of his position at the edge of the group. He hopes that the threats against the outcast will be left at that, but he doubts it. He wishes that All-Mother could have blessed them with a Proving without Resh serving as Proctor, and can only cling to the faint hope that he may instead be watching over one of the trail sections where there is nothing he can do to interfere (but Bast is sure he would find a way). The last aspirant arrives, the sun beginning to spill light into the valley, and they set off for the beginning of the trail.

***

Bast walks alone at the front of the procession, behind the starting Proctor, Jos. The light now streams down from All-Mother mountain, gilding the world in gold and the long grasping shadows of the trees become more calm and less sinister. The procession is quiet, only broken by low murmurs and whispers from the other aspirants, walking in twos and threes. He can hear Vala and the outcast behind him, telling tales of hunts in the valley, of practising brave trails and the guidance from their families and guardians. He glances back, taking in the groupings, the wide eyes and bright grins and nervous laughter. He is the only one who walks alone and in silence. 

He wonders if it was the same for Nakoa. If her fellow aspirants were as scared and wary of her as the adults are. If her fellow aspirants kept away as she marched at the front, shoulders set and teeth bared. Bast and Nakoa are not the same. Nakoa faces every challenge head-on with a grim determination and a constant low-burning anger that fuels her. Bast keeps his distance, dodges and hides away, trying to avoid his troubles, blood icy and chill. Bast’s fellow aspirants aren’t scared of him. He just doesn’t know them. Den had befriended Ferl and Muns in training, running the Proving with them and hunting together out in the valley beyond the Embrace. None of them had won their Proving, but they hadn’t been bothered, just happy to participate and stand together and become warriors of the tribe. Yan had been happy to keep to himself, but had been friendly with all who ran with him in his own Proving. Bast stands alone, and wonders if it will always be this way– isolated and hiding and too terrified of the gaze of his family and their allies to make anything of himself. If he wins his boon, if he wins his Seeker’s Mark, if he wins the key to his and Nakoa’s vengeance, he wonders if he will see a point in returning. He wonders if he would even be allowed, not by the Seeker’s Mark, but by his family . He wonders if he would even mind if he was forced into exile. He wonders if it would feel any different to the numbing loneliness he feels now. 

Bast is the first to the bottom of the cliff, the first task in the Proving. He is alone when Jos leans in, hissing into his ear: “don’t let her win.” 

And it’s at this moment that Bast recalls Jos was an old friend of Loma’s, and recalls the times he has visited the family lodge. Bast feels dread begin to pool in his stomach as he wonders just how many of the proctors are in High-Matriarch Lansra’s pocket. He had been so caught up in his fear of his uncle that he had failed to consider he would not be the only possible threat to the Proving. How many of his great-grandmother’s allies stand between here and the finish line? How many Proctors stand ready to throw the outcast off? How many Proctors will be here watching Bast ? 

“Let the women go first, boy. If she happens to fall… Well, hardly an unusual event. She seems careless enough, disloyal to All-Mother and the traditions of the tribe, it would not be unexpected for All-Mother Herself to decide an aspirant is unfit to run.” Jos backs away as Vala and the outcast approach, Bast following his lead, mind buzzing as he gestures for them to go first. He watches them begin the climb, all wild grins and steady limbs, as he is all too aware of Jos’ eyes on him. Jos surely couldn’t have meant to imply what Bast was thinking, surely. Was Bast being cruel to jump to such a conclusion? Then he turns and catches Jos’ eyes, sees the shadow in them, the dark and hungry thing that lurks there, and Bast knows that he was not imagining things. Jos was being very clear with his expectations. Bast feels a cold overtake him, a coldness that has nothing to do with the snow and sun, and all to do with the growing realisation of what this Proving is– a death trap. A noose dangling above the outcast’s head, one she has no idea is there. One that Bast is expected to tighten around her neck. 

After a few tense, gut-churning moments pass, Bast begins his ascent up after them, all the while his head is spinning, a violent storm of terrified thoughts raging within. He can’t push the outcast off the cliff. He can’t . He won’t . Yet with every handhold, he can feel Jos’ gaze upon him, as heavy as Resh or Lansra’s. Bast won’t push the outcast off the cliff, but Jos doesn’t have to know that. All Bast has to do is make it look like he almost pushed her off and then get high enough that Jo won’t be able to see. Bast turns his gaze up the cliff face, estimating the distances and how long they’ll be in clear eyesight from the ground. Bast can do this. 

*** 

Resh is waiting at the top of the cliff. The heavy numbness that gripped his fingers from the climb steadily grows across his whole body as Bast staggers forward to the hunting area. Why could All-Mother not give him this one thing? 

(Because All-Mother never gives him anything.) 

Resh is presiding over the hunting trial of the Proving, standing tall atop a rocky outcrop as he awaits the aspirants’ arrival. Bast sees the steeliness in his eyes, the bubbling well of anger that rises from seeing the outcast still remains in the running. Bast sees the way his uncle glances from his bow to the outcast and knows he won’t get out of this trial with non-action, nor by playing pretend. Bast is renowned for having the best eye of any hunter in generations. He cannot fake being a bad shot, it would never be believed. Bast sends a silent apology to the outcast and prays that both she and All-Mother can forgive him. He takes a breath, readies his bow and reminds himself why he is doing this.

***

VALA

She immediately notices the way Bast’s steady pace falters at the sight of Resh. It’s not subtle. His face falls, his steps slow, his shoulders hunch. He comes to a halt, staring up at Resh, silhouetted by sun and snow-haze. Out of the corner of her eye, Vala watches Aloy’s face sour, a snarl creeping across her lips. Vala hates it– the way Aloy can so quickly turn from the friendly young huntress she had begun to know into this cold, angry outcast girl. Similarly, Vala does not appreciate the sneering face and glowering eyes Resh casts Aloy’s way. They have history. Somehow. Somewhere between the scant hours Aloy has spent amongst the Nora, something has happened to warrant this level of reaction. Vala is beginning to wonder about the events of the morning; what was it that delayed Aloy in meeting at the gate? Why did Aloy’s arrival herald a wince from Bast, if it was not (as Vala suspects it was not) imagined? She is beginning to wonder just what she ought to be telling her mother of interference in the Proving. 

“Braves! Ready yourselves.” Resh announces. Vala does not miss the way he turns to Aloy, biting out: “what will it take to get you out of here?” 

Vala files that conversation away for later, and prepares for the trials ahead.

Vala watches as the herd of grazers emerge from the gloom, kicking up powder snow, which whirls and dances in the growing winds, adding to the poor visibility. She tracks their path in her mind, plotting their next moves and moving herself into position. Most of the aspirants, she notes, have headed to the central rock outcropping where Resh had previously stood, readying bows and arrows as the grazers funnel down through the path. 

That won’t end well for them, Vala grins, but it works great for her. 

She pulls her tripcaster from her belt, loading it with shock bolts and waits. 

Beyond her, the others begin to fire, arrows raining down on the grazer herd, and a few aspirants giving chase, spears in hand. Bast stands sure and ready, still amongst the chaos; his eyes are focused, tracking his prey as he waits for the perfect moment. Aloy, despite her fiery hair, has almost become one with the snow, hiding herself amongst the trees and grasses along the trail, spear in hand; a ghost in the gloom. The snow is tinged red with the angered lights of the machines’ growing hostility and several grazers begin to charge at the aspirants, hunter becoming hunted. Vala wishes her fellows luck with the stampede, and turns her focus fully on the stragglers before her, cutting a path through the trees, unnoticed by the others. She runs, sliding through the snow as she releases her tripwires, laying her trap and taking shelter behind a small shrub. It doesn't take long for the air to echo with the crackle of electricity and she is met with a wealth of grazers to choose from. 

She races ahead, gaze on the arch that looms out of the blanket of white. Her feet are steady, her breathing even, her mind focused. She has a good head start, but she knows she won’t have it for long. Not if Aloy and Bast have anything to say about it. She leaps up the first ledge, powering herself over and onto the next. She turns a corner, kicking snow up as she slides past the proctor and launches herself off the cliff, reeling herself down with her rappel. As she does, she catches sight of thatch-blond. Bast, hauling himself effortlessly up the last ledge. They share a brief look– this is going to be fierce competition. 

***

The finish line is in sight. She and Bast are ahead of the pack, fighting for the advantage. Bast is currently a scant foot ahead. Aloy is nowhere to be seen. Vala has not seen her since the grazer hunting trial. She has faith in her friend; has faith that Aloy will complete the Proving. But a part of Vala worries at Aloy’s lack of presence, Resh’s words echoing in her mind. Aloy has the strength, the smarts, the determination to complete and even win the Proving– unless someone has interfered. But for now, she must focus on taking this foot of space back from Bast and pushing into first place.

Still, she sends a silent prayer to All-Mother to watch over Aloy and keep her safe. Prays that all is well with the red-haired outcast (prays that she will be outcast no more). 

She lets her mind drift away into blankness. Nothing can distract her. She is focused. She is precise. She hears nothing but the pounding of her heart, the staccato of her breathing, the pumping of her blood. 

And then– the cries of the aspirants behind. The pounding of feet, churning up snow. The whistling whine of a slip-wire. She looks up and can’t help the laugh that bubbles within her chest. Flying above their heads with all the speed and grace of a glinthawk, a flash of brilliant red, is her friend. Outcast no more. Vala pushes herself harder, faster, but she knows she will not win the Proving. Nor will Bast. She can see the path ahead clearly, and it is not a path where she beats Aloy. But maybe she can beat Bast. She gains, overtaking him by a fraction, and again, they fight for every step; this time with Vala defending her position from Bast. 

Aloy is at the finish line, her trophy protruding from the snow and Vala slams her own next to her, a scant few seconds later. When she rises, she finds she does not mind that Bast’s trophy also marks the finish line. 

She does mind that he immediately leaps to his feet and begins accusing Aloy of cheating. 

Her heart plummets for Aloy when she hears Ilaya’s response: “an outcast? Win the Proving? Never.” 

Vala feels her heart shatter on the snow at her feet and is all but ready to take up her spear in Aloy’s name when Ilaya smiles and continues: “for she is a brave now.”  

“You did it!” She beams to Aloy, as Ilaya instructs them to place their trophies upon the altar. Vala takes in the other aspirants– no. The other braves behind her, each celebrating in their own way: Duk and Thema dancing with joy, Milna falling to her knees and murmuring prayers to All-Mother, Kan who lies whooping and laughing in the snow with Tere. Bast, stood on Aloy’s right, looking lost. Aloy, herself, looking stunned, awed and vaguely uncomfortable as a few of the others clap her on the shoulder and cheer and shout her name to All-Mother. Vala doubts the other girl has had this sort of attention before. But it is well-earned and well-deserved. Aloy was the first among them. Soon, they will head down the mountain together, braves all, singing and laughing and celebrating, and– 

And then the first arrow hits Ilaya.

Vala’s gaze snaps skyward, her ears whistling with the siren-song of arrows, and watches in horror as a cloud of them rains down. The sharp thud and whoosh as the arrows hit the ground, hit bodies and catch fire, will stay with her forever. They scatter, scampering and sliding to the nearest cover as they attempt to gather their bearings and identify the source and identity of their attackers. Vala grabs Aloy, dragging her behind a rocky outcropping, watching as Thema takes an arrow to the shoulder and staggers, before falling dead to the second, which protrudes from her spine. Duk weaves, stumbling, and Bast, hidden behind another outcrop, reaches out, but finally an arrow hits its mark and Duk falls with a cry. He crawls towards Bast, the snow turning pink beneath him before several more arrows rain down to pierce his body and he falls silent and still. Milna slides out of her hiding place, racing towards the path down the mountain and for one brief moment, Vala feels her heart soar with the hope that one of them will be able to return to the tribe and call for help. But only for one brief moment. A moment shattered by a trio of arrows finding purchase in her body, her leathers catching fire as she falls. 

“We can’t stay here,” Vala cries to Aloy. She points to the path beyond, resolutely ignoring the flaming corpse and charred flesh of Milna, “that’s the way out, but we won’t make it under fire.” 

And the fire is relentless. There are too many opponents for them to fight, Vala knows, mind a storm as she tries to plan a way out of this. They need a way to cull their attackers’ numbers and give them all a chance to break through and escape. Or even just a few that could reach the foot of the mountain and call for reinforcements. 

“They can’t shoot if they’re dead,” Aloy snarls. “Keep them busy. I’ll find an angle.” 

Vala peeks her head out from their cover, taking in the lay of the land (and more bodies of people she had known as friends), planning and plotting. Aloy is a master at stealth, from what Vala has seen and heard, but if she is to take out their attackers from up close, she will need an archer to provide her with cover fire. And there is no better archer than– “Bast! Bast, are you with us?” 

He looks up, determination settling upon his face, confidence straightening his shoulders as he glances over to both her and Aloy. A nod. “I’m with you.” 

Vala turns back to Aloy. This part will be up to her, they can only give her so much. 

“Let’s go. Now!”

Aloy rolls her way out of cover, sliding through the snow from patch of tall grass to patch of tall grass. Vala watches as long as she can, until the former outcast has faded from her sight. She has no doubt that Aloy will pull through. She turns to the three remaining aspirants with her: Kan, Ansa and Tere. 

“We’re providing cover fire. Don’t lean too far out. Shoot where you can. Aim for the arms or legs where possible, we need to destabilise our attackers and take as many out of commission as possible. But do not risk yourself. Better to take no shot than die making one.” 

Beyond, Bast has taken his bow from his shoulder and is already preparing his first shot, double-notched. She can hear Kan’s despairing shout: “there’s too many of them! We can’t win!”

A gale has come in now, a howling, raging thing that kicks up snow and hurls it through the air. Vala wonders if this is All-Mother, grieving her lost children and turning her anger against the invaders. The storm provides them with more cover; their Nora furs and leathers helping them to blend in with their surroundings, while the dark clothing of the invaders marks them clearly in the white haze. Already, Vala notices, a few of them have been brought low, forms lying prone in the snow, steadily being hidden away by the fresh, swirling snow. For a moment, Vala thinks she sees Aloy, a snow-shadow among the storm, pulling the attackers down into the hazy white, never to rise again. 

Vala rises from her hiding place, taking stock of the survivors and the fallen. From the corner of her eye, she sees two more attackers go down, arrows sprouting from their backs. They are cutting through the attackers, culling the herd, as she had hoped. But on the wind, she had heard the voice of one of the attackers. She had heard the promise of more enemies on their way. They must take this victory while they can. They are newly proven braves, but they cannot hold the line forever. They have to move. Now.

*** 

BAST

“Kill the defilers!” Bast roars over the storm and whistling of arrows, over the constant knock-aim-release of his returning fire.

Between his bow, Vala’s command of the survivors and the– and Aloy’s skills in stealth, they are cutting a solid swathe of their attackers down. Still, Bast can see the terror in his fellow braves’ eyes, the tremble in their hands, the quivering of their breath. They are holding strong. Aloy leaps down from the lip of the cliff. Her hair is no longer the only red on her– splatters across her face and hands standing in stark contrast with her pale skin. Her spear is red-tipped, held in hands that just barely shake. Aloy sends a nod Vala’s way; their attackers are gone. 

“Quick!” Vala’s voice is strong, commanding, calm. In this moment, she is the very model of her mother: a leader of braves. “Run for the slip-wire!”

Bast stands guard, keeping watch, his bow at the ready, as the other survivors run past. He looks upon the carnage– the bodies, the pink-stained snow, the smouldering leathers, the arrows that lie scattered. There are so few of them left, he realises, so many of them lie in the snow. A jerking movement from the corner of his vision draws his eye. Aloy stands, staring, face a mask of horror, eyes panicked, up toward the mountain. He follows her gaze, catching sight of a new wave of attackers approaching. Determination and fear and hatred burn in his chest as he rises to his feet and moves from his position, drawing his bow with a snarl. 

One.

Two.  

Three.  

There are more. Sweet All-Mother, there are so many more, they spill down the mountainside like an avalanche, their numbers seemingly unending. But the others have reached his position now, and he ducks down, firing again and again and again. Aloy has taken off again, too, heading straight for their attackers, spear carving a bloody path as she slides and dips and dodges. Eventually, she is lost again, fading into the red grass and the reddening snow, and Bast can only just see glimpses of her as she stalks their shared prey. He wonders if, after all this is done (if they all survive), she will forgive him for the hunting trial, and for his accusation before Ilaya. Aloy has certainly proven in these scant few minutes since Ilaya fell and chaos reigned that she is more than deserving of her place in the tribe, her position as a brave. Bast can only hope (if they all survive) that his family will see similarly. 

(He doubts it).

Vala has not yet rejoined them, waiting behind a shelter further away. She waits and watches, and Bast fires and opens up a moment for her, allowing her to sprint over to the rest as Aloy surges from her hiding place amongst the snow, bringing down more of the defilers as he continues to pick off the reinforcements that crest the hill. Aloy disappears into the snow once again, and Bast and Vala lead the others further down toward the path, all working together to take out as many enemies as they can. They are getting closer to their escape, slowly but surely, in spite of the panic amongst some of the survivors. Kan is especially bad. Bast knows he cannot blame them, cannot be angry with them; their panic is well-founded. But with every cry and bleat of panic, they draw attention to their position. Bast scans the area, taking out more attackers, finding more bodies, and his eyes alight on Ilaya’s body, flames still eating away at her furs. Where are the other proctors? Where is Resh? Surely, they must have determined that something has gone awry by now. Surely they can hear what is happening. But for now, no one appears to aid them. They must win this fight themselves. 

They move again, inching ever closer to their escape, ever closer to reinforcement, ever closer to the chance that they might all get to live . Vala splits off, sliding beneath the shadow of the banner as she takes down the attackers gaining on their rear guard. Bast sees Aloy’s fumbling glide into the back of the group, the grimace clear on her face as she takes in just how few there are of them left. 

“Now!” Vala cries over the hollering of the masked invaders, “descend while we have a chance!” 

Bast lowers his bow, waving them down, eyes flickering from the cliffs, to the trees, to the flat land between, searching out any threat. Eventually, it is just Bast, Aloy and Vala left. Aloy makes to go after the others and at the moment, a small patch of sunlight breaks through the clouds, glinting off bright metal. Bast doesn’t even have the time to understand what it is he sees before he hauls her back into the shelter of the rocks, screaming, “get down!” 

The air is full of a high whirring whine and around them, the ground shudders, snow and rock flying under the volley of ammunition from the weapons in the hands of the masked attacker. This weapon is unlike any Bast has seen before, he shudders, looking at the pcok-marked, decimated space where Aloy would have stood. Then he notices the damage the weapon has done to the rock that shelters them; whole chunks shattered and blown off. His eyes find Vala. If that weapon can do this to rock , that post will do nothing to defend her. Frantic, he slides past Aloy and her panicked, grasping hands, notching three arrows and racing out the other side of their shelter. He hears her call after him, but it doesn’t matter. 

He runs. 

He breathes. 

He aims.

The arrows thud into the shoulder and chest of the attacker wielding the weapon, and he falls. But Bast can see another assailant running to take his place. They don’t have long. But perhaps, the time they do have is just long enough. He slings his bow into place across his back, racing forward, hand reaching for Vala, who rises, grabbing onto him and together, they race for the path. Behind them, they hear the whirring and they push on. Bast prays and runs and shouts. His heart is pounding against his ribcage, as if at any moment it will leap out. He and Vala slide, using the momentum to push themselves further, faster, down the path, out of sight and out of range of the put-put-put of the fast-firing machine. They don't stop running until they reach the slip-wire, where only two others remain, waiting to make their way down to safety. Chest heaving, breath puffing, they ready their bows for any followers, guarding the others as they make their way down the wire.

“Bast.” Vala’s voice trembles, quavering and fear-tinged and he knows it is a sound that will haunt him forever– to hear Vala, so stalwart and brave and true, taken by fear. 

“We’re going to be okay,” he grits his teeth and tries to ignore the way his own voice quavers, wobbling like a poorly fired arrow, “you go down first, I’ll keep guard until you’re at the bottom.” 

“No, Bast–” 

He turns to her eyes burning, and he doesn’t care whether it is from cold or anger or tears. “ Yes , Vala. I’m the better shot. If they come after us, I’ll be the better defence to hold them back before they get to me. You can lay whatever traps you want, but you will go down that slip-wire first. Look, you–”

“No, Bast ! Where’s Aloy?” 

Aloy. He blinks. The outcast. The former outcast. 

He turns. She is not behind them. She is nowhere in sight. She hasn’t followed them down. Bast spits a curse. “We can’t leave her to fight them off on her own, no one is that strong. No matter their training.” 

The others have caught onto the change in the air, the ferocity that Bast bites each word with, the grim set to Vala’s shoulders. They stand huddled by the slip-wire, shaking like rabbits, each waiting their turn obediently. Bast is relieved that, even stricken with fear, they understand the importance of not overloading the ropes. However…  

“Listen, Vala and I are going back for Aloy. Do not wait for us. No matter what happens. Do you understand?” Fearful, half nods following. “Keep going until you make it to Mother’s Watch or Mother’s Cradle. Let them know what happened, that the attackers are still here. Warn them of that rattling weapon the attackers have. No armour will protect from it and wood stands no chance against it. Rock – strong, thick rock – is the only cover. And if the attackers make their way down and you’re still not gone; just go . Screw the weight limit, just go. Do you understand?” 

The other aspirants – Braves. They’re braves now. All of them. So long as they survive – nod, wide-eyed and Bast doesn’t wait for more, taking off toward the path, halted by a solid hand on his arm. 

“If we go up that way, we’ll just get caught in their fire again and we’ll be no help to anyone.” 

He hisses and Vala just tugs him further from the path. “Follow me, there’s a path along here that takes us up and round the ridge. We can take them by surprise and get Aloy out. We’ll all get out.”

They race through the snow, kicking up powder and powering through knee-high snowbanks. Their eyes flicker all around, hands tight on their weapons as they prepare for any sight of their attackers but, as Vala had said, the path is mercifully empty. They have just reached the foot of the mountain, dotted with scrubby bushes and barren, brittle-branched trees when the mountain above them erupts in an ear-shattering roar, accompanied by a plume of bright blazing fire, unfurling into a massive cloud of dark smoke that spreads out to cover the sky. Rock and snow flies from the cliff face, the force of the explosion so great that Bast and Vala have to crouch for cover and dodge various projectiles. Amongst it all, Bast’s eyes catch a singular spot of brightness. Amongst all the falling ash and snow and rock, Bast’s eyes catch sight of a figure in Nora leathers with bright red hair.

“Vala! She’s falling! Hurry!” He doesn’t wait to hear her reply or turn to see if she is following behind him, racing through the snow like a spooked strider. He slides through the snow, mindless of how it soaks through his leathers as he kneels by her body. By some stroke of luck or blessing from All-Mother, she has not broken anything, falling amidst a deep snowbank, her form stark against the pale of the snow around her; but growing paler, he notes with growing concern. He hears Vala come to a halt behind him with a gasp, eyes no doubt falling to the same place as his own: the too-neat slash across her neck that grins a cruel, weeping red. 

The snow beside him crunches under the weight of Vala and he blinks in confusion, watching as she scoops snow and packs it into the wound. He’s not proud of the few seconds it takes him to understand what she is doing, but as soon as he does, he begins tearing cloth from his bag to secure the snow in place, creating a solid pouch bound to her neck to keep the snow in place, but not so tightly as to damage her throat any further. 

“What now?” The panic has begun to creep into his voice again; heavy, panting breaths as he scours the mountainside for any sign of danger, but there is none to be found. 

“Give me your spear.” 

He does so without question, handing it over wordlessly and watching as she pulls out hides and furs and leathers, binding them with rope. Together, they create a makeshift board, checking the knots and their surroundings in turn until the board is as safe and stable as they can make it. Gently, they slide Aloy’s body (still warm, still beating, still breathing and All-Mother , please let her remain that way) into place, securing her with the last of their rope. Vala takes the front of the spears and Bast takes the back, with Aloy between them they cannot run, but they go as fast as they can; Vala leads them down quiet, forgotten paths that she promises will keep them out of sight and get them down quickly and safely. 

By the time they reach the bottom of the mountains, they are exhausted– panting, pale and shaking. But they are not alone. There are braves and hunters and healers, Nora of all positions ready and waiting to escort them to Mother’s Watch, while a quartet race on ahead with Aloy carried between them. Bast and Vala stick together, even when they reunite with the other survivors, they remain a pair separate. They are checked on again and again by healers wishing to make sure they are relatively uninjured, braves wishing for more information, and even High Matriarchs checking they are well and congratulating them on their leadership and bravery. High Matriarch Jezza comes to them once, and High Matriarch Teersa visits them thrice, passing gentle hands and soothing words over them. 

(High Matriarch Lansra, notably, makes no such appearance. Bast tries to ignore how he feels about that.)

Bast and Vala stick together and they are silent and still, but that matters little, for there is no need for words between them now. They have passed through fire together, fought side-by-side as no Nora their age should have to. They have each other’s fronts and they have each other’s backs. If Vala’s hands start to shake and her breathing flutters oddly every now and again, Bast makes no comment, only presses his shoulder to hers and shares his body heat with her. And if Bast begins to shiver when they are inside and out of the cold, fingers twitching and jittery, Vala makes no comment either, simply holding his hands in hers. 

Together, they shake and hold tight and wait. 

Chapter Text

BAST 

When the buzz of battle has faded from their veins, when the storm has abated, when the bodies of the fallen have been retrieved from the mountains, all that is left is the waiting. Bast feels himself trembling; can see it in Vala, too. The pure strength it takes to remain standing is staggering and now, without the fear and the rage and the panic to keep him up, he can feel himself fall, all his energy leaving him. The Nora around them notice, thankfully, and he and Vala are bundled, limp-limbed into the cots of a healer’s lodge in Mother’s Watch to be clucked over by healers and family alike. 

The fog of exhaustion is curling its way around Bast’s mind, reeling him into the realm of sleep when the door to the lodge is thrust open, a cool breeze coming through the doorway to reveal Yan, bedraggled and breathing heavily. The healer is somewhat put out, Bast thinks sleepily from the way they sigh, but makes no effort to stop Yan’s entry to the lodge. 

“Bast! I’m so glad you’re alive. We were so worried.” 

“‘M okay,” he murmurs, revelling in the warmth of Yan’s hand in his. 

“Bast, the invaders. They’re–” Bast blinks and suddenly Yan is talking about Nakoa. “–and I can’t leave, but I’m terrified for her–” 

Bast feels himself drifting off again, lulled by the quiet of the lodge, the exhaustion of the day and the warmth of Yan’s hand in his.

***

Bast blinks into wakefulness and turns to the other bed. It is dark outside, the room is lit by a lantern and the healer is dozing on a chair by the door. 

“Vala?” His voice feels earth-shatteringly loud in the silence. “Are you awake?” 

“Yeah.” She sounds as bleary as he does. She groans. “I feel like I just woke up from a year-long nap.” 

“Me too.” He grumbles. “Do you remember… Was Yan here?” 

“Yeah. For a while I think. He had to leave, though. Pretty sure he said something about heading back to Mother’s Rise.” 

“Do you remember what else he said? I think there was something important…” 

It’s all a dream– faded and fading faster, slipping through his hands like smoke the more he tries to reach for it. All he remembers is the warmth and relief and a blur of soothing words and something about Nakoa. Perhaps that she was on her way? But it’s all lost and Bast is still tired and again, he drifts off to sleep.

***

VALA

Vala awakens to warm light blazing through the windows of the healer’s lodge. Out the window, she can see motes of snow drifting lazily in the air, reflecting the sunlight in a slow dance down to the ground. She can smell the crispness of the air, the heady scent of woodsmoke tinged with medicinal herbs and the wafting scent of freshly baked bread. For a moment, she closes her eyes and breathes, imagining she is in her bed in the War-Chief’s lodge; that it is an ordinary day and she will head off to train with the other aspirants later, and that the gentle snores she hears belong to her brother, sleeping in his own bed across the room. 

Her daydream is shattered by the sound of raised voices and she sits up, looking across the healer’s lodge to the door. In the other cot, Bast awakens with a displeased grumble, hair wild and tangled as he raises his head from the pillow. His paint is smeared and she can’t help the laugh that bubbles up within her, even though she knows she likely looks similar. 

“You look like a strider dragged you through a bush.” She snorts at his disgruntled face. 

“You look like a strider dragged you through two bushes.” Bast retorts, sitting up and rolling his shoulder, a small smile beginning to bloom across his face. “At least I no longer feel like a strider dragged me through a bush.”

The voices at the door grow louder. One, the high shrieking notes of the healer, and the other… 

“Varl?” Vala murmurs in disbelief. “Varl!” 

“Vala!” 

The healer shrieks, and the door flies open as her brother rushes in, falling to his knees at her bedside and almost pulling her from the bed as he wraps his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. Vala starts to laugh at her brother’s dramatics, but then she feels the way he shakes beneath her, and her ears pick up on the sobs catching in his throat. 

He’s not being dramatic, she realises, growing cold. He’s upset. More upset than she has ever known him to be. 

She wraps her arms around him, pulling him up to perch on the bed with her and he follows without resistance. Briefly, she sees Bast rise from his cot and shoo the healer from the lodge, and sends him a grateful look. He nods and gives her a small, tense smile, before shutting the door behind him. 

“I’m okay,” she murmurs into her brother’s shoulder, feeling the tears that soak through her undershirt, “I’m okay, Varl. I’m here.” 

They lapse into silence before long, just holding each other and basking in the fact that they are together, until Varl slowly draws away, looking her over with red eyes. “I thought I’d lost you. I thought… We knew something was wrong when it took so long for anyone to come down from the mountain but– but we thought that maybe it was just an aspirant had been injured and everyone was waiting for them to reach the finish line to all come down together, or maybe a section of the trail had fallen away or–” He shakes his head and runs a hand over his face. “But then the first of the survivors made their way to Mother’s Cradle and told us that the Proving had been attacked and you– you were still up there and…” 

“But I’m okay. We’re– we’re okay.” 

“I nearly lost you,” he whispers hoarsely, pulling her back into a hug, “I nearly lost you before I even had a real chance to…” 

She leans into his embrace, tucking herself against him and again, they fall into silence, simply holding each other and knowing they have not been lost to each other. 

***

Eventually, they dry their tears and fix their paint and sit together in content quiet. 

“I wasn’t first.” Vala murmurs. 

“I don’t think that will matter,” Varl smiles softly, nudging her shoulder with his, “you led your new braves in battle and ensured there would be survivors. You made sure we would be warned of the danger as soon as you could safely send people down to us. I don’t know how she could find any fault.” 

For a moment, all Vala can think of is Thema and Duk and Milna and Ilaya and the others, of their bodies in the snow, arrow-pierced and burning and still. All she can think is: what could I have done to save them? What did I miss? What will mother see that I did not?

“Hey.” 

“Ow!” She shrieks, clasping her arm. “Did you just pinch me?”

“You were thinking too much. You did all you could, Vala. No one could ask more of you.” 

But silently, she knows they both fear that their mother will. That she will still find some fault in how she conducted herself. 

A knock at the door interrupts them from speaking further, as Bast pokes his head in. “Uh, your– uh, the War-Chief– um… she…” He points behind him just as their mother marches into the lodge, Bast stumbling in ahead of her and standing to the side, clearly unsure of whether he ought to stay or leave. 

Vala straightens in her cot, feeling more than seeing her brother do the same. There is a moment of silence that passes between the inhabitants of the lodge. Vala and Varl behold their mother, who beholds them back, and Bast in the background, curling into himself and glancing back and forth waiting to see what happens. 

“You have done well, daughter.” Vala almost cannot believe what she hears. “Your strength and cunning does both you and our people a great service. There would have been a great many more casualties without your guidance and leadership- a truth spoken not only by me, but by those who survived by way of those very traits. You should be proud.” 

I am proud , her mother says in her own way. 

“And, you,” Bast straightens immediately, eyes wide, face pale, panicked like a rabbit caught in a hunter’s sights, “you also demonstrated great strength and wisdom. I am honoured to name you one of my braves.” 

Bast blinks rapidly, and Vala can barely hold back the curve of her lips as he turns his panicked gaze to her. 

“I would welcome you to my side at a fire to discuss your victory, if I did not have more hunting to do.” 

And all joy and pride is washed away by a wave of icy cold as Vala interprets the words: the attackers are still here. They have not yet left the Sacred Lands. 

“They’re still here?” Bast’s anger and sorrow is strong enough to break through his panic, the words almost snarled. 

“Indeed. I am leading a War Party to hunt them down and make them pay for their crimes,” Vala rises to her feet, jostling Varl, but before she can get a word out, her mother raises a hand, “you both must remain here. Rest, recover, and when you are ready, you will take up the defence of the Sacred Lands alongside your fellow braves. Varl.”  

Her brother squeezes her shoulder with a warm hand as he makes his way to follow their mother to the door. Vala knows there is no arguing with her mother once her mind is set (although this has not always stopped her in the past); she knows there is no point she could make that would convince her mother to take her and Bast with her. She knows that the War-Chief has great power, power to veto the decisions and ignore the words of other Nora.  And the power to know what may be hidden from others… 

“What of Aloy? Is she alright?” 

Her mother hesitates by the door and her brother glances between them. 

“No one will tell us anything.” Vala breaks her own rules and does something she swore she would never do: she shows weakness in front of her mother. “ Please .” 

Varl’s face drops as their mother turns to face her. 

“She has been taken within All-Mother Mountain to heal by the High Matriarchs, but… there is yet no word.” Vala watches with something akin to curiosity as she watches a foreign emotion cross her mother’s face. “You will be avenged, daughter. You, and Bast and Aloy fought well and with honour. Take that to heart. You have done All-Mother and your tribe proud. But now, you must rest. Leave the hunt to us.” 

And in a moment, the brief softness disappears and Sona, mother of Varl and Vala, is gone and replaced with the steely focus of Sona, War-Chief of the Nora. Varl hesitates by the door, emotions crossing his face too quick for Vala to catch, then peace; a decision made. He crosses the room, pulling her into a hug and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m proud of you. I’ll see you soon.” 

*** 

BAST

Some hours later, they are treated to more visitors. Although, Bast supposes, treated is an odd way to put it as he watches Ferl and Muns topple through the door of the lodge to the dismay of the healer (who Den attempts to pacify) though much to the amusement of Vala and affectionate exasperation of Bast. 

That same exasperation washes away under the warmth of his brother and his friends' grasping hands and joyful presence. What is slightly less enjoyable is the way Ferl and Muns immediately begin crowing Bast’s victory and might over the defilers: 

“Behold Bast the Sharp-Eyed, defender of the Sacred Lands!”

“His aim flies ever-true, stand against him if you dare!”

“No villain evades him!”

“None escape his sight! Not even All-Mother Herself!” 

(That last one counts as blasphemy, Bast is pretty sure.)

Meanwhile, Den murmurs apologies to the healer who is steadily looking more and more like they are about to turn from their oath of healing to an oath of violence instead: “We’ve been so worried, you see. They’ll calm down soon enough now that they know he’s safe and well, really, I’m sure they will quieten down.” 

Ferl and Muns do not quieten down. 

Luckily for all involved, Vala takes the healer to the side and murmurs something, all soft-smiles and gentle words. Bast watches in wonder as the healer grows steadily calmer, nodding along in agreement with whatever Vala says until they turn and leave (but not before sparing a glare in Ferl and Muns’ direction). 

“What in All-Mother’s name did you say to them?” Bast murmurs as Vala makes her way back over. 

Vala grins, glowing in self-confidence, but before she has the chance to explain, Muns yells from across the lodge: “lend us a hand, won’t you?” 

***

“You really shouldn’t be doing this,” Den clucks, following after Bast like a lost watcher as they move the furniture of the lodge under Ferl and Muns’ careful (or not so careful, Bast considers, as something shatters behind him) supervision. 

Bast groans, letting go off the table he had been dragging across the room. “I have been bed-bound for hours , Den. Days , even! I am so tired of sitting about. And besides; what the healer doesn’t know won’t hurt them.” 

He finishes with a grin, making to pick the table back up again, only to be hip-checked by a grinning Vala, two chairs under each arm as she cackles: “Might hurt you, though.” 

Bast solutters, abandoning the table and grabbing for Vala, who nimbly leaps out of the way, dropping the chairs and racing about the room, always just out of Bast’s reach. Immediately, the lodge is thrown into a ruckus as the two race around to Den’s panicked cries to stop while Ferl (sat on one of the tables) and Muns (jumping on one of the beds, which creaks warningly under his weight) cheer on encouragement. 

Eventually, panting and laughing in equal measure, Bast collapses against one of the empty beds, quickly joined by Vala. They lie together and listen as Den is fully incorporated into his friends’ moving plans, which quickly dissolves into bickering as Ferl and Muns debate over the best place to move the cots so they can all sit down and recreate the atmosphere of a victory feast around a fire. 

“If you’re not careful Bast, we’ll be having to call the healer back in for you,” Vala pokes him good-naturedly before rising to her feet and patting down her wild hair, “now stop lazing about and help me move this bed.” 

Den looks like he might pass out as he watches the two of them race across the room carrying the bed above their heads.

***

Finally, after much bickering and nonsense, the room is remodelled to Ferl and Muns’ specifications (which were, quite frankly, not very specific) and the dup immediately set about sharing the grand tales of Bast and Vala’s great heroics that have spread throughout the Sacred Lands.

“And the outcast, too, of course!” Ferl butts in. 

“Aloy,” Vala corrects. 

“Her name,” Bast rolls his eyes at the confused looks sent to Vala, “and she’s not an outcast anymore. She was first among us. We wouldn’t have made it down the mountain without her. Any of us.” 

The mood turns solemn after that, and Bast finds his mind drawn to Aloy. Is she healing? Is she dying? Is she dead already? Would anyone have told them if she had? If even War-Chief Sona didn’t know how Aloy was…

Den and his friends leave not long after, although they do take the time to move all the furnishings back to their normal places, lest the healer ban any further visitations (“but just an  inch or two to the left,” Muns grins, “just to keep them on their toes”). 

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Vala murmurs into the quiet, staring up at the ceiling. 

Bast takes a moment to wonder. “I hope so,” he eventually lands on, “if anyone has the strength to survive such an attack, I think it would be her.” 

Vala turns her head, dark hair fanning across her pillow as she takes him in with clever eyes. She huffs a laugh and smiles crookedly at him. 

“What?” Bast feels himself tense up, defensive. 

“I told Aloy you’d be like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“A nice person. You really are, you know. Without Resh or High Matriarch Lansra around.” 

Bast has no words to answer that, instead, he does as he always does when faced with something he doesn’t know how to deal with. He turns and ignores it. 

“You’re a person I’d like to get to know better, Bast.” He hears her murmur. “We made a pretty good team; the three of us.” 

Bast hears her turn away, too, and sends a prayer up to All-Mother that the three of them will get to be a team again. 

***

The next day dawns bright and calm, and with it a new hope dawns, also. 

The healer glares at them both, their frown pulling at the scars that crisscross over their lips and left cheek. “But if you wander out of the court or do anything strenuous, or if I find any blood on you…”

“Understood.” He and Vala monotone. They stand in silence for a minute, watching as the healer marches up the path to the rest of Mother’s Watch, occasionally turning back to glare at them. But at long last- they disappear from sight. 

Vala grabs at his arm, face lit up with a bright grin, “come on.” 

Without another word, she begins weaving her way through the lower court of Mother’s Watch, dragging Bast along with her. 

“Where are we going?” Bast’s voice is tinged with faint hysterical laughter. All he can think of is the memory of Vala pulling Aloy into the meal lodge days ago – days ago, sweet All-Mother – and that, for all he and Vala have grown up around each other, they aren’t actually friends. They were a team of necessity, working together to survive and save as many lives as they could. For all that Bast wants to be part of a hunting party, he doesn’t believe he would have a place in one. Let alone a party with Vala (and Aloy) and yet–

Vala turns, eyes still bright but brow furrowed as if he’s told a mildly amusing joke. “We’re getting out of that stuffy, herb-scented healer’s lodge. And also, I want honey rolls.” 

Bast pulls back, spluttering. “Why? Why do you want to stick with me instead of going off– anywhere else? We– we barely know each other. We’re not friends!” 

The brightness in Vala’s eyes remains, but it takes on a different hue. Sadness, Bast identifies, before it flickers away, fading into something else. The grip on his arm loosens and he turns to go but is stopped by a warm hand taking his, pulling him back. 

“You’re right,” Vala’s voice is soft, but not pitying and he can’t help the way he feels glad for it. “We barely know each other. We know of each other more than we know each other, and we’re not friends. But Bast?” She takes a step forward, another hand wrapping around his. “Don’t you think it’s time that changed?” 

Bast valiantly ignores the way his eyes prickle and his face grows hot. 

Vala, for her part, simply smiles. Brilliant and friendly and warming as the sun, gently moving the position of their hands. “Let’s go get honey rolls, then.” 

***

An hour or so later finds them basking in the sun by the central firepit laughing and knee-to-knee, almost toppling onto each other as they tell stories of training accidents and                                                                                                                                                                                                 foolish childhood hunts gone wrong (if Vala notices that his tales are all the misfortunes of others, that he tenses slightly when a tale directly involves him and skims over what happens after, she says nothing). 

“And then– and then –” Vala cackles, “the fish slapped him in the face and swam off!” 

The two of them laugh until they can only take in shaking, wheezing gasps of air, sides aching and tears streaming from their eyes. 

It’s all going so well, but then– Vala sits up, spine straightening, eyes wide and desperate. Bast immediately feels himself tense, “Vala? What is it?” 

There is silence. 

A beat. 

Another. 

“We’re out of honey rolls.” 

And immediately they are hunched over, howling with laughter. 

“No, really, I need to go get us more honey rolls.” 

“You’re going to eat your bodyweight in honey rolls at this rate,” he grins as she rises to her feet with a shrug and a sly smirk. 

“I think I deserve it. I’ll see if I can get more of the berry rolls from Yalana while I’m visiting the lodge.” 

“While you’re stealing from the lodge, you mean.” 

“Do you want the berry rolls or not?”

“Yes, yes,” he laughs, “sweet All-Mother, go already!”

He watches her until she’s out of sight, winding her way amongst the snow-capped lodges and various Nora who mill around. He feels warm and not, he realises, from the fire. 

“I’m glad.” A voice cuts through his musings. “You should have a hunting party of your own.” 

“Nakoa!” Bast is out of his seat and embracing her immediately, sighing as he feels her arms tentatively wrap around him in return. He is so glad to see her that it takes him a moment to notice what she is wearing– her best armour, her hunting gear slung across her, bow by her side, paint fresh and her mother’s earrings adorned. “Nakoa?” 

She gives him a smile – a small, grim thing – and says, “I’m going hunting. My prey is dangerous and it is a long way to travel. I… wanted to say goodbye before I left. I thought I could sneak off without seeing you but… I couldn’t. Not without checking to see how you are, not without letting you know how proud of you I am. And… I’m so glad you’re not alone. You and Vala make a good team, from all I’ve heard. And you make good friends, from what I have seen. Bast, I am so happy for you. Hold onto that. Whatever happens, don’t be alone. Please.”

“Nakoa? What are you talking about?” He feels like he is walking through sludge, his mind slow like treacle as he tries to process what she has said, before finally grasping on one thing: “what are you hunting? Nakoa, if it’s dangerous you shouldn’t be going alone. I can–” 

“No, Bast.” Her grip is strong, her hand clutching his shoulder like a talon. There is something in her eyes, a fire simmering ready to rage and burn out of control. Bast has never been scared of Nakoa, but in this moment, he feels terrified of her. Because he is struck with the feeling he had before the Proving– Nakoa is keeping something from him. There is a chasm growing between them and he is desperate not to lose her. He is scared of what she is going to do, because he doesn’t think she wants to repair the distance that is growing between them. “Nakoa, please . What’s going on? What are you hiding from me? Why would you hide something from me?” 

Nakoa refuses to meet his gaze. “When I heard what happened with the Proving… Bast, I was terrified that you were dead. I raced back, helped clear out as many of the invaders as I could. I can’t risk losing you. And the tribe can’t lose you either. Stay, recover, protect the Sacred Lands. No one ought to ask any more of you– not after what you have done to protect us already.” She leans forward, pressing her lips to his brow, and his eyes flicker shut. “I can’t take you on this hunt, not if it means losing you. You have a hunting party here– Vala and the former outcast. You belong here. I won’t risk that for you.” 

Bast opens his eyes, meeting the gaze of his sister in all but blood, argument on his tongue, ready to stand by her side– 

Mother’s Watch echoes with the sound of a horn blast, a sound so deep it reverberates in Bast’s chest. He stills, as does Nakoa, both of them transported for an instant back to the past and the red that soaked their childhood. Before he knows what he is doing, Bast is tearing down through the settlement to the gate. The lower court is awash with chaos and wounded braves. Bast finds himself swept up, offering an extra pair of hands: helping to carry wounded to the healer’s lodges, transporting supplies across the settlement and running messages between lodges and Nora. 

By the time Mother’s Watch returns to relative calm and Bast returns to himself, no longer possessed by the need to help, the refusal to hide and wait and watch, Nakoa is gone– no more than a whisper in the wind. 

***

VALA  

Vala is making her way out of the dining lodge, a basket full of freshly made pastries in her arms. She has learned quickly that, for the actions she and Bast (and Aloy) undertook atop the mountain during the Proving, everyone is more than happy to provide what they can if she asks. Vala will admit, she is perhaps abusing this gift. However, honey rolls are absolutely worth a little abuse of power. 

Her joy is boundless as she munches on one of the flaking, still-warm honey rolls, the honey melting across her tongue and lips, sticking to her fingers. She is slowly beginning to be at peace with what has happened, she thinks. The loss leaves an ache in her and the worry for Aloy (still no word, but that she resides within All-Mother Mountain healing) is a constant low-ebbing river within her, coming and going. But she knows she did all she could. It is hard to come to terms with, she has seen hunters and braves who returned alone, the sole survivors of hunts gone wrong. She knows what survivor’s grief is, but she never thought she would ever experience it herself. Certainly not so young. But she will survive and she will rise above it and learn from it. 

Her quiet thinking is shattered by the sounds of the horn at the gate. Before she knows it, Vala is racing, empty-handed toward the lower courtyard. 

It is chaos when she arrives. The courtyard flooding with Nora, rushing over each other like ants swarming when someone disturbs their nest. But she spots the braves, bloodied and bruised and limping, being guided to seats and healers and amongst them– 

“Varl!” 

Her brother looks up at her, blood smeared across his armour as he guides another of the wounded to a seat. Across the courtyard they make eye contact and she feels cold dread settle within her like a heavy snowfall. There is a hollowness in his eyes, and she suddenly knows she is not the only one in her family suffering survivor’s grief this day. She runs over to him and feels his arms tighten around her in a desperate hug, pulling her close as he hides his face in her shoulder. They collapse onto the stairs of a nearby lodge and Vala tucks herself around him in turn, feeling like a pair of birds huddling close for warmth (like a pair of siblings bundling close in the cold of winters in the Sacred Lands, pulling blankets and furs over one bed, holding tight and sleeping soundly) and waits for her brother to be ready. 

“What happened?” She asks, once his breathing has evened and the crowds have dispersed. 

“We were ambushed. They had– All-Mother save us, they had machines . They were controlling them. Commanding them. We were overwhelmed, our losses were great. We couldn’t–” 

She takes his hand, showing her solidarity, reminding him that he is no longer there. He’s here . With her . 

“Varl?” She whispers, scared to break the silence. “Where’s mother?” 

“She took some of the survivors and went after the attackers. She refused to call off the hunt. She won’t stop until they’re gone.” 

“We’ll wait. We’ll heal. Then we can join her.” 

Varl’s face is immediately awash with guilt and regret, and she knows– he’s not staying. 

“I’ve been ordered to guard the gate to the Sacred Lands. I only came to see the injured to safety and let the Matriarchs know what happened. And… I wanted to check up on you.” 

She smiles sadly. “Go, I’ll see you soon.” 

He rises to his feet, still grasping her hand. She watches him as he goes, her heart going with him, and prays to All-Mother that all is quiet at the gate. She doesn’t think the Sacred Lands are going to know peace for quite some time. 

*** 

BAST

The bodies pile up, laid around the courtyard and covered in sheets and readying to be sent up to All-Mother. Bast can barely think, it feels like he is walking through mud, slow and draining. His head is buzzing, sounds drowned out and distant as if he is underwater. His mind echoes with the sound of the horn, the panic and the sounds of combat. In his mind’s eye, all he can see is a settlement awash in red, rising like a wave to flood everything he once knew and held dear. He is no longer in Mother’s Watch, part of him realises, a newly-made brave looking at the bodies of the ambushed hunting party, but a child in Mother’s Rise looking at the bodies of friends and family, his community lost to the Red Raids.

The day is bright and warm, dewdrops like gemstones glittering on every blade of grass as they stand up to their ankles in the river, mud and silt settling as they grow still, hands ready and waiting for the moment an unsuspecting fish passes close enough to grab. 

They’re having little luck today. Few fish swim close enough, and with each miss, the water is disturbed and the fish take longer and longer to return. Even Bast’s patience is beginning to thin, despite being the mos successful- if only he could maintain a hold on the slippery things. 

To Bast’s right, Yan stills, eyes tracking something ahead of him in the water and each of them goes silent, watching and waiting… And bursting into high, ringing laughter as Yan topples into the water, empty-handed and spluttering as he returns to the surface. 

There is a groan of metal, a whir of machinery, and each of them slides to cover: tucking into the ruins of buildings, the verdant green shrubbery and vermillion grass and, in Yan’s case, sinking lower into the watery depths.

The watcher struts to the edge of the opposite bank, eye a warning yellow as it cranes its neck and scans the area. A scrapper comes plodding along after, materialising out of the shadow of Devil’s Grief, radar hissing as it follows the watcher’s steps, wandering along the riverbank. The water glows under the machines’ searching and Bast can see the bubbles rising from Yan. Yan, who is steadily running out of air. Yan, who the machines are getting closer and closer to. Yan, who will not be hidden from the watcher’s searching beam or the scrapper’s hissing radar. 

Bast scrambles forward, ignoring the hissing of his brother and his grasping hand, as he slides forward to pick up a rock and hide himself in another patch of grass. He crouches, hidden within the bristling red grass, and breathes. Slow and steady, he raises his hand, narrows his eyes– 

The rock flies through the air, soaring across the river and tumbling through a break in the collapsed wall, hitting the ground with a pronounced thud that has both machines turn. The scrapper lopes forward, radar hiss growing quieter as the watcher sways after it. Neither returns. Through the cracks in the wall, Bast sees yellow light turn blue. They are safe. For now. 

The three of them scramble down the bank, clumsy and quick and panicked, caution thrown to the wind as they grab Yan, lugging him up the hill and out of sight of the forbidden ruins and the machines lurking within. 

It’s Nakoa who starts. A heavy, heaving cough that slowly turns into snorting laughter that they all follow into, rolling in the dirt and basking in the sunlight, cackling over their own stupidity. Bast lies curled into Den’s side, uncaring of the dust sticking to his wet limbs, coating him in a film of yellow ochre. 

“What’s that?” Yan is sat up, looking north to the further reaches of the Sacred Lands where, in the distance, a plume of dark smoke tears its way through the sky. They stare and stare until they are interrupted by the pounding of footsteps and shadow is cast over them. 

Bast and Den’s mother, Yara, stands before them; sunlight gleams through her golden hair, sparking against the arrowheads in the quiver at her waist, leathered and armoured. 

They all know with a bone-chilling certainty what the smoke means. 

They rush to their feet, Den and Bast holding tight to each other as they follow after their mother back to the cluster of lodges and huts that spill form the mountainside to from Mother’s Rise. Yara’s hand reaches out, grasping Yan and Nakoa before they can split, “no, you stay together, the four of you. The only time you split up is if you have to run. And if you run, run fast . Run with All-Mother’s winds beneath your heels.” She takes a breath, a faint tremor beneath it as she pushes the four of them forward, “but hopefully it will not come to that.” 

The horn begins to blare as they reach the door of the lodge, Yara pulling the door tight behind them as she instructs them to pull the chest and rug from the door to the food store. 

Bast reaches out to his mother, feeling the warmth of her arms around him (for what he does not yet know is the last time), as she presses a kiss to both his and Den’s brows, before pushing them down into the dark abyss of the store beneath the lodge.  

There is the sound of the rug being moved, then the chest and finally, the door closes and there is silence. 

A brief, fearful silence. 

The world explodes into screams and the whistle of loosed arrows and the hiss of blade on flesh. Fire crackles and roars and bodies thud to the ground outside. But within the store, the four young Nora are safe, hidden in the dark amongst crates and barrels and sacks of grains. 

They sit in silence, even when the roaring reaches deafening volumes above them, even when the screams are so horrific that Yan curls into a ball and begins to claw at his ears through silent sobs, even when Nakoa stands at the small crack in the floorboards and takes in the world outside and is changed forever by what she sees. 

They sit in silence even when the last body falls and the world grows still and silent. 

They sit in silence even when Nakoa and Yan’s aunt Solai arrives and brings each of them back into the light to a world of red silk and red splatter and red-splattered leathers, bundling them in blankets and the gentle hands of the blood-stained survivors. 

Bast hears nothing but the ringing echoes of the screams and clashing of weapons, the rattling breaths of the dying. All he sees are the bodies, bloodied and battered in beaten Nora leathers… 

***

He walks in a daze, mind clouded and distant, still the screams and the horn and the sounds of death ring in his ears, joined now by the whistle of blazing arrows hitting bodies atop the mountain. 

He doesn’t know how or when, but eventually he blinks and finds himself by Vala’s side, hand clasped with hers. 

“Varl?” 

“Guarding the gate to the Embrace. He wasn’t injured.” 

Physically goes unsaid. 

“Your mother?” 

“Continuing the hunt. Alive and well, last we heard.” 

The War-Chief is missing, the tribe shattered. Broken in a way not even the Red Raids could accomplish. All within the span of a few days. 

Bast isn’t sure when the realisation occurs to him, but by the end of the day he knows intrinsically that he and Vala are sticking together. They are a true hunting party now. He will not back down, will not leave her, will fight by her side for as long as they each draw breath. 

Vala is tense with worry, fearing both for her brother guarding the entry to the Embrace, and her mother who is missing, her fate unknown. When Resh’s sneering face passes by, now crowned acting War-Chief, Bast pays him minimal attention, but to send a small, heated glare at the disrespect he shows the true War-Chief’s daughter. He doesn’t have the energy to feel scared of Resh. Doesn’t even have the energy to feel angry at Resh’s crowing victory on the heels of the great losses suffered by Vala and their tribe. He doesn’t even have the energy to smile at Teb when the stitcher hands him and Vala a bowl of warm stew. Bast is so tired and drained from loss, he feels dead inside; an empty, withering husk, slowly losing vitality. Or maybe a tree in the vast rainless lands outside of the Sacred Lands, left to dry and bleed its lifeblood into soil that will never return the sustenance. 

They huddle together under the eaves of one of the lodges, two survivors adrift in loss, as a steady rain begins to drum against the roof above them. 

And then a messenger arrives from the top of Mother’s Watch. 

The High Matriarchs are meeting. 

Aloy is alive. 

Aloy is awake. 

Chapter Text

VALA

The rain falls in icy sheets, sharp and unrelenting. Vala wonders if the heaviness of the rain is a reflection of All-Mother’s grief; it certainly reflects the tribe’s grief.

There is an odd beauty to it, a corner of her mind muses, as the moon peaks out from behind the dark oppressive clouds, turning the rain to drops of pure shimmering silver.

She shakes off the thoughts and chill, paying no mind to the whispers and stares as she races through Mother’s Watch, feet pounding a steady sloshing rhythm in the loose – and ever-loosening – mud path as she tears her way through the settlement. Bast keeps pace beside her, a step behind and focused on the dark looming, yet comforting shape of All-Mother Mountain as it slowly appears out of the rain haze.

An eternity and a second passes, and they skid to a stop, mud splashing up their boots and legs as they reach the height of Mother’s Watch.

Vala can only stare, eyes alight with awe and torchlight at the open entrance to All-Mother Mountain. She has seen it before: as a daughter of the tribe, she has come to Mother’s Watch for many ceremonies, some even at the foot of the mountain; as daughter of the War-Chief, she has been privy to more.

(She wonders briefly if Bast, as great-grandchild to a High Matriarch, has had the opportunity to see All-Mother Mountain like this. But she knows high Matriarch Lansra. She wonders very briefly.)

And yet.

And yet, despite having seen All-Mother Mountain all her life (tall, reaching out of the clouds and the mist and the fog, but never imposing. Never intimidating. A protective guard watching over them all), despite having stood by this entrance before, she feels her heart flutter at the knowledge that her goddess’ most sacred sanctum lies before her, open and welcoming and forbidden. Once again, she feels a part of herself wonder at the fact that Aloy has been allowed to heal inside the mountain.

A chill hand grips her wrist tightly and returns Vala back to herself. The grip is tight, almost to the point of pain and she turns to Bast, catching his frozen wide-eyed gaze and following it to the two figures huddled by the entrance of All-Mother Mountain.

Locked in a hushed but heated conversation, High Matriarchs Lansra and Jezza stand in soaked leathers, feet sinking into the mud with how long they have been stood debating.

Vala turns back to Bast and holds his fear-blown gaze. His eyes flick over to his great-grandmother, then beyond. A shiver runs through him; one Vala is not entirely sure is due to the cold unrelenting rain. But he turns his gaze back to her. He nods.

The high Matriarchs look up as they approach.

“Vala. Bast. What brings you here?”

Vala doesn’t miss the way Bast bows his head slightly, avoiding his great-grandmother’s eyes. She takes a step forward, drawing eyes to her, shielding him. “We heard Aloy was awake. We came to see her.”

Already, a half-feral snarl pulls at Lansra’s lips. Already, Vala can feel Bast tensing behind her. Already, she feels herself draw up, ready for a fight.

A sound cuts through the tension: a dull ringing reverberation from the mountain. The echo of footsteps commands all gathered to turn and bear witness as High Matriarch Teersa emerges from the mountain. And behind her in Nora leathers, bow slung across her back, a glossy pale scar across her throat: Aloy.

Vala feels the tension and fear leaving her body upon seeing her friend not only alive, but up and walking. She can’t keep the grin from her face.

Aloy, for her part, stares at the convening High Matriarchs with a look of set determination, which melts away as she takes in Vala and Bast, brow furrowing and eyes betraying her shock. Vala feels a part of her ache for the loneliness Aloy has suffered (just as it aches for the oppressive smothering and watchfulness Bast has suffered), slipping a hand to Bast’s wrist, tapping with a murmured, “come on,” before they make their way past the huddling High Matriarchs (Lansra back to her hissing snake impressions which she combines with the snarled face of a particularly bitey fox) to Aloy’s side. Vala knocks her shoulder against Aloy’s, Bast stalking round to flank Aloy’s other side, flashing her a small, secret smile as he does.

“Sisters,” High Matriarch Teersa announces, “the Goddess spoke to Aloy! Told her to heal the corruption.”

The sound Lansra makes in response sounds like someone sat on a fox and squished it to death- a strange mix of wheeze and snarl and yelp. Vala might laugh if her ears were not ringing with what high Matriarch Teersa had said, turning to face Aloy with wide eyes as Bast murmurs on the other side, face drawn, “She spoke to you?”

Then comes the greater shock. High Matriarch Teersa’s revelation of how Aloy will heal the corruption: she is to travel outside of the Sacred Lands, free to roam the world and do whatever she deems necessary to complete her quest.

The other High Matriarchs seem just as shocked. High Matriarch Jezza staggering back as she questions, “a Seeker?”

Vala is passingly familiar with what a Seeker is – though there has not been one in her lifetime – but Bast has a particularly curious reaction: head snapping back to the High Matriarchs, body going taut like a bowstring.

Lansra, for her part, is her usual self when it comes to things she does not like: spitting and hissing and raging. “You would name this thing a Seeker?!”

“For once, Lansra, join with us.” High Matriarch Teersa pleads, hands outstretched to her sister, but she is brushed off. 

(Or do us all a favour and hold your tongue. And perhaps quietly fall off a cliff for good measure.)

“This will be your sin, not mine! Send her seeking and she never be seen again.” Lansra glares as she passes by, bult falters mid-step upon seeing Bast stood by Aloy’s side. Lansra’s lips curl back, but whatever vile words she was preparing die on her tongue as Bast takes a step forward, blocking Aloy from his great-grandmother’s view.

“If you won’t give your blessing, then leave.” Lansra staggers as is she had been slapped, with Bast standing tall before her. “Aloy will not walk alone. There’s no one I’d trust more to have my back in battle.”

Lansra’s face blanches, lips still parted, but her only response is to shake her head before she turns on her heel and leaves. Bast’s eyes don’t leave her back until she has disappeared into the haze of rain. Vala reaches a hand over to encircle his wrist, giving him a proud smile, which he returns bashfully, before avoiding her eyes.

“You okay?”

Aloy seems shocked at Bast’s defence of her, blinking dumbly before responding to his question. “Yeah… thanks.”

“We’re a team now.” Bast looks up to Vala, brow furrowing as his confidence fizzles away once again. “I… think?”

“We’re a team,” Vala confirms, taking Aloy’s hand in her free one. “We’re a hunting party. Where you go, we follow.”

Once again, Aloy’s face is a canvas of shock and disbelief. It’s going to take a while for her to settle into the idea of having others to help her and watch her back, Vala figures. Still, no time to start than the present.

“If Aloy is to be sent outside the Sacred Lands, we’re going with her,” she tells the remaining High Matriarchs, firm and clear with no room for debate, “if she’s to heal the corruption, we will help her. She is not doing this alone.”

“Three Seekers?” High Matriarch Jezza murmurs, head shaking. “It’s unprecedented. Unheard of.”

“All things were unprecedented once.” A small smile curls its way across High Matriarch Teersa’s lips. “It would be well that All-Mother’s chosen stand with trusted warriors by her side. A hunting party. A Seeking party.”

The two High Matriarchs share a look, a silent communication taking place between them, before they step forward, arms reaching to pull them into a circle. 

“Aloy. Bast. Vala,” High Matriarch Teersa begins, “by the holy grace of the one Goddess, we hereby anoint you Seekers of the Nora Tribe.”

“No barrier can now stay you from your sacred task,” High Matriarch Jezza continues, “may All-Mother protect you and sustain you. Stay true.” 

Vala isn’t sure what to expect from the Seeker’s Blessing, but… she doesn’t feel all that different. Or different at all, actually. Maybe more purposeful. More secure in what she’s doing. But it doesn’t feel like anything has changed. From the uncertain look on Bast’s face, he feels the same which, given his strong faith, is likely a little unsettling for him.

The High Matriarch’s take a step back, looking over the three of them.

“I must prepare for the hymn,” High Matriarch Jezza steps back, “our hopes lie with you.”

Without another word, she turns and walks away.

“No pressure,” Bast bites back, almost imperceptibly.

Vala snorts and then again when she sees the look on Aloy’s face at the brazen comment. High Matriarch Teersa, too, finds herself amused, a bright smile on her face as she hands Vala, Bast and Aloy each an identical talisman.

“That is your Seeker’s Mark,” she explains as they each look at the talisman – an eye centred in several looking stars, encircled in blue thread, with a tasselled tail – before attaching it to their belts.

“Teersa, what is a Seeker?”

“You are,” the High Matriarch responds, in an incredibly unclear and unhelpful way, before thankfully continuing, “in times of great need, the High Matriarchs may anoint a Seeker- a worthy brave sent forth to accomplish a great purpose. No matter where that purpose might take them.”

“Even beyond the borders of the Sacred Land?”

High Matriarch Teersa doesn’t get the chance to respond, Bast jumping in, holding Aloy’s gaze as he answers: “a Seeker’s Mark provides All-Mother’s protection, keeping us safe from any corruption by the tainted lands outside of our sacred tribal lands. And it gives any Seeker the right to return home once their quest is complete.”

“Or as the need arises,” the High Matriarch agrees, “you will always be welcome home.”

Vala watches a brief clash of emotions rage across Aloy’s face and decides to step in, having a question of her own. “So, we can go anywhere? Without restrictions? Would that include, if necessary, even forbidden places like Devil’s Grief?” 

“Even to forbidden places and tainted lands,” comes the response, accompanied by a somewhat uneasy expression, “which does include the ruins of the Metal World. But take care and do not linger.”

“Teersa,” Aloy pipes up, voice questioning, “Why are the lands beyond Nora territory called ‘tainted’?”

“Our land is sacred,” Bast replies, almost as if speaking from rote memorisation. “We live under the sight and guidance of All-Mother, the one true Goddess. Our faith is rewarded with her protection, but beyond our Sacred Lands, the world is tainted and impure. It is corrupted and spiritually tainted. That’s why it's against tribal law to leave and why those who do leave without blessings and permission are forbidden to return.” 

Bast’s voice becomes pained as he continues, looking up to meet Aloy’s eyes for the first time. “Anyone who leaves the Sacred Lands without the High Matriarchs’ permission and without All-Mother’s blessing will become tainted by the lands outside All-Mother’s protection, and… they cannot be allowed to spread that corruption amongst the true faithful.” 

There is a beat of silence wherein Bast lowers his gaze once again, before High Matriarch Teersa steps in. “Ah. Yes, thank you, Bast. But the Seeker blessings will protect you.” 

“Why are the ‘ruins of the Metal World’ forbidden?” 

“They are blighted places, Aloy,” High Matriarch Teersa responds, turning to face her, “dark and wicked, like the Children of Metal who built them. When they rebelled and tried to murder All-Mother, Her wrath levelled their cities but could not cleanse their sin. Their ancient spite haunts those ruins, ready to ensnare anyone foolish enough to enter them.” 

“But… But I’ve been in a ruin.” Vala immediately turns to her, interested, but is quickly taken aback by Aloy’s addition. “It looked a lot like the inside of All-Mother.” 

“What?” Bast murmurs. Vala feels her blood rushing in her ears like an engorged river, as if trying to mask Aloy’s words.

“That cannot be so!” High Matriarch Teersa exclaims. 

“It is.” Aloy retorts, eyes hardening, body tensing, as if readying for a fight. 

“Then…” High Matriarch Teersa pauses. “This is something beyond my understanding. I will trust you to reveal the truth.” 

Aloy seems taken aback by the response, visibly drawing her thoughts together but before she can ask anything else, Bast steps forward. “High Matriarch Teersa?” 

The High Matriarch’s eyebrows raise as she takes in the usually quiet archer, who stands nervously before her, avoiding her gaze. She smiles, a hint of sadness on her face as she says, “simply call me Teersa. There is no need for such formalities now.” 

Bast, somehow, looks even more uncomfortable. “I, uh… Have there… Are there… other Seekers?” 

“There have been, in the past. But they are rare, and most who set out are never heard from again.” 

“Was Rost a Seeker?” Aloy’s voice jumps in once again. 

There is a flash of shock over Teresa's face at the question, and while she is vehement in her reply, there is a hesitancy that underscores her answer: “No… not a Seeker…” 

There is a suspicious crease to Bast’s brow, a curious twist to Vala’s lips, an open confusion from Aloy. “What are you not telling me?” 

“This is not the time, Aloy. Perhaps another day.” 

Aloy takes a breath, Vala notices the slight tremor to her hands, clenched at her side as she slowly asks her next question, voice low and grief-tinged. “What was… done with Rost’s body?” 

“I'm afraid there was… very little left to recover. But what there was, we buried at the place where he raised you, with flowers on the grave.” 

“Thank you.” 

Vala looks out at the assembled Nora beyond, awaiting the beginnings of the hymn. “So much loss, so much suffering… Is there anything we can do to help?” 

Teersa smiles comfortingly, laying a hand across her shoulder. “You have done so much already. What is important for the three of you to do now is keep to your purpose and seek out the answers as All-Mother has commanded.” 

“We don’t know what that means any more than you do.” Aloy heaves a sigh. 

“Then you must find out.” Teersa says, mysterious and quite unhelpfully, but probably well-intentioned, given her smile. “If, however, you sense that part of your purpose is to help the tribe, by all means do so. I have no doubt you will find people in need throughout the Embrace.” 

“The War Party…” Vala murmurs. 

To her surprise, there is a nudge at her shoulder, and Bast gives her a determined look. “We can check in with Varl at the gate, find out where the War Party was and see if we can pick up their tracks, lend them what help we can.” 

Vala’s hand finds Bast’s, clasping it tightly. 

Teersa hums, eyes wandering over each of them. “A good idea, you will need to pass through the Gates of the Embrace to get to Meridian. Varl can point you in the right direction. And if any Nora should try to stand in your way, make sure they know the three of you are Seekers.”

“Don’t worry,” Vala grins, teeth bright and sharp, “we will.” 

“Thank you, Teersa, for all you’ve done.” 

“May All-Mother bless and watch over the three of you.” And with those last words, Teersa turns and re-enters All-Mother Mountain to prepare, leaving the three of them together in the grey and the rain. 

***

ALOY

Vala and Bast both survived.

Aloy had known this; it had been one of her first questions for Teersa upon finding her within the torchlit labyrinthine hallways of All-Mother Mountain.

Vala and Bast both survived.

Not only had they survived, they had been the ones to find Aloy and bring her back to safety. Teersa had even mentioned that they had both (‘both’ had surprised her admittedly. Vala, she could understand, but both had caught her off-guard) been asking after her, but Aloy hadn’t given it much further thought.

And yet, here they both are, standing before her in the rain with damp-darkened hair beginning to plaster to their faces, treated leathers shimmering with pearled raindrops and that bright blue Nora face paint inexplicably intact.

The High Matriarchs gone (good riddance to Lansra), the three of them find themselves falling into a joint silence: not uncomfortable, just peaceful.

Aloy takes a moment to think about everything that has happened in the past few days: the Proving, working with Vala and Bast, the attacker with the empty silver eyes, Rost, waking up in All-Mother Mountain, the woman who looks like her (her mother?), Vala and Bast standing by her side in the face of the High Matriarchs and volunteering to go on this quest with her. 

… Bast openly supporting her? She’s still unsure that last one is real. 

Her fingers twitch as she’s hit with a sudden jolt of uncertainty and she has the urge to move them- brush back her hair or pat her medicine pouch or tap her Focus. Instead, she finds they clench around the smooth leather of the Seeker’s Mark. Her thumb traces the blue threads dancing their way around the circumference, finding their way to the embossed leather centre and, nestled at its heart, the polished and painted wooden bead. It strikes her suddenly that this is the first gift the Nora have given her. Her first gift and it is the freedom to leave– to wander beyond the Sacred Lands, to explore the ancient ruins, to find the secrets of her mother’s identity. It’s all she’s ever wanted and more than she ever thought she would get.

She wonders what Rost would say. He had been so adamant that her place was with the tribe and yet, they believed that her place was out in the world beyond. Surely this conflicts with Rost’s final lesson? But, then again – she glances up at Vala and Bast, similarly focused on their Seeker’s Marks – Teersa had suggested that there may be people needing help on their way through the Embrace. People that Vala and Bast know…

“Who’s Varl?”

The two braves’ heads snap up at the question, a brief period of dumb blinking overtaking them, making them seem like a pair of young owlets before Vala breaks into a bright smile. “My brother. He’s been a brave for a few years now, he…” 

Aloy recalls then, what Teersa had said within the mountain: “He was part of the War Party, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. But he survived. He brought what injured he could back to the Embrace. Then the War-Chief sent him to stand guard over the Main Embrace Gate. It’s on our way out of the Embrace to Meridian.” 

“Speaking of Meridian,” Bast jumps in, a complicated mix of emotions flickering across his face, “uh… why?” 

Aloy glances beyond them to the sea of Nora awaiting the hymn. She doesn’t know how much she can say, what might be overheard, who might still be looking for reasons to hate and shun her still. She takes a few steps back, head tilted to indicate the two follow her further to the side.

“The people who attacked the Proving… I don’t know their full motivations, but part of the reason they attacked was because they saw me through the eyes of one of the visitors. I look like someone and they want to kill me for it… I think she’s my mother.” 

“The Proving was attacked because they wanted to kill you?”

Aloy tenses but jolts when Vala speaks up, brows furrowed, “what do you mean they saw you through the eyes of the visitors?”

“This,” she points to the Focus on her temple, “one of the Oseram, Olin, had one. But there was something wrong with his, I think from the attackers being able to interfere with– uh…”

Aloy freezes as she finds a pair of warm hands on her face, tilting her head back and forth as Vala inspects the Focus while peppering her with rapid-fire questions: “What is that? It can let you see through other peoples’ eyes? How? What else can it do?”

“Uh, it’s a Focus. I… think it lets people communicate across distances: seeing what they see, talking to people who aren’t with you and leaving them messages. I’m not sure, though, I’ve never known someone else to have one. But, it can scan machines and show you weak spots and vulnerabilities, strengths and sometimes even the paths machines will take.”

Vala removes her hands, rocking back on her heels, eyes distant but bright. “That’s amazing. To be able to communicate across vast distances and- wait, instantaneously?”

Aloy nods. She reckons that, if not instantaneous communication, it’s very quick.

“And that’s ignoring its abilities to analyse machines… Can you imagine how useful tht would be for our braves and hunters?” Her eagerness dims, “how useful it would’ve been for the War Party.”

Bast stares at the Focus with sharp, distrustful eyes. “That’s from a metal world ruin, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, but it has saved my life. It saved the lives of you and Vala and the other aspirants. Just because something is from the metal world doesn’t make it evil.” 

He looks thoughtful. “I don’t trust it.” 

Aloy groans internally and prepares to argue but is cut off as Bast continues: “But I trust you. I’ll trust your guidance in what it does. But I don’t trust the trinket.” 

“Don’t suppose you have anymore, do you?”

“Vala!”

“What? We’re hunters, braves! We use every resource at our disposal. Do you have more?”

“No.” Aloy replies mournfully, thinking of just how useful it would be to be able to communicate with the two of them through the Focus (and how amazing it would be to have other Focus-users she could trust to explore what the Focus can actually do), before she is struck with a bright, brilliant idea. “But we could get some.”

“Where?”

“There’s a ruin just east of here, I fell into it as a kid.”

“A ruin of the metal world?” Bast yelps. “Just outside of Mother’s Watch?”

Aloy nods. “It’s filled with the bodies of Old Ones. I… I think they were warriors of some kind. Like a War Party, but I- I don’t know what happened. They all seemed to die at the same time.” 

“Illness?” 

“No… I think… I think something worse happened. There was a message about a door being left open so people could try and leave, but… it didn’t sound hopeful.” 

“The Metal Devil,” Bast breaks the silence, “must have been. We should be careful when we enter those ruins and keep an eye out, in case any of the metal devil’s agents remain.” 

Aloy watches as he begins to make his way down the path, pausing to turn behind. “Well, aren’t we going? We have a ruin to search, a gate to pass and an Oseram to seek.” 

Vala turns to Aloy, bright smile, “and we’ll be with you every step of the way. Now come on, before the leaves fall.” 

Aloy makes her way to Bast, Vala slotting to her other side as the three of them pass through the crowd of assembled Nora. There are no glares and no harsh words, only bowed heads and murmured blessings and thanks. Walking with her fellow Seekers, her hunting party, her friends, Aloy thinks she may understand what Rost had meant about the tribe needing her, but looking at Vala and Bast, she thinks maybe she might need them too. 

I understand your final lesson, Rost. 

*** 

The lower courtyard of Mother’s Watch is almost empty when they arrive, leathers damp and hair heavy. They pass a final few Nora who make their way up to All-Mother Mountain. 

“Ugh, hair’s going to take ages to dry out after this,” Vala grumbles. 

Bast grumbles an agreement, swiping his hair away from his eyes, before drawing back, head tilting curiously. 

“Aloy!” A familiar voice calls out through the haze of grey. “Aloy!” 

“Is that Teb?” 

“He must have been put in as a stand-in brave, since our numbers are so few.” Vala responds as they make their way over. 

Teb takes a staggered step forward, arms raised as he greets them. “I heard the rumours, but I didn’t know for sure until I saw you just now. I’m glad to see you’re okay. And you’re even wearing the tunic I stitched for you. I’m honoured.” 

Curiosity - and no small amount of leftover wariness - sparked, Aloy can’t help but ask about the rumours about her. 

“That you were wounded, expected to die. And then High Matriarch Teersa insisted that you be allowed to heal inside All-Mother! Oh, that caused a stir! Only Matriarchs are allowed to enter the Mountain. But... you deserved the honour. The survivors had told everyone how you fought to save them.” Teb turns his gaze to Vala and Bast, a soft, sorrowful smile lighting his face, “all three of you. They spoke of how you held off the attackers so they would have the opportunity to make for the slip-wire. That you all waited until the others left before thinking to escape yourselves.” 

“We weren’t going to leave until everyone was down safely.” Vala smiles.

“And not without Aloy.” Bast adds, turning to meet her eyes. “We weren’t just going to leave you up there on your own. If you had still been fighting, we would have returned to fight with you.” 

“Yes, the other survivors mentioned how great a team you were. Like seasoned braves. They were all very clear that they wouldn’t have survived if it weren’t for the three of you.” 

But it wasn’t just them… 

“And Rost. The man who raised me. He… fought to save me,” her voice begins to close up, voice turning quiet and choked, “and he died for it.” 

Teb’s face grows mournful and he looks away. “The survivors didn’t speak of him. But I remember him. He was there that day when you saved me. I remember he stepped in front of you when my father started yelling. If by dying he saved your life, Aloy, I don’t think he regretted it.” 

But she did. She regretted it. The loss ached, burned within her, a gaping wound she kept trying to push down and ignore.

Focus on the lesson. The tribe needs you. Do your duty.

But all she could think of was what could she have done differently, that he might still be alive. That he might have holed himself away somewhere in the Embrace that she could hunt him down when all this was over and done with, so that she might break tribal law talking to him.

She was never going to see him again.

She was never going to hear his voice.

Never hear him moan about her playing with the Focus or not paying enough attention.

He was gone. 

A hand comes to rest on each shoulder. 

“My mother said he was the best of the Nora. He will be missed.” 

“It’s what any parent would do.” She turns to Bast, his eyes on the ground before flitting up to meet hers. “They would do anything that their child might live.” 

Deep breath. Eyes averted. Vala takes over. 

“We need the gate opened.” 

“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is out there?” Teb squawks. 

“We know, Teb. Bast and I were there when the War Party returned. We saw the damage done. We know the attackers are still out there somewhere. And we are going to track them down if we can, but we have a greater mission,” Aloy watches Vala bring forward her Seeker’s Mark, sees the change in Teb’s face as he frantically turns his gaze upon each of them in turn. 

“You’ve been made Seekers? All three of you?” He nods to himself, before meeting each of them with a smile. “Good. I’m glad that you’ll have each other. But… You’ll have to talk to Resh about passing through the gate. He’s the new War Chief but… I’m not sure he’ll help you.” 

Bast freezes up, eyes immediately flying up to the wall and the figures growing clearer as the rain begins to ease off. 

“Besides, the attackers… they had some sort of power over the machines. Controlled them and turned them loose upon the War Party. And whatever foul corruption they used is still infecting machines in the Embrace, and from reports, it’s even worse outside the Embrace.” 

“We have to go.” Aloy says, stepping forward, turning a glare upwards, “no matter who tries to stop us.” 

“They shouldn’t be able to,” Bast murmurs, “we’re Seekers. We have the blessing of the High Matriarchs to pass where we please.” 

Aloy can’t help but notice how quiet Bast has become compared to earlier, drawing in on himself when a few minutes ago he was snarking High Matriarchs under his breath and standing up for her. It reminds her of how he had been on the morning of the Proving, back in the lodge when she and Vala and the other aspirants had had their breakfast. She wonders if their party is about to fall apart- if Bast will cave in to the pressure of his War Chief uncle.

But in her heart, she knows.

Any force will be hard pressed to tear the three of them apart. 

“I wish he wasn’t War Chief,” Teb continues, gaze focused on the braves up on the wall, “but Sona disappeared after the ambush. They say she went after the killers all by herself. Knowing her, I wouldn’t doubt it. Not after what happened at the Proving.” 

Aloy tilts her head, noting the clear gesture made to Vala, who glances away. 

“It wasn’t just about the Proving. And she wouldn’t be so foolish as to blind herself for vengeance. She wouldn’t go alone.” 

“No. But she didn’t take Varl. And she checked to make sure you were well before she left.” 

There are pieces here that Aloy feels she is missing, tracks she has lost sight of that would give her a full picture. “Who is Sona?”

There is a beat of silence as Bast, Teb and Vala all stare at her, only to then glance at each other. 

“I suppose,” Teb begins, smiling sheepishly, glancing Vala’s way once more, “that it’s foolish of us to presume you would know. Ignorant, really, given you were an outcast until recently.” 

“I’m sorry, Aloy,” Vala takes up, sighing heavily, “there are a lot of things that are ingrained into our knowledge, things that seem obvious and unspoken to us that won’t be to you. Please, if there’s anything at any point you aren’t sure of, ask us.” 

“Right. I will… But what is it that’s obvious about Sona that I don’t know?” 

“She’s the War Chief. One of the most renowned fighters amongst the Nora, and the leader of all our braves. She adjudicates in any combat-related crimes, as well. She went missing after the War Party was ambushed.”

“And,” Vala pipes in, “she’s my mother.” 

“You mentioned her the night of the blessing. Advice about not celebrating victories ahead of time. You said she’d like me.” Aloy blinks, thinking back to a few minutes ago, the wave of grief, she turns her gaze on Vala with intensity. “You said your mother knew Rost.” 

Vala nods. “I asked her about you. Before the Proving. She said you’d been trained by Rost and that he was one of the Nora’s best. She wouldn’t tell me more than that. Just that you’d been well-trained and would be a tough opponent.”

Aloy notices Bast’s gaze still locked on the wall above them, the figures that stand huddled like a gaggle of geese around corn- and about as unpleasant to deal with, too, Aloy reckons. “I suppose we should get this over with.” 

Bast glances back to her. “Are you sure you want to go up there? It… won’t be pleasant.” 

She snorts. “When have I ever let any foolish big-talking Nora get in my way?” 

Bast cracks a grin and Vala smirks. 

She turns back to Teb. “Will you be okay, Teb? You’re a stitcher, not a brave…” 

“Someone has to defend Mother’s Watch. I should be okay.” Teb smiles, “just as long as I don’t try to run any Brave Trails, right?” 

She smiles softly, chuffing a laugh. “I won’t be there to save you from striders this time. Just… stay safe.” 

“I will. Best of luck. To all of you. May All-Mother watch over and guide you.” 

Almost at the foot of the ladder, she hears one of the braves atop the wall and grinds her teeth as he whispers (or, rather, poorly attempts to) to Resh: “the outcast approaches.” 

“Ignore her,” Resh’s voice snaps, “continue the report.” 

The report at least is enlightening, Aloy considers as she clambers her way up to the platform, Vala and Bast below her: a ‘Demon’ loose in the Embrace that is apparently able to corrupt other machines. A demon that has already broken through the Gates of the Embrace. 

She hears the sharp exhalation of breath from Vala as Resh calls her brother a fool and feels herself roll her eyes as she finally clambers to the top, moving aside to allow her friends to follow. 

While she waits, Aloy doesn’t miss the way Resh’s eyes flicker to her as he speaks of how “all true Nora” will join in song for the Hymn of Atonement. Aloy also doesn’t miss the way Resh’s eyes narrow as Bast joins her and Vala on the platform. 

Together they gather at Resh’s back. “We need the gate opened.” 

Resh, back to them still, laughs. “Since when has any outcast’s ‘need’ been my concern?” 

“It is not an outcast who makes this request, acting War-Chief,” Vala jumps in, head held high, voice low and sharp, “but a brave of the Nora tribe, now anointed Seeker. You have been given an order. Open the gate.” 

“Her? A Seeker?” Resh exclaims, finally turning. “Have Teersa and Jezza gone insane?”

“We are all three Seekers,” Bast steps forward, voice steady. 

“And you!” Resh stalks forward, a harsh finger pressing against Bast’s chest. “To stand there beside her? To allow her curse to taint you? I can see you are already corrupted by her. Bad enough that she was able to run in the Proving, that you failed to stop her, then allowed to heal within the Sacred Mountain?” 

Aloy feels a growl clawing at the back of her throat and all she wants to do is plunge her spear into his chest and hear Resh wheeze. 

“No wonder a curse is upon us, and children lie dead under cairns of snow. You helped bring this upon us, boy,” Resh’s hand becomes a claw shoving at Bast so he stumbles back several steps, heels hovering at the edge of the platform, eyes blown in quiet fear, “you should have died up in the snow with the rest of them, rather than work with an outcast.” 

Vala, to her left, is shocked to a standstill by Resh, as is the brave who had been reporting to Resh. All Aloy feels is warm burning rage for this man who would dare disrespect the dead and would dare disrespect this brave, quiet boy who she is only beginning to get to know (and maybe would never have gotten to know, if things had gone but a little differently). 

She is no longer Aloy the outcast, not the brave nor the Seeker, either. She is fury. 

“How dare you! How dare you be so cruel! So heartless!” She snarls, pushing her way into Resh’s space. A part of her feels a feral thrill of pride as he staggers a step back. “I fought beside those children, shoulder to shoulder and back-to-back. And him? You have no idea how brave and how noble that boy- that brave behind me is. Were it not for him, there would be a lot more burial cairns. He stood and fought against overwhelming numbers, and where were you, brave? Where were you when Bast refused to move until the other new braves had made it to safety, when he held the lives of his fellow Nora above his own? All-Mother must have wept tears of joy when she saw who defended her children. How proud she must be to have someone like Bast fighting in her name.”

“And how ashamed All-Mother must be to see how you would treat her Anointed,” Aloy watches from the corner of her eye as Vala slinks up beside her, lithe and predatory, eyes dark and teeth bared as she too comes to Bast’s defence- comes to send Resh to the dirt where he belongs, “how faithless you show yourself, to turn your back on Her blessing and Her teachings. Perhaps it is you who brought this curse upon us with your faithlessness…”

A heavy silence falls upon them as Resh stands pale-faced and the brave that had been reporting to him stands wide-eyed beside him.

“We are Seekers anointed by the High Matriarchs and blessed by All-Mother,” Bast’s voice is quiet, but with a power that cuts through the silence like an arrow from his bow, “so open the gate and let us through.”

Resh’s face contorts in anger and disgust, and–

Beneath a rumble of thunder: a clang; a shriek of metal on metal; a high, wheezing whirr.

“What was that?” Aloy moves to the side of the wall, unsure of the moment her bow found its way to her hand. Vala and Bast flank her, and she can see the braves on the wall become alert too, taking cues from the rest of them. She peers through the grey; the dim clouds and thundering rain obscuring her vision.

Bast snarls, muttering at the poor conditions.

She can see flickering blue lights from the watchers’ patrol down the path, the gentle swaying of their march glowing against the deluge of grey.

“Aloy,” she turns to Bast’s whisper. At first, she doesn’t understand. The intensity of his gazes clashing with the hesitation in the draw of his brow. Then she realises he isn’t looking at her face…

The world becomes illuminated in purple, tracing the outline of the machines at the far edge of her vision: the pair of marching watchers and beyond, the herd of striders, out of reach and only a few flickering into her Focus’ sight.

She doesn’t need the Focus to tell her when something goes wrong.

The watchers’ eye beams turn yellow.

The trees beyond the striders rustle and groan.

The Focus does, however, highlight the monstrous spindling shape of a new machine.

The machine is fast. Covering ground quickly, alerting the striders and, soon enough, the other Nora.

“The demon!” One of the braves shrieks, the others staring and panting like foxes caught in a noose.

“Sound the alarm!” Vala hollers before leaning into Aloy’s side. “We’re going to need that tool of yours to– Sweet All-Mother…”

The striders lie shrieking at the strange machine’s feet, glowing strangely in the Focus as Aloy watches some strange power overtaking them until…

“Their eyes are red.” Bast murmurs. “Did that thing just…”

There are shouts of horror as the assembled braves watch the striders, eyes now blazing red, covered in glowing crimson cables, rise to their feet.

“By the Goddess, what’s it doing to them?”

“Corrupting them.” Bast gasps.

“Taking control.” Aloy agrees.

She, Bast and several of the other braves draw their bows as the demon machine and its herd of corrupted striders race towards the gate, arrows bouncing off the machine’s armour.

“Save your arrows!” Vala shouts. “We need to prepare for a breach.”

“Brace yourselves!” Resh cries, belatedly, as the machine rams into the gates, causing the walls to tremble, several braves staggering. He turns to Aloy with a snarl, “what have you brought on us now, you motherless curse?”

While Resh shouts to the braves, Vala grabs Aloy’s arm. “Your relic–”

“Focus.”

“Right, can it tell you this thing’s weaknesses?”

A brief scan and Vala is shouting over Resh for the braves to arm themselves with fire arrows and to prioritise the use of fire traps.

The gates and wall buckle under the corrupting machine’s weight and, sharing a look with Vala and Bast, they leap from the wall.