Archive of Our Own

“If I may say, Aloy–” Gaia’s voice envelopes her like a warm blanket, a calming ground in the tempest of her mind. “Religion and, by extension, ritual are used as a means to make sense of the unexplainable; to put meaning into the things that are impossible to fathom. You are burdened with tremendous knowledge of the Old Ones and as a result reject all forms of ritual as being something that could help you.”

Aloy frowns at that niggling sensation in the back of her skull that always throbs when she is caught off guard.

“How would it help me when I know that the goddesses they pray to are just a misunderstanding of history?” She counters back to Gaia, hands on her hip in defiance.

Gaia’s smile is something small and kind, albeit with a surprising level of somberness to it. 

“All civilizations have used ritual and religion regardless of their deities and available understanding of science and technology. I am not suggesting that you become religious Aloy; I am instead telling you to lean on ritual during your grief.”

Aloy thinks on that for a moment, having never really considered that one exists without the other before. 

“I don’t have rituals.” Is what she manages to land on while she continues to think.

“Of course you do.” Gaia walks Aloy through her own personal brand of ritual; of the things she does to find meaning in the world around her. Little things.

The way she braids her hair after every thorough washing cross legged in front of a reflective armor plate and the way she counts them out loud to ensure she has her desired amount. The order of the beads she weaves into her more ceremonial braids–beads that represent her huntress title for her first hunt, her first machine, her completion of the Proving, her title as Seeker. Her single bead for her familial braid–for Rost. The beads she added for the losses that lingered with her for too long–Elisabeth, Ourea of the Banuk, Vala of the Nora, Ullia of the Tenakth whose words stuck with her back east.

“Those are just habits, Gaia, it isn’t a ritual.” Aloy tries to point out, but she’s already walked back to the center of the sphere to face Gaia more fully, no longer focused on the burning of her eyes from grief.

“It is not just that, Aloy. You must realize that the things you do to make yourself be you would be classified by many Old One philosophers as rituals.”

Gaia points out how when the last thing Aloy does before she leaves any camp for the night is to count her braids and for her beads. How she always opens the storage crate to ensure there are materials left for the next wayward traveller, no matter how much she may be struggling for shards at the time. The way Aloy first walks to her room at the base and the particular way she lays out all of her equipment in the same way each time.

How she spoke to Rost at his gravesite at the cabin and how she speaks to him here to his spear. How she speaks to Elisabeth, how she laid her rest long overdue.

“They may not be ceremonial or lavish as you’ve come to expect of ritual from the Nora or the Carja; but Aloy you yourself are made up of all these ‘little habits’ because it is how you’ve learned to navigate the world–how you’ve survived and stayed true to who you are.”

Aloy thinks for a long moment, reframing these definitions for a long moment in her mind.

“I mean, I can see what you’re saying.” Aloy relents after some time. “But counting my braids isn’t going to make this hurt any less Gaia.” The tightness in her throat nearly vices her as she says it and Aloy immediately wants to scream. How long until this suffocating feeling subsides? When will it become doable for her to speak normally again?

“No.” Gaia agrees almost immediately. “But there is no way to make this hurt any less, Aloy. Grief will always be with you, even when it becomes easier to manage again. In my opinion, when you are able to add meaning and ritual to something like this, you may find yourself able to carry it stronger.”

“Okay, I guess.” Aloy rubs her temple. “But I don’t have anything like that to deal with this.”

“Perhaps not.” Despite there being no resolution, Aloy finds herself slightly more at ease after talking with Gaia. If nothing else, perhaps now she can finally find some rest. She is about to bid her goodnight when Gaia speaks again, eyes shimmering with a glimmer that has nothing to do with the holo. “But you have people around you who do.”

Aloy stands in front of the door, her satchel clutched tightly in her hands. She stares as though it may just react to her glare and do the difficult task ahead of her for her. She had tried to sleep after she finished most of the sunwing override. Even got into some of her most comfortable eastern fabrics, even took out the big guns of her Carja silk bottoms, but just laid on her pallet staring at the ceiling for some time. 

She needs sleep, she knows that. She has been without rest for too long; since before Gemini. And she’ll be useless to the Tenakth in their hold against the rebels if she is too sleep deprived to focus her bow. When she checked the time on her focus before she sat up almost violently, walking over and throwing what she needed into her bag before marching over to where she’s been stuck in place for a long moment.

She doesn’t want to bother him, she realizes. He also needs to sleep ahead of the assault. His plan to leave before the morning light by charger is the only reason everyone was able to convince him to rest through the night.  That there is plenty of time to prepare for the rebels and a few hours won't affect their strategy. 

It is that justification that propels her forward, activating the door with a swipe and walking into the war room with the confidence that no one will be there.

There is a pang of sadness in her gut when she realizes she was correct, the strategy table deactivated and the room barely lit with some of Zo’s Utaru lamps. She turns to leave the room, disappointed but resolved to follow in the footsteps of attempting to get some form of rest when she hears an echoed clang from deep in the room. 

Never one to let her curiosity stay wanting, she moves to the back of the room immediately, finding the door to the vent she discovered left open. Swinging the satchel around her, she easily navigates into the secret room, which has since been decorated with many personal belongings. It is no longer the sterile secret she discovered, but has been loved and lived in.

“Commander.” She knew logically that someone would be in the room, and yet the timbre of his voice still makes her flinch when she’s inspecting the contents on the desk.

She turns to look at him, standing massive in the room (which now appears to be much smaller than she remembered from a few weeks ago) and takes in the various pieces of furniture and materials.

“Kotallo.” She answers after she clears her throat. He seems in his usual state of undress for bed–just the black fatigues he wears when he deems it acceptable to sleep. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on your space.” She gives a weak smile, realizing how much he has taken the room to be his own. And why would he not; she would go mad if she always had to bunk with squadmates. Having her own space in the base has been a major relief of learning to adapt to such a boisterous group always around. 

“There is no need to apologize.” He waves her almost immediately. “I only recently decided to make this odd little secret more comfortable.” He gestures to the room and she takes another moment to take it all in. There’s a beautiful mix of Tenakth, Utaru, Oseram, Quen, and even Nora influences in here. It has the same homey, mixing pot feel of the entire base on a much more condensed scale. She pauses to look at the various paintings adorning the walls. 

“I like it.” She can’t help but to smile at him as she walks further into the space to look at some of the more abstract moments on the wall.

“It has been a welcomed retreat.” He pauses before stepping next to her as she admires the brush strokes on snowy mountains–Sky Clan territory if she had to imagine. “As Tenakth we are raised closely with our families and our squads, there is very rarely any moments you are without either.” He continues, pausing for a moment to give her a small nod when she looks up at him. “When I became a Marshal, I got used to working more on my own but there was still usually someone close by.” He hesitates for a moment and Aloy’s stomach twists in uncomfortable camaraderie. “After the Embassy, it was so quiet.”

There are novels within the words that he doesn’t expand on but Aloy hears them all the same. Kotallo has had months of managing his grief and selfishly, Aloy wished she could be as far along in the process.

“It must have been a strange adjustment then,” She agrees with a small nod, she looks at him and takes note of the crystal clear lines of his freshly painted face. It is more precise than normal, the sharp edges more deadly. He must have spent quite some time on the application after everyone retired to their quarters. “To move in next to Erend’s snoring.” 

He gives her that soft, ever gentle smile at her words.

“Indeed. While I fear I will forever be more comfortable in the presence of a squad, there is something to be said about the easterners’ need for…personal space.”

She is still admiring the paintings on the wall, the various iconic landmarks from their time in the west. Lush depictions of the Grove, striking sands of Scalding Spear, the Ninmah Research Lab. Abstract swirls around Slaughterspines and Behemoths. 

“These are really impressive.” She says when she feels his gaze on her. Her stomach is still twisting. 

“I see sleep has yet to find you as well.” He gently points out the obvious, the way he always does when he wants to give her the opportunity to speak for herself rather than be prodded with a barrage of questions that he knows she resists. 

You can do this, Aloy.

“I was with Gaia. Well, before...” She starts. She finds it easier to speak to the paintings rather than to shrink under his ever piercing gaze. “After I spoke to Beta about Rost, I was…a mess.” She tries to shrug it off. 

“And did she help you?” 

“Sort of. Not really. Well, at the time at least. We were talking about gods and goddesses and religion and ritual.” She feels herself rambling but she can’t stop. She is caught in a loop staring at the depiction of a Spectre on the wall. 

She sees glimpses of an invincible brute, taking the life of what might be her oldest friend and suddenly her neck feels hot and itchy.

“And braids and beads.” She adds, as though any of this will somehow make sense to Kotallo and she won’t actually need to have the conversation she came in here for. 

Of course it doesn’t. But he doesn’t look confused nor annoyed that she is rambling. Just nods to encourage her more.

She knows the silence is uncomfortably long. Can feel the words as they tighten her in her throat and yet she stares unblinking at the wall instead.

“Commander.” She looks at him then. His eyes are dark, so much darker than she remembers them to be. They threaten to swallow her whole. The low light in the room dances on the irises  and for just a moment, Aloy finds herself caught up in the flecks of gold among the brown. 

She takes a deep breath, not wanting to shy away from the olive branch he just handed her. 

“I’m having a hard time asking for your help.”

Those are not the words she needs to say, they both know that. But it is what comes out easier. And in any other moment, her admittance of needing assistance would have any member of the Gaia Gang jumping for the chance to aid the weight on her shoulders.

But not this time.

Because, as she has come to find out, Kotallo seems to have an intrinsic understanding of what she needs at the moment. And he must sense that the words need to come from Aloy herself. She does not want them cheapened. Does not want the easy way out, even if it would be so much easier. 

He does not look away, his gaze on her piercing and engulfing. The Tenakth do not shy away from eye contact, not like Nora, that’s for damn sure. 

Why is it so hard, Elisabeth? She thinks of the powerful woman who came before her. She thinks of Travis Tate and his blunt charm as he exposes her inwardly habits. She thinks of his longing gaze that mirrors in the man before her.

“How is it that someone like you - a paragon, damn near a saint - could love the world so damn much, but no one in it?"

“It is only me.” Kotallo offers, his hand twitching at his side as though fighting the urge to reach for her.

Aloy doesn’t know if that would help.

“Will you help me with my paint?”

Later, Aloy will wonder about the way his eyebrows raise in surprise at her words. She will think to herself when the darkness comes to find her; What did he expect her to ask of him?

Presently, however, her face is burning too hotly. Her blood is itchy. She feels foolish for making such a big deal out of this request.

“I’ve never done this design before and it looks simple but I don’t want to mess it up and–”

“It would be my great honor.” He cuts her off with that rare, private smile she’s come to cherish.

“Thank you.” She exhales and forces herself to take a step back from him, for some distance to help settle her raging thoughts. She awakens her Focus with a routine tap. 

It is engrained in her, the order prompts through her Focus to find the image despite having only accessed it a handful of times. 

She stares at Rost’s holo–he stands tall and proud, posture and gaze radiating the stoicism she misses dearly. 

If Kotallo was going to speak to her, his words instead die in his throat when he assesses Rost. Even he seems caught off guard by the sheer magnitude of the memory of the man before him. He steps forward and studies the markings on his face.

She knows it must seem childish, the way she was hesitant about such a clearcut pattern that she could easily mimic. 

But Kotallo says nothing.

Rather, he moves to his desk to his brushes and jars of paints, glancing back at the holo as he begins to mix the colors on a tanned hide palette.

He grabs the holo and throws it to the monitor on the desk to see the crystal clear image without the ripple of the holo effect.

She looks away, the swell of seeing Rost’s face so clearly outside of her mindseye almost too much to handle

She tugs on her braid for a moment while rolling his bead between her fingers. 

“Wait.” She says suddenly, moving to the opposite side of the desk to avoid the image on the screen. He looks up to her, the question in his eyes as he pauses his mixing. “This isn’t like…inappropriate is it? I know how important paints are to Tenakth and I don’t want to overstep.”

He smiles again, a little more toothy than before.

“It is as I said, Commander–a great honor to be trusted with this.”

She nods, satisfied that she wasn’t committing some great sin among his culture and goes back to rolling Rost’s bead in her hair once more. She starts to shift her weight nervously, practically pacing as she waits.

“Sit.” It isn’t often that she listens so readily to someone else; especially when it comes off as such a command. But Aloy finds it a relief to have guidance and moves to the pallet to sit among the furs. 

It takes him a few more minutes of trial and error before he nods to himself, satisfied with the color on the hide. He takes a few trips before he too is sat cross legged across from her on the pallet, his tools prepared, brush in hand, and holo displayed behind her–another small understanding that she is thankful not to have to say outloud.

Her hands twist nervously as his gaze scans over her face, she feels terribly exposed.

It’s only Kotallo. She reminds herself.

“May I?” He asks, empty hand extended out towards her. She doesn’t know what he means, but she trusts him implicitly so she nods. 

Her heart hammers against her ribs when his hand slowly moves to her face, lifting her chin just slightly and tilting it while he assesses. 

Why is this hard? Why does her body want to shake when his calloused fingers touch her skin?

After what feels like an embarrassingly long time, he hums to himself and slowly withdraws his touch.

It feels cold in his wake. 

“I assume this design has much meaning to you.” His question is unasked, but loud.

“Sort of.”

She goes on to explain in painful detail what the Matriarchs had informed her of the rite of a Death-Seeker and how a Nora forgoes all they’ve known to avenge the fundamental wrongs they’ve experienced. She almost misses the way he freezes when she explains the death of one’s soul to be returned to All-Mother, and how they wander the earth as a body without heart. 

“Not that I want to…kill my soul or whatever.” She adds lamely, twisting her hands together nervously. “But, I like that idea to keep him with me as we try to finish this impossible mission that he was a part of.” She swallows hard. “Varl…he would never agree to me becoming a Death-Seeker like Rost just for him.” She smiles sadly as she says it. “But I don’t think I’ll be–” She struggles to find the words. “--at peace, I guess, until I avenge his sacrifice. Until Beta and Gaia are back home. I’ve never lost sight of what I’m fighting for but I want the reminder of who I’m fighting for. I guess.”

His eyes have never left hers, even when she finds it impossible to hold his gaze. The painted brush is settled between his fingers but he hasn’t so much as brought it close to her skin as she spoke.

“Permission to speak freely, Commander?” She looks to him then.

“You always have permission, Kotallo.”

He huffs a little. “Even with…personal matters, such as these?” Shaking his head with a small smile, he lowers the brush back down onto the paints.

“Especially then.” She can’t help but return his smile. “Give it to me, I can take it.” She says it in challenge, feeling the air seem to charge with electricity.

“As you command.” To her great surprise, she finds her hand enveloped in his. She admires the sheer size of it in comparison to her own; tattooed but unpainted (as he has not regularly been able to do since the Embassy). “Allow me to alter this design for you.”

“Why?”

“Since you are not completing this ritual to become a Death-Seeker, I think I can make the design feel more…honest to your intentions.” His thumb runs over her knuckles once when he feels the way she tenses just slightly. “I know you do not consider yourself fully of the Nora. But if I may be so honest–you are the shining example of what it means to be Tenakth. Your paint should reflect the individual who carries the design.” She thinks about that for a long moment.

“I wouldn’t know where to begin with changing it.” She admits honestly, looking down to distract herself again with his surprisingly gentle grip on her hand.

“Allow me this.” There is a near desperation in his voice. “I am Tenakth. I will bring you something of great honor and respect.”

“Kotallo–”

“Please, Aloy.” Her name from his lips is her undoing, as though activating her nervous system to cease all panic and discomfort. She nearly slumps down from a level of physical relief.

She had wanted the Death-Seeker because it is all she felt she had ever known. But here, staring at the beautiful artwork on his face, Aloy is starkly reminded once more about what it has done for her to be surrounded by such remarkable squadmates.

By such remarkable friends.

“Okay.” She agrees and lets him get to work.

It is comfortable silence as he begins to paint cool strokes on her face. They say nothing when he moves the holo display behind her, nor when he gets up to mix more color and bring a variety of brushes and jars over to help him. 

It is almost meditative, Aloy finds when he finds a comfortable rhythm in his craft. 

“I regret that I have never asked you about the design you wear.” It is the first either of them have spoken in some time. His words still contain those unasked questions that she hears loud  and clear.

“Um, it’s the symbol of a Seeker for the Nora.” She starts. She explains the role and the designation by the Matriarchs, what it means to be able to come and go from the sacred lands as necessary and to not report to any war chief for their tasks. She manages to get through her own moment of being bestowed the honor and is proud that she does not choke as she thinks of the tragic circumstances that made it possible. “Back east I didn’t wear it much; too much to do and not enough time.” He smiles, a joke on his lips of the way Aloy is constantly fretting about time while helping any wayward soul she comes across. “I wore it during the Battle of the Alight when the Nora agreed to aid us in the fight. When Sona–that’s Varl’s mother–lead most of the remaining warriors the Nora had left to be at my side. It felt fitting to thank them by wearing it.”

“And here, in the great Forbidden West? With the tribe of murderous blood-drinkers?” Sometimes it is the way Kotallo’s monotone voice delivers his dry wit that she finds so funny. He pulls the brush away when she barks out a small laugh at that.

“I don’t have any tattoos.” His head tilts in question at her response. “I’m used to getting a lot of looks wherever I go because I’m always, how did you say it at the Bulwark ‘scurrying around like a rat’?”

To her great pleasure, Aloy can see the embarrassment paint his face. He has certainly grown from his cynical rage that she first met all those weeks ago.  He clears his throat and if she weren’t feeling so drained from Gemini, she just might press him on his reaction. But as it is, she cannot muster much retort for him. 

“But here I get stared at because I’m not ‘inked’ or painted. It makes me even more of an anomaly.” She thinks of months ago when she had the thought to reapply her Seeker mark, how excited she was to find a much softer color to use that the original paint back east. How she felt when she first mastered it herself. “And, well, I know it might seem silly since I’m definitely not Nora, but to be a Seeker feels like a really nice description for everything I’ve been doing.”

“Indeed.” He resumes his painting on her face with a finer brush than before. “I must agree with you, since your endless questions and curiosity have been all-consuming of my own life since the Embassy.”

“Are you teasing me?” 

He laughs low and she is surprised how soft the gesture is even with the cut of his paint. 

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps you need a lesson in curiosity. It’s good for the brain.” She retorts, fighting the urge to pull away and cross her arms. 

“I’ll have you know my brain is equally trained as my body. It is an imperative discipline of my people.” His seriousness is so charming that it makes her relax again.

“Sure, but you could’ve easily just asked Gaia to show you what the Seeker mark meant if you were wondering.”

“Why would I ask her about such a thing when I can ask you?”

For a second, she doesn’t have an answer. She’s unsure if he’s joking at first but can see the small tug of a frown on his lip.

“Wait, Kotallo.” She reaches up to carefully pull his wrist down. “Did no one tell you that the archives are available for you? Any time?”

She explicitly told Gaia, as well as Varl, Zo, and Erend when they got settled that her archives from all the data on her Focus was fair game. She only privated a few things at Gaia’s suggestion before opening the flood gates of the knowledge she’s gained since childhood.

Varl had definitely been playing it cool with his excitement, but she knew he spent a great amount of time studying her time as an Outcast. Erend watched many of her larger machine fights. Zo listened to hours of her discussions.

“I was informed of the archive, yes.” 

“But you don’t use it?”

“When necessary, Gaia has helped to show me important pieces of data regarding our mission. But it is as I said when I got here; I’m aware of our enemy and the steps we need to take to fight them.” 

He says it like it is simple. Honestly, she wasn’t overly keen on her day-to-day experiences being watchable at any time, but Aloy found it a convenient alternative while she is in the wilds. Gaia has simply reached out to clarify when certain clips or moments were requested, so she never felt too concerned about it. 

“Oh.” Is what she manages to get out instead of getting any of her swirling thoughts out of her brain. 

“This displeases you.”

“No, of course not. I’m just surprised.” She drops his wrists and allows him to resume his artform. “I thought it’d be easier during your studies.”

“You did not share these clips with me. It feels intrusive to spy on your life in such a way.” She can’t help the shock she feels. 

“It’s not intrusive and it isn’t spying. If there is a question you have, you should utilize the resources available to you.”

“I would rather simply ask you.” His voice is nearly a hum.

“But you don’t ask me.” She points it out like she’s made a clear argument.

“I’d like to,” Comes a soft reply that she feels more than hears as he navigates a particular area on her face. “While I understand the…accessibility of the archive, I would rather be able to hear from you  about your perspective of all that you have encountered and endured.” He glances back to look in her eyes when she feels her staring at him. 

“So you’ve never seen any of the big things?” She can’t help but ask. She understands not wanting to watch her forage and hunt for game for hours, but nothing?

“I did not say that. I have seen many things. Varl showed me what happened at the Proving to you and to Rost. Erend showed me how you went on the hunt to find the information on his sister. Alva showed me the horrors of what you endured in Thebes. Gaia and I sat and watched as you learned about Elisabeth Sobeck. Zo and I watched what happened at the Hades Proving Grounds; when you first discovered Beta and were nearly murdered.” He rattles it off.

“But you never just jumped in to watch?”

He goes to deny it but pauses as something flickers in his eyes.

“I had Gaia show me the Embassy.” He shakes his head for a moment. “I was able to see the exact moment I let my fear for my comrades take over my obvious battle sense.” He lifted his stub with a frown that she mirrored. She is proud of how far he has come in the past few months, but she cannot pretend to assume that it will ever be OK when he thinks of it. Just as her own memories of the Proving will haunt her for the rest of her life.

And now, Gemini, too. 

“I also watched our Tremortusk fight from your eyes before we took down the Bulwark, to understand how you were able to disrupt those rebels nearly undetected. And–” He pauses for a moment to swallow heavily. “And I watched your conversation with Fashav. On a particularly bad day without him.”

“I didn’t realize.” This is the part of friendship she struggles with. Her own battles she would rather hold back from her peers, but her own heart aches at the thought of them doing it to her. 

“You did not ask.” He counters with an easy smile, mimicking her earlier sentiment. “It was very early in my time here. I don’t know how…receptive I would have been to the conversation.”

“I wish I would have asked.” She juts her chin out to look him squarely in the eyes, finding it easier to be stubborn and combative than vulnerable.

“More of your endless questions to plague me with.” He chuckles as he says it, moving back to her paint. They don’t speak for a long moment, for which Aloy is grateful.

She can’t stop thinking. She thinks of how closed off she’s been for so much of her life, the way she blamed Beta for so long for things outside of her control. She knows Elisabeth had a team and that her work was only possible with their input and dedication to the possibility of a future that they would never see. For so long, Aloy tried to embody her traits and personality. After all, that is why she exists at all–because the original Gaia believed that the answer would be in bringing back Elisabeth to save it all.

But Aloy is not Elisabeth. It is a fact that took her far too long to understand. That while they share the same DNA, Aloy is her own person with her own skills and personality. It is not Elisabeth who shaped her into the person she became, it is Rost. It is the Nora. It is the Carja, the Oseram, the Banuk, the Tenakth. It is the people she has met along her tumultuous journey and the puzzle pieces she’s been collecting since her childhood. 

“I can hear the wheels turning in that busy head of yours.” Kotallo’s voice brings her back into her body, not just her brain. She realizes he’s stopped painting and has been sitting there as her head spins. Her face feels hot and she averts her gaze, embarrassed at the exposure. 

To her surprise, a calloused hand carefully settles on her face, guiding her chin back to look at him. “Do not hide from me, Aloy.” His voice is so low that the timbre radiates in her chest. “It must be lonesome.” She feels a finger twitch to brush against her jaw for a moment. “To have lived with this curiosity and knowledge for so long.”

“It’s not that bad.” It’s a feeble attempt to comfort him for some reason. 

“So you say.” He smiles at her again, his eyes scanning her face and assessing his work on her design. “I know there is much to learn if I hope to catch up to you. In the meantime, all I can ask of you is that you allow me the opportunities to help shoulder the burdens you carry.”

“Because you have such a strong back?” The tease it what always comes easier and to her great pleasure, he laughs a little at her. The sound is something she cherishes ever since she met the broken man on the cliffside. 

But she swallows the thick feeling of emotion in her throat. He is being earnest and she doesn’t want to make light of his words. “It’s kind of rotten work, dealing with all this,” She gestures to herself lamely, acutely aware that he has yet to release her face from his strong, albeit gentle, grip. 

“It is worth it,” For a brief moment, his thumb brushes up on the underside of her mouth and Aloy feels like her body is buzzing with electricity. It is such a small gesture, barely something to note, but she feels so terribly exposed and bare in an instant. “You are worth it, Aloy.”

Her heart is pounding and any words die in her throat. He releases her jaw and sits back and immediately she can’t help but notice the coolness that is left behind in its wake. He taps his Focus and turns to the side, displaying a holo of her own face next to them. 

Emotion burns her eyes in a second, even as her brain kicks into high gear to catch up.

It is not a full face of paint, of which she is thankful. The full face is still difficult for her to get used to. The design in its heaviest covers her right eye at an angle that cuts from her ear and to her forehead.

The forefront of her design is not the Death-Seeker, but rather the Warriors Mark of the Nora.

Varl’s mark. 

It is the same color she found comfort in these past few months. Around it takes a moment to recognize, but she places the Oseram Striker design as a frame around the mark. Around her lower eyes are Zo’s recognizable seeds of the Utaru. Across the bridge of her nose and in between her brows are the constellations of the Quen’s stargazers.

Her left eye, which is much less painted, in two recognizable colors that makes her heart ache. On top is her familiar Seeker design and below her eye is the harsher smear of the Death-Seeker.

It is a visual representation of Aloy, of the people she cares for and fights to protect from the horrors that threaten them. 

“Kotallo…” She struggles to put any of the feelings rampaging in her soul to words. 

“You honor all the people of this world with your selflessness to this cause.” She glances at him, surprised to find he is staring intently at her and not her holo. “The burden you carry is impossible, but you will never carry it alone again. That is what this design should remind you of.” 

She’s still new to all of this, but she can’t help but throw herself towards him, wrapping her arms around his shoulder. She is careful not to press her face against him, even as she is desperate to hide the emotions she feels. 

His arm wraps around her waist immediately to steady them, tight and sturdy against the wave of her feelings.

“Thank you.” She whispers, not trusting her voice much louder than that. 

After an embarrassingly long time, she pulls away and fans her hands against her face to mitigate the wetness from the tears that threatened to fall. She will not have it mess up his beautiful work.

“I am grateful that you approve.” He is looking at her with an almost joyous wistfulness that she doesn’t quite understand.

It must be a cultural thing. If it is as he said before, an honor, to paint another’s design he must also be feeling some type of way about the moment. 

“It’s beautiful,” She doesn’t want him to think it’s anything less than everything she could have ever dreamed of. “Even if you forgot to include yourself.” She teases, shoving him lightly on his chest.

When he smiles this time, it seems sharper and more dangerous, more in line with the harsh design of the teeth that frame his face. 

“It is all mine, Commander. I am the one who you trusted to design this. By wearing this, know that I will be with you even when we are apart on the battlefield. That we are all with you.” Her heart is pounding and for a moment, Aloy misses when she wasn’t so easily victimized by her own feelings. Back when it was easy to shut out others. 

What a beautiful burden it is–to feel the way that she does now.

“Thank you.” Is all she can mange. She looks back at him and is suddenly struck by the closeness of his massive form. The room feels small again.

He goes to speak but frowns instead, lifting his hand to tap his focus and let out a frustrated sigh.

“It is time for me to depart.” He answers her unasked question and she nods. She should feel a little more guilty, keeping him up the way she did. But the beauty of her design makes it hard to feel too terrible.

“I’ll help you get out the door.”

She stands and nervously smooths her silky bottoms as he gathers his materials.

She finds herself lost in her mind as she exits the hidden room and moves to the common area to begin gathering his belongings. She doesn’t try to organize his weapons or ammo, knowing she herself would get antsy at the thought of someone else doing it in an order that isn’t familiar. Rather she collects and organizes some rations and some of his other common materials so he can easily grab them.

Some time later, he emerges from the barracks in his full Marshal’s armor and she tries not to linger too much. Everything is so pristine today, from his paint to his tightly wound sandals. He is a pillar of a soldier, a far cry from the hurting man she met months ago. He looks at what she has gathered so far and smiles almost warmly.

“Thank you, Commander.”

They walk towards the exit with some of his things, knowing that he’ll need to make several trips down to his charger before he will be able to depart.

She isn’t dressed for the cold weather so she hesitates near the door psyching herself up for the cold blast.

Instead she feels a warm hand on her arm, halting her before she can go. When she looks up at him, he is staring at her with those intensely dark eyes again.

Well, not at her per say, but rather assessing his work once more,

“Remember, Aloy. This mark gives you strength. You walk with us and with the Blood of the Ten.” His hand lifts to smooth her braid behind her ear and her words are choked in her throat.

The Tenakth touch so differently than the other tribes. If the Oseram are casual in their physical affection, lots of hugs and punches, and the Carja make for large sweeping touches when it is appropriate, then the Tenakth are so…purposeful in their touch. 

He takes some of his items out the door and it is the cold wind that smacks her out of her reverie. Her hand goes to touch where his just did, knocking a bead as she does.

She moves without thinking, nearly stomping over to the common room and rifiling through one of the resources supply crates to find what she needs–strips of boars leather.

Over the next half hour or so, she hears Kotallo come back to the hallway twice more as he gathers his belongings. He is moving much less chaotically than he thought last night when she returned home with the news so she is comforted to know that even if he did not sleep like planned, he is more rested and focused than before.

She finishes her task just as he comes back into the base for what she imagines is the last time before he leaves and she stands to look at him when he enters.

“Did I interrupt your secret interest in Strike?” He attempts to joke, knowing her longstanding resentment of the game.

“I just need a minute with you before you go.” She tries to sound firm, tries to sound like the Commander that he cannot refuse. “Sit.”

His eyebrows raise and he moves forward almost immediately, a soldier through and through.

He sits down on the sofa while she sits on the low table in front of him. She thought for a moment about just putting it on him, but doesn’t want to end up thrown to the ground in alarm. So instead she holds out her braided leather for him to look at. He stares at the craftsmanship and notices two beads laced through. His head is tilted in question.

“Okay, um. I’m going to try to explain this as best I can.” She nods to herself as he reaches out to hold the leather and assess it closer. “I’m not a Nora. But I was raised by one.” She unnecessarily explains. “These beads are for important milestones in one’s life–they’re gifted to you by your family or by your leaders or whatever.” She feels dumb explaining this, but Kotallo says nothing. “Now I obviously haven’t had time to make one for you specifically, but sometimes beads are shared with those you are close to before big moments.” She blows some hair from her face.

Kotallo looks at the two beads and then back at her, though this time scanning her braids to find two missing spots.

“These are your beads?” He clarifies, gesturing to the two braids that are now missing in her pattern.

“Yes. If my paint is to remind me that you’re always with me, then I want you to have something to hold onto as well. So that when the rebels attack and you can’t see me, you'll know I’m fighting with you.”

His jaw tightens at her words, his thumb reverently rolling the beads on the leather. A few months ago, Aloy might have feared she said something wrong. But she knows Kotallo now, and can recognize when his own gears are spinning in rumination on her words. And the tightness in his jaw is not from anger, but from a softer emotion.

“These…” he trails off as he thinks, but Aloy can finish the sentence for him. She reaches forward and touches a blue bead.

“This is from my Machine Mastery braid; I earned it when I took down my first combat class machine.” He looks at her and she swallows hard. “A Stalker.” His lip twitches in an almost proud smirk at the imagery of her younger self taking on such a formidable foe. Her cheeks are hot but she continues. “Regalla will throw every machine she has at you. This is to remind you to take them down cleanly and quickly; don’t get sloppy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” In the past she may have thought it sarcastic, but she can see the genuine response in his posture. He is taking her last minute gift as seriously as an attack.

She points now to the clay colored bead, letting her finger linger on it for a moment. 

“This is from my Warrior’s braid.” She expected the feeling of emotion to cripple her words again, but for the first time in so long she is able to talk about it without being overwhelmed by the pang of hurt.

Is this what Gaia meant? She wonders for a moment. By speaking and adding meaning to her own rituals and mythos, she finds that the despair is less suffocating than before. Rather, she finds a sense of pride and joy to be able to share it with Kotallo. 

“I was given this when I survive the massacre at my Proving. When I survived when so many others did not.”

Vala…Rost…

“You will do more than survive against her army. You will bring it to heel for all those who she has taken along her path.”

“For my brothers and sisters; the Marshalls.” He agrees, his voice hoarse with barely contained rage and grief. “For every life she has destroyed and for those left behind.”

“Yes,” She hesitates for a moment. 

“Will you assist me in putting this on?” He asks softly. She nods and moves behind him, relieved when she realizes she braided enough of the necklace to wrap around his thick neck. She takes a few moments to loop secure knots and tugs just a little to ensure its secure.

When he rises to his feet, he is as intimidating as the Bulwark, stoic and strong in the face of resistance.

“You honor me, Commander.” She wants to chide him for the honorific, but she can tell that this means so much more to him as both an individual and a soldier. “I will protect these fiercely, Aloy. This I swear to you.” His promise makes her gut twist in a strange elation.

“Good. That means you must survive so I don’t lose them.” She teases the very fear gnawing at her since Gemini; that she would lose another person who matters so much to her. She knows he would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat, she saw him attempt it at the Embassy and what it cost him. She watched him throw himself in harm’s way to save the Chief, knowing it may be his last act. Kotallo is selfless and fiercely loyal to those around him. She knows his people would go into a battle with the knowledge they may not come back alive. But he will come back alive, because that was what she commanded of him.

They stare at each other in a charged silence for a long moment. She, assessing the leather necklace and beads he now wears, and he doing the same on her paint. 

“It’s time to head out, Marshall.” She finally musters the courage to say, disrupting the tension between them before it engulfs her whole. She does not know what it means, but knows it isn’t the time to figure it out now.

He nods and walk towards the exit alcove once more; slower than either of them need to. She is nervous to be parted from him, after what happened to Varl when she was mere feet away. But she chokes it down.

He will survive this assault. He will avenge those he lost.

And as soon as she finishes the override Beta gifted her as a last act, she will be there with him.

They each hesitate at the door, laughing a little awkwardly when neither of them move to open it. He reaches up and touches the beads on his neck when he sees her rolling one between her fingers and she smiles warmly up at him. 

“You’ll save some machines for me, yeah?” She tries to lighten the mood and he smirks down at her. 

“Of course. I look forward to seeing your prowess in battle again.” 

They still don’t move. She can’t help but laugh and lean back against the metal wall, forcing some distance between them and grounding herself. “Is something wrong?” He asks.

“No, not really.” She shrugs it off but his gaze holds firm. “I’m just having a hard time saying goodbye to you today.” She admits, looking up when she feels her cheeks heat up again.

“It is mutual.” There is a certain assuredness in his voice that makes her fingers itch. She clocks immediately when she notices his lips tug into a frown after a moment of thinking. 

“Now what’s that look for?” She asks with a smile, attempting to wipe away the somberness of his face. 

“I am just thinking. It is nothing to concern yourself with.”

“Come on, Kotallo. What’s going on?” She is suddenly worried, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she stays leaning against the wall. 

“I should not say.” He moves to go to the door and a panic seizes in her body. She reaches out to grab his wrist before he can get out of reach.

“Talk to me,” She nearly begs, relieved when he doesn’t pull his arm away. 

“Just leave it alone, Aloy.”

Suddenly, she feels so terribly young. When she used to ask endless questions and be shut down without any discussion.

“Do I need to order you to tell me?” She challenges, fighting every urge to push off of the wall and must whatever amount of authority she could manage. His sigh is fully frustrated, a near grumble against her attitude and it flares something stubborn in her. 

“Leave it be.” He nearly barks at her as he goes to tug away from her.

“Marshal!” All of the rage of a commander, forcing him to heel.

It happens so quickly that she barely processes it.

His arm is removed from her grip and his hand is suddenly planted on the metal wall near her head. He is crowded in her space and his body and face are so close to her that she thinks she stops breathing for a moment.

He is breathing a little ragged, she can clearly see the pulse on his neck against her necklace. 

“In another life,” He starts, ensuring that she does not attempt to look anywhere else but him. She can feel the warmth of his breath, how is he so close to her? “I would kiss you goodbye.” 

Her heart is pounding against her chest and suddenly she feels sweaty on her hands and neck at his words. He does not let up as he takes her space, does not allow her a moment to run. After all, she had pressed this information out of him.

A thousand thoughts bounce in her head and a nervousness twists in her gut aat his words but she can’t help but focus on what he said. In another life? What does that mean?

Why wouldn’t it be now in this one? What other life could he possible mean–

The dawning hits her as quickly as when she first met him months ago after the Embassy.

He is mained. She realizes. In another life, being whole in body, Kotallo would kiss her.

But now, he does not want to dishonor her. Does not want to defile her as a maimed man. Probably from some more ass backwards logic of what she deserves.

A stubborn defiance radiates in her. All the progress he has made with his survival and still he thinks that his missing arm would affect her judgement with this?

Whatever this is.

And she’s not an idiot, she may be relatively sheltered in matters of the heart and romantic feelings, but she has never had her heart pound this way when she was propositioned in the past. By anyone. Not by Erend, Avad, Nil, Petra, Drakka.

“How is it that someone like you - a paragon, damn near a saint - could love the world so damn much, but no one in it?"

She hears​​ Travis Tate once more. The reminder that she is not Elisabeth. 

She doesn’t know much about love, at least not enough for what Travis was talking about. But the thought of Kotallo holding himself back because of such a stupid, insignificant thing fills her with an almost anger.

“That is what I am thinking, Commander.” He almost spits the words out, clearly frustrated at her pestering. 

They stand there on the precipice for a moment, both of them breathing ragged things for different reasons. She sees his body relax slightly and can tell he means to pull away.

Not on my watch.

Her hand lifts to wrap around his wrist, still propping himself up on the wall beside her. It isn’t much, she knows he could easily pull away if he wanted.

But he doesn’t pull away. 

“The only life I’m concerned about is this one.” It feels clunky when she says it, but she hopes he understands.

For the briefest of moments, she sees his eyes flick down to gaze at her mouth when she speaks.

When he looks back up, his lips part just slightly as he forms the words he’d like to say.

Goddess above, his mouth.

“What is it you want, Aloy?”

She’s immediately frustrated at the words, throwing her head back against the wall and looking up to the ceiling, but not releasing his wrist lest he try to escape again.

“I don’t know, Kotallo.” She sighs in frustration. “I’ve never…” She trails off and shrugs lamely, as though it’ll explain everything.

“Forgive me, Aloy. I know you are uncomfortable with this conversation.” He grumbles out. “But I need to understand what you are saying to me. Surely by now, I am not the first to have made a similar proposition.”

She groans, dropping his wrist to rub at her eyes for a moment, fighting the urge to tug at her hair. 

“Of course not.” She is glad he almost chuckles at that. It is that sound that gives her the confidence to look back to him. He is still so close, his eyes searching deep into her soul. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve…done this.” She gestures between them loosely. 

“And yet you have not told me to back away from you.” His question goes unasked.

She hears it anyway.

“No.” She nods to herself as she says it. “But I don’t know what to do next.”

She’s worried they’ll talk themselves out of the electricity that she is so curious about, but she can tell he needs to talk to her. 

“Why, then?” He ponders to her and her face is back to being inflamed. 

“Why what?” She challenges, just to buy herself some time to answer.

“If you’ve had the opportunities before and denied them, why are you humoring me so close to you right now?”

“Because I’m not a goddess.” Saying it feels stupid. “You have always treated me like I was just…me.”

She lets that sit in his brain for a moment, crossing her arms nervously to close herself off. 

“There is nothing just about you, Aloy.” His gaze is piercing. “I fear you have misjudged my discipline in my thoughts about you.”

“I thought all Tenakth were pillars of discipline.” She teases, heart pounding when his own sharp teeth smile back at her. 

“Indeed we are.” He adjusts himself so he is no longer leaning on his arm, instead carefully, almost abundantly cautiously, tracing her arm with his fingers. “And yet, every moment has been consumed with your fire since you brought down the sky.”

It’s not that she’s scared, she has no reason to fear the man before her right now. But she finds herself nearly petrified at his closeness. She’s never had time to stop and consider these moments as anything more than just passing musings.

And yet, she thinks of Varl.

She thinks of the time that he no longer has with the people he loves. Thinks of a future that was ripped away from him in an instant. She thinks of the emptiness she feels an cannot begin to comprehend what Zo must be feeling right now.

In the days leading up to their departure, the days Aloy is so grateful that she spent at home, Varl had been attached to Zo’s hip. They’re normally reserved affections were open, on display. His hands always wrapped in her own, or are on her shoulder, on the small of her back, on the curve of her leg on the couch as they studied. She remembers the way that she spoke in hushed tones, the smiles they shared, the wistful silent conversations through their eyes.

He hadn’t known he was going to die during the mission to Gemini. But Varl ensured that his time leading up to it was without regret and without fear.

Varl’s last days were surrounded by love. The love of his partner, the love of his friends, the love of his family. 

If Kotallo leaves right now, with words unsaid and action unresolved, would she have regrets? If either of them fell in this battle, if he was taken away from her life as violently and permanently as Varl had, would this be the moment she replayed over and over in her mind?

How long has she spent replaying her last conversation with Rost? The choking regret of not properly expressing her gratitude and love for the only family she’d ever had. 

“I have to leave.” There’s a deep somberness in his voice. The duality of a man being pulled in two completely different directions; a man who has pledged his life to multiple leaders. 

“I know.” And she does know. She promised Hekarro that his best Marshal would be there when the moment called for him. She just didn’t know then how afraid she would be when the moment came. She could never know then what she would begin to be feeling now. Whatever it is. “Just another moment, please.”

She doesn’t like begging, doesn’t like the smallness it pulls her into. She is not someone who begs, she is someone of action. It surprises him as well, eyes lifting in a soft surprise.

“The conversation you want to have deserves to happen without a time limit.” She is relieved that he does want that conversation. She imagines there will be many in their future as she works to untangle the mess of her mind and her feelings.

“And I’ll hold you to that.”

She doesn’t know where she gets the boldness, perhaps all the conversations of Zo and Varl the past few days, perhaps the evenings of womanly gossip from Vanasha and Talanah during her stays in Meridian last year.

But maybe, it is just because it is what I want to do.

She guides his hand up to her face, pressing his large palm against her cheek and holding it there securely. She is new to this, but she is inspired by Kotallo–and the rest of the Tenakth–and their purposeful use of touch in their language. 

When in the clanlands, she thinks with a wryness. She would smile if her body wasn’t buzzing at the sensation of her own action.

“Are you positive?’ There is a choking emotion as the words escape him. Like he truly cannot believe in what she is saying. 

“Not about a lot of things.” It’s a tease she regrets when he frowns. “But I’m sure of this. Right now. With you.”

She hopes he doesn’t misunderstand the shake in her voice. She is nervous, obviously. But she is certain of this. 

He gains control of his hand, lacing his fingers through her braids to hold her head as though she is something precious and fragile. 

It is strange, to be held in such a way when she is anything but. With his thumb on her cheek, he tilts her head back so that she is angled up at him.

He searches her eyes for something for a long moment. Uncertainty? Pity? Regret?

Whatever he looks for he does not find. Instead the muscles in his hand flex and she pushes up slightly onto her toes to meet him as he lowers. Her hand wraps slightly around his wrist just for purchase. 

The first thing she notices is the warmth. When his mouth meets hers, she is in awe of the scalding temperature of his skin. Then it is the surprising softness, reminding her that the sharpness of his paint is just another set of armor for the man beneath.

It is chaste, even she knows that. She’s unsure how to move her lips against his correctly afterall. She’s too nervous to move or, apparently, to breathe.

He pulls back just slightly, not yet loosening his hold on her. And her eyes, which had closed, flutter open to look at him.

“At ease, Aloy.” As he says it, the obvious reaction of letting out the breath she was holding makes them both smile just a little. He holds the moment between them, offering the next moment to be her decision.

She is too curious about the flutters in her stomach, the heat in her palms, and the pounding of her heart.

When she pushes up this time, her lips mold to his firmer and assured. A low sound escapes him, almost in surprise. He guides her intrinsically, tilting their mouths and parting their lips just slightly. 

She breathes through the kiss this time and smiles against his mouth when the air from his nose tickles her face. 

He steps somehow closer and her head has to tilt up even more than before, so she moves to the highest point of her toes she can stay balanced. Without really thinking (she is unsure if she’ll ever think again) her arms wrap around his neck, one hand lightly grazing his scalp. To her great satisfaction, a wonderful sound escapes him against her lips. Some combination of a sigh and a moan that ignites her to her bones.

She wants to press, to explore, to answer her own dozen questions that are forming in the moment.

But instead, he pulls away, almost gasping for air. The look he is giving her in frenzied and torn and, judging by the way he looks at her, she wonders if she looks much the same. She lowers back down most of the way but doesnt remove her hands, instead they move to rest on his neck and chestplate. 

She glances back to his mouth, relieved that she didn’t ruin the care he spent on either of their paint. The powder he had used to set it in place was surprisingly durable. 

He smiles down almost warmly at her when her face starts burning as the adrenaline settles. She almost wants to run and hide as her heart begins to settle down. She wants to maintain some sense of decorum and, even though he knows it is all new for her, doesn’t want him to see just how much she is spinning from the moment. She doesn’t want him to think, even for a moment, that her nerves are akin to any sort of regret or discomfort. 

“You stay alive down there.” She taps his chest as she says it. “That’s an order from your Commander.”

She expects him to say something, not swoop down for one more bruising kiss to her lips. She can’t help the noise of surprise that escapes her at the full overload of her senses and emotions. 

But as quickly as he begins, he pulls back before she can push the limits of her curiosity. He steps back and, regrettably, allows her to drop her arms back to her side. His hand reaches up and taps the two beads at his neck twice, eyes telling stories she hopes to one day explore. “It is what I choose.” He reminds her. She reaches up to touch her fingertips to the beautiful design on her face and he looks at her so fondly she may just melt into the ground rather than be scrutinized under his gaze.  

There’s a thousand things she wants to say and zero way to say them.

But he knows that.

“I’ll see you soon, Outlander.” They both smile at the memory of his first real words to her, all those months ago at the Grove when he was ordered to wait for her in the Sky Clan territory.

She nods, not trusting her voice anymore in this hallway lest she find herself begging for just another moment of his time.

The cold wind is less biting when the doors to the base slide open. Instead it swirls around her intimately as she watches him leave into the darkness of the too-early morning. 

When her brain immediately starts firing in too many forges, Aloy forces herself to control her breathing.

She will succeed in her plan against Regalla. She will get Beta and Gaia back. She will destroy the Zenith’s threat. She will avenge Varl. 

The time she just spent with Kotallo was not a waste, nor was it a distraction. It is what she needed. A moment of peace she so deserved.

She walks back down the hallway of the base, of her home, with a burning fire stoked even brighter than before. She feels an honor she didn’t notice before and her entire being feels invigorated for the first time since she awoke in Tilda’s mansion. She walks into her bedroom to begin gathering her things and catches her reflection by her desk, Kotallo’s design shining in the dull light. She stands prouder, taller, stronger than she had been before.

When she drops the EMP bomb to wipe out Regalla’s machines and finally she and Kotallo end the Tenakth war under Hekarro’s banner, she knows the gossip will spread to every edge of the world she has known so far. They will describe her hair of fire, her painted design of unity, and her relic of old knowledge.

She will be a Champion engraved in history, a hero, a savior, a legend in ways that she used to dread.

But this time, the mythos of Aloy will be carried forward with a newfound pride and respect for herself.

Elisabeth, I’m going to finish what you started. 

Rost, I’m going to survive to see it through.

Varl, I’m going to thrive in the everything that comes after.

You’re with me, Kotallo. And I am with you.