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Chapter Text

It's on the second day of the blizzard that the two of them finally find the alcohol. 

Aloy hadn't wanted to come on this trip to begin with. She hadn't wanted to head east, and with Kotallo least of all. But she needed data up North, and of all her allies at her side, she knew Kotallo would be the best to handle the cold. 

Him and his stupid Sky Clan blood. 

But no matter how hot his blood ran, there was no way either of them would have been able to brave the storm blustering outside, the winds whipping the snow into cutting knives. So the two of them had hunkered down with nothing more than hopes their traveling supplies would last longer than the blizzard, and the silence longer than the snow.

But the silence had drawn into tension, and tension into something even worse, cutting gazes and muttered words and finally it had all reached its breaking point, the two of them practically screaming at each other as they both faced the reality of it all. 

Even though they had ended it all months ago, here they were, stuck together again. 

Aloy found the drink a few short hours later, and the two of them had been too exhausted to even care of anything else but dulling their senses and replacing the burn of anger in their veins with something else. 

It's sometime later in the night when Kotallo finally speaks, the two of them sitting across from each other in the darkened ruin. 

"Why did you stop loving me?"

Aloy's head jerks up, caught somewhere between lucidity and too far gone, and she scowls at Kotallo, trying to process the words. "What?"

He sighs, his hand flexing from where his arm is draped over drawn up knees. She tries hard to ignore the line of his thighs there, or the fact that her mind is reminding her that those tattoos go all the way up. She tries to focus on the words coming from his mouth, even as the world starts to blur at the edges. 

"I'm asking why," he murmurs, and there's such a plaintive look upon his face, it takes everything within her not to cross the room now and press her lips to that little line he gets between his brow when he scowls. "Why you stopped loving me. Was it something I did? Something I didn't do? Is it because—"

He doesn't finish the question, but Aloy still catches the drop of his attention towards his left arm, and even with all the alcohol in her system now, that's not something she can let him think. 

"Hey," she snaps, drawing her attention up to her as she does cross the room this time—his brown eyes glow in the firelight—and drops to her knees before him. "You're drunk," Aloy huffs. Kotallo opens his mouth to argue—what, she doesn't know. She just presses her finger to his lips and shakes her head. "You're drunk, so you're saying stupid things." 

Her other hand moves, settling just above the fabric wrap on his arm, fingers scratching gently over the muscles she knows always get sore, and there's a visible softening to his face. "This," she murmurs, drawing her thumb across the tattoo on his shoulder. "Could never keep me from loving you. It could never make me stop loving you." 

"Then what?" His voice has turned pleading, and this time she really does reach out the press that crease between his brow. "What did I do wrong, Aloy?" 

His hand brushes across her cheek, and Aloy leans into his touch, the still sober part of her mind screaming that this is a bad idea. "You didnt do anything," she whispers, nesting her lips against his palm. "It was me. Its my fault, Kotallo. Not yours. Never yours. I just... I can't risk it. I'm not strong enough." 

"Aloy..." his thumb teases at the corner of her lip, and she swears she can almost taste the chalk of his paint.

"You deserve better than this, Kotallo." A shuddering breath, a shake of her head. "I never stopped loving you. I just walked away so you could find someone who would love you better." 

"You still love me?" Kotallo echoes, and there's something almost like wonder in his voice. 

When Aloy nods her head, though his scowl only darkens. "You shouldn't say that," he mutters.

Something catches in her throat. "Why not?"

"Because now I want to kiss you." 

Aloy gets up abruptly, and Kotallo flinches from the movement, panic lacing itself with the alcohol on his breath. "Aloy? Where are you going?" 

She grabs the second flask from where they had left it on the ground and takes a long, hard draught from it, the drink burning on the way down. "To get way more drunk," she mumbles. Her footsteps carry her back to Kotallo, and she forces his legs down, opening up a space on his lap. 

A space which Aloy promptly claims, straddling herself over his legs as she settles down, one hand pressing to his chest for balance. And Kotallo's hand presses to her waist, the heat of it nearly searing through her clothes all the way to her skin. "There's no way I can do this sober." 

"Do what?" Kotallo hums, and the sound of it rocks all the way up her body, sparks dancing in all the familiar ways. 

"Kiss you," Aloy mutters, shifting closer. "Love you. Miss you." Her voice catches and breaks on those words. "Kotallo, I miss you so much." 

His hand leaves her, taking the flask from her instead, and she watches as he takes several heavy gulps from it, his fingers digging into the leather. He pulls it away from his lips with a gasp, and Aloy's attention is caught by the bead of drink that remains on the corner of his lips. "What was that for?" She half gasps, half sighs, and something in her trembles as his tongue parts his lips. 

"Getting way more drunk," he says, as if that should have been obvious. "So now we're even." 

"Hmm." Aloy takes the drink back, and finishes off the last slosh within, nothing more than a half swallow. 

Kotallo tilts his head, studying her. "How do you feel now?" 

Aloy licks her lips, considering, before finally settling upon—"Drunk." 

Kotallo laughs, and it's such a clear, warm thing that it sends her whole heart ablaze. Always for him. Only for him. "Then, may I kiss you?" 

Aloy smiles, tossing the flask to the side and settling her hands to cradle at his neck. "Oh, please do." 

And he does. 

By Gaia, he does. 

Kissing Kotallo makes her forget, even if it's only for one night. Because kissing Kotallo makes it feel like everything is finally right. 

She'll deal with the headache in the morning. 

-

Aloy lets out a moan, her head tipping back. 

Lips. Tongue. Teeth. 

His name upon her lips as he undoes her, again and again. 

His tongue flooding over her senses, teasing over her skin. 

His teeth upon her neck, her collar, her sternum, her hips. 

"Tallo—"

Their bodies rocking together in all the familiar motions, a tangle of hands, of limbs, of gasping desperate breaths. 

"Aloy." 

Her name, pressed against her throat as the flames climb higher, threatening to overwhelm her. 

"I love you." 

The words around them, in every move, in every breath, in every desperate press of their lips together. 

"I love you," she gasps, his motions languid and smooth. 

"I love you," he growls, her fingers scraping along his back. 

"I love you," they sigh, the words pressed against the lips of the other as the fire washes over them, cresting as they fall into one another. 

"I love you," Kotallo whispers into her ear, his arm pulling snugly around her waist as she nestles against him. "And I will always love you, Aloy. There is no one who can love me better, and there is no one who I could love more."

Aloy presses her hands against his, the slick of sweat on her skin slowly cooling, the warmth within her still persistent. "I don't think I can do it, Kotallo." Tears burn at the edges of her eyes. "I don't think I can risk losing you again. It's better if we don't love each other at all." 

His lips, pressed against the slope of her neck. "An order I shall have to break, Commander."

"Me too," she whispers back. "Because I don't think I'll ever stop loving you." 

-

Aloy wakes with tears caught in her eyes, and a bone-deep ache within her chest. 

Of course she dreamt of him last night. Of course she relived long-since passed memories, the echo of actions they had taken months before. 

Of course she had dreamt of his warmth, of the way his hand would settle on her back, of how his chest would move beneath her with every breath—

Wait. 

Aloy cracks her eyes open, and finds that the gentle rise and fall of Kotallo's chest is not only some cruel trick her mind has played on her. It is not just the recollection of memories that she would rather forget. It is real, and it is him. His familiar warmth, the whuff of his breath upon her skin, his fingers falling along the divots of her spine. 

And for one achingly terrible moment, all Aloy wants is to remain, to be held, to be loved once more. To slip into the rhythms that had held her together when the world was falling apart. To rise and fall in Kotallo's arms, when the world was reaching its turning point, it's burning point, when Nemesis had loomed. 

Nemesis is gone. 

And she cant let herself love him. 

Not like this. Not anymore. 

She grants herself one final breath, one last heartbeat held safe within his embrace, then pulls away. Immediately, her body begins to shiver to the edge of cold in the air, her bare skin already complaining the lack of his warmth wrapped around her. 

Aloy chokes down a sob, covering her mouth with her hand as she steps away, and something in her chest breaks further as she hears her name on his lips, the softest of breaths. 

"Mm... loy?" 

Kotallo rolls over, his brow creasing in concern as he draws into himself, and Aloy has to force herself to look away away, breath shuddering in her lungs. 

It takes too long for her to finally pull her layers of leather and fur back on with the ringing in her head, but once the armor is snug over her skin, she can pretend that the heat that lurches under her skin each time she sees him is just her body warming back up. She is silent still as she kicks around their things, her hands finally alighting upon one of the blankets they had apparently forgone last night. 

Her head swims as she bends down to grab it, and Aloy bites back a groan, her vision dancing with spots. "Too much," she mutters, her gaze falling on the two flasks that had been left to the ground, a small dribble of alcohol still pooled beneath the open mouth of one of them. 

Aloy drags the blanket over Kotallo's sleeping form, a sigh unfurling from her chest as he huffs under the cover, his features losing some of the tension that had been written there before. And maybe it's just nostalgia that leads her to brush her knuckles along the planes of his face, to stroke her thumb at the part of his lips, to press the ghost of a kiss upon his brow. 

She tells herself it's nostalgia. 

Because they're not supposed to be in love. 

She doesn't know how long she sits there, eyes closed against the headache that has launched upon her like a ravager, her hand settled upon Kotallo's shoulder even as he sleeps. She doesn't know how long she listens to the sound of his breathing, even though the sensation of it is long since memorized to her very being. 

Aloy just knows that when Kotallo wakes, it's with a startled jerk of his body that sends her reeling backwards, her breathing suddenly going uneven as he slams upright—and *all* the muscles of his back pulled into tension, the tattoos rippling across his skin and—

Get it together, Aloy.

Kotallo groans, pitching forward with the sound, and Aloy shifts closer to place her hand on his back. 

"What?" His voice still has that gravel in it from sleep, and something in Aloy shivers at it. Then she tells herself that it's just the cold, even as he turns to look at her with that piercing gaze of his. "Aloy?" 

The air dies in her lungs, and she gets up roughly, looking away. "I'm surprised you slept so long, Marshal." 

Marshal, not Kotallo. Because when everything had fallen apart months ago, she told him that they couldn't be anything more than Marshal and Commander. 

Because a commander shouldn't love those under their charge—

Kotallo grunts, pushing himself to stand, before immediately dropping back down with a groan. "Wha—" a spluttering cough, the sound of it scraping in his chest. "What happened?"

Aloy tips her head back, immediately regretting the action as soon as the nausea punches back into her. She's had bad mornings before, but she's typically so careful in how much she drinks. What had happened?

Kotallo's teeth upon the line of her jaw. Her legs straddled around his waist. The two of them rolling to shove her back against the ground. His name falling from her lips in a graceless moan. 

Aloy scrunches her eyes closed, her face ablaze from the sensation of the dream—surely not memories?—even as the muscles along her shoulders ache. "Was hoping you would know, Marshal."

Kotallo drags his arm over his eyes, and Aloy watches transfixed as his lips part in a heavy sigh. "I remember..." The words fall into silence between them, and Aloy waits as he struggles to grasp anything, anything definitive. "Yelling. I remember us yelling." 

Aloy winces, yet even through the fog of whatever was lost to the drink yesterday, those words now ring through her ears. 

"What use is saving the world if not for the people in it? What purpose is life if not for those you love?" 

"Sounds about right," she croaks, and all she can do is hope that Kotallo attributes the roughness in her voice to the drinks they had obviously shared, rather than the tears that now burn hot tracks down her cheeks. 

Aloy draws her legs up to her chest, resting her cheek upon her knees, a sigh brushing against her worn leathers. "Sorry you got stuck in here with me." 

Kotallo is silent for a long moment, and Aloy almost considers that he might have fallen asleep. Or perhaps he is just ignoring her. If the only thing either of them can remember from the night before is of yelling at one another... it must not have gotten any better after they had started drinking. 

She's almost afraid to know what they had said to each other then. 

Afraid to know how else they could have broken one another's hearts. 

The silence holds, tearing into Aloy's chest, before he finally speaks. "The mission calls, as it always does."

The mission. Any mission. The only reason they ever saw each other anymore. 

"Kotallo." Her voice shakes as she says his name, and it is enough to draw him to look at her, his brown eyes dull. "I mean it. I really am sorry. I didn't mean for any of this... for us to... to fall apart." 

He settles a long, hard look upon her, and Aloy has to force herself not to tremble under the weight of his gaze. Yet when he does speak... something in her dies. 

"Your choices have been made, Commander. They cannot be unmade now." 

And the coldness in his eyes makes her realize that it's true. 

This kind of broken cannot be mended.

Chapter Text

"This is so stupid," Aloy groans, resting her head against the counter. 

Zo, who stands on the other side, simply lets out a soft hum in reply, her hand stroking across Aloy's shoulder. "You've been working at a hard pace for years now, Aloy. There's no shame in taking time to rest." 

Aloy sighs, adjusting her position to turn tired eyes towards the other woman. "But this is different. This isn't me choosing to rest. This is like... feeling like I got run over by a thunderjaw." 

Zo stops in her movements, raising one brow.

Another groan, and Aloy lets her head thump against the counter once more. "No, I have not fought any thunderjaws recently. No, I have not been run over by any machines recently. No, I have no clue what it could be." 

"You could always speak with Beta," Zo offers. "She's been putting a lot of focus into medical studies since everything calmed down. I'm sure she would be more than willing to help you, Aloy." 

She closes her eyes. Draws in a breath. Lets it out in a long, slow drag. "I don't want to bother her," she mumbles finally. "She's busy right now, training under Dekka. But most of all, she's happy. So Beta doesn't need any worries added to her."

"So she doesn't get to care about her sister?" Zo's hand hand brushes over her shoulder again, and Aloy lets out a soft sound in response. "She doesn't get to know if something is wrong with you?" 

"Nothing's really wrong," Aloy insists quietly, almost to herself as the words drift out of her. "I don't have time for anything to be wrong."

"Aloy." Zo's voice is almost sharper now, causing her to look up. "If anyone deserves time now, it's you. The world is saved. The threat is gone. You've done your work. There's nothing wrong with letting yourself step back. Nothing wrong with finding a path for yourself. A path that you want." 

Another breath, and still the press of exhaustion weighs upon her. Maybe Zo is right. Maybe it really is just the consequences of time and her endless work finally catching up to her, convincing her it is time to stop. 

To breathe.

To be. 

"Now—" Zo taps her once, a gentle touch, and Aloy can hear her stepping away. "Erend and Vala will be back soon from their trip down the mountain. Will you be staying long enough for a meal, or will you be wandering off before then?"

Aloy drags her hand up to her focus, staring blearily at the numbers flashing back at her, the ticking of a clock that no longer counts down to the end of the world. "I'll stay." 

It's not like she has anywhere else to go. No other tasks waiting before her. 

Does she even had a purpose left anymore? 

Aloy loses herself to the familiar sounds of Zo moving as she cooks. The knife against a long worn cutting board. The step and shuffle of movement. The low hum of a song that she and Varl had often sang together as they cooked. The sizzle as food is added to the pan—

"Ugh." Aloy recoils, her face screwing up in disgust as she stares at Zo, who looks back with a startled expression. "What in the name of Gaia are you making, Zo?" 

"Beanweed bites," she replies tersely, wooden spoon clacking against the pan. "After all these years, and it's still one of the only Utaru dishes Erend will eat without complaining." A longer breath, a consideration. "You like this dish too, Aloy." 

She shakes her head, sliding off the stool before the counter and stepping backwards. "I'm really sorry, Zo. It's just... oh right now it smells foul."

Something flashes in Zo's eyes then. Something that has her brows drawing together suddenly, and a look deeper than concern falls over her features. "Oh." The spoon is left on the counter, the heat beneath the pot cut off. "Aloy."

She turns away, yet Zo's hands still find her. "Aloy, I think we need to speak. Now." 

-

Aloy lets out a drowsy sigh, her head nestled in Zo's lap, the other woman's fingers drawing gently through her unbraided hair. She's still not fully sure how Zo had convinced her into this position, but at the moment she's not inclined to complain. 

"How long, Aloy?"

She could fall asleep right now. In fact, that sounds like an excellent plan, just drifting off to that space beyond waking. If she simply let herself go, let the exhaustion wash over her, perhaps it would carry her to that same place in her dreams she always longs to be at. 

That place where it is Kotallo's hand threaded through her hair. Where it is his voice that rumbles in her ear. Where Kotallo remains at her side, and she had never made that mistake. Where they simply exist.

"Aloy." 

But the problem is that place doesn't exist. Not anymore. The problem is that it's been three seasons since the passing of Nemesis, three seasons since before it all fell apart, three seasons since she's been able to look at Kotallo with anything but guilt in her eyes. 

And a season since they had seen each other last. 

"A couple weeks," she finally sighs, drawing her arm up to cover her eyes, her eyelashes fluttering across skin. "But today's felt the worst." 

Zo's hand draws along her arm, calluses from years of work and fighting pressed into the edges of her fingers, rambling along her skin in soothing lines. "And how long... how long since your last blood?"

It takes several long moments before Aloy fully registers the question being asked, and a groan falling from her lips delays the answer longer still. "Oh, Zo, I dont even know. It's... with everything that's happened, and it's always been so inconsistent... I barely care enough to keep track anymore. It just happens as it does." 

"I think you're pregnant." 

Aloy can't help it.

She laughs, a deep, almost aching thing that borders on delirious the longer it drags on, and yet Zo does not join her. When there is no amusement found within her eyes, Aloy trails off, staring at her in disbelief. "You're kidding," she mutters, but there is only a faint sadness in Zo's eyes.

"No." Aloy sits up, her head swimming as she turns around to face her friend, and apprehension crawls its way up her skin. "No, no because that doesn't make sense. It can't make sense." 

"Aloy," Zo says softly, already reaching out to her. 

"And with who?" Aloy ignores the motion, her hands seeking out her own arms, fingers curling tight. "Answer me that, Zo. Who would I have even been with to get... to be..." Her voice catches, and it's with a shock of surprise that she realizes there are tears burning in the corners of her eyes. "You and I both know—"

Kotallo is the only one she's ever loved in such a way, and it's been three seasons since Aloy cut it all off. 

Nine whole months since she's really felt loved. 

Nine whole months since she let herself love. 

"I cant be." Her voice trembles, and Zo's hands are gentle upon her arms once more, wrapping her up to press against her chest. "It doesn't make any sense, Zo. There's no way that... I mean Kotallo and I haven't even seen each other since—"

Since that night in the Cave. With the dream that felt like more than a dream. A night that neither one could remember, but hadn't she woken up in his arm, in that old familiar way?

"I think I'm going to be sick," she gasps, the realization hitting her straight in the gut. "Zo, I think—"

-

She tries to tell herself it's not real, even as the results from Gaia's test stare back at her from her focus. 

She tries to ignore the messages from Zo that are piling up in the corner of her display. 

She tries to ignore the fact that somehow, she and Kotallo had...

She's not ready to face that thought yet. 

So Aloy curls up tighter into a ball, tears slick upon her cheeks, her breaths shuddering in her lungs, a sob catching in her throat. 

Because it is real. 

It's all real.

And it's Kotallo's.

Kotallo, who had said they couldn't be mended. Kotallo, who had once said before that he had never seen himself becoming a father, and Aloy hadn't minded then because she could never see herself as a mother either. 

She has no clue how to be a mother. 

But now there's something inside her, something real. Something she's never even really considered. But it's here, and it is real, and against all her choices and mistakes and all the thoughts otherwise, she's fallen into a role she could have never fathomed for herself. 

A mother. 

Strangely enough, the more she thinks upon it, the less it claws within her chest, the panic dulling at the edges and fading into a humming anxiety as she forces her breaths to even out. 

Aloy presses her hands against her stomach, fingers splaying out upon the skin covered in scars, the stories of her many battles that she has seen through to the other side. The muscles there that have been trained into her from a young age, the instincts and reflexes that had kept her alive. 

The evidence of all her burdens and sacrifices, the weight of all her years, written upon her now. 

And something new, written within her.

"I don't want that for you," Aloy whispers, drawing her thumb down the line of her stomach. "I don't want you to carry as much as I have been forced to. I don't want you to hurt in all of the ways I have." 

She curls tighter upon herself, circling her arms around her center, settling her heartbeat into a slower rhythm, even as her thoughts spill endlessly in her mind. 

"You will be safe." Aloy closes her eyes. "You will be loved. You will grow up in a place where you will be free to be whatever you want to become. Not what people expect you to be. Not Outcast. Not Annointed. Not Savior." Her voice hitches, tears caught upon her lashes. "Not even Champion."

She can't stay here. She can't stand before everyone she has fought side by side with for years and watch as questions fill their eyes. 

She cant bear to stand before Kotallo and have him watch as she grows a new life within her, so dissimilar to how she was created, and face whatever might be held in his gaze. How would he even react when she told him? 

What if he didn't want it? 

Kotallo—who hadn't wanted to be a father. 

Can she really force that role upon him? Now, when things are finally falling into place for him? Now, as peace has finally come and their lives have begun the slow and heartbreakingly inevitable work of untangling themselves from one another? 

Could she really force Kotallo into this role of fatherhood? 

And what if he refused? What if he wanted nothing to do with her—with them? Would their child—her child—be forced to grow up just as lost and confused as she had been, desperate for answers as to why? Why hadn't her own mother wanted her?

"You will be wanted," Aloy insists, blinking past the prick of tears once more. "You won't be lonely like I was. Not if I can do anything about it. I wont let it happen." 

She can't take that risk on Kotallo. She can't force him into a situation he doesn't want. 

Not now. 

Not when all that is left between them is the broken pieces of what once was, the jagged memories of who they had been together. 

That conversation, playing on repeat in her mind.

She'll just have to learn to live with the memories. She'll have to resign herself to cutting away anything that had once tied them together.

This little one will be wanted and loved, wholly and completely. 

That is the least of all that she can give. 

Chapter Text

Kotallo wakes to her absence once more. 

A full year, and his mind still tortures him with the memory of her body pressed up against his, his memories replaying the sound of her heartbeat matching his own, the soft sounds of her breathing when she is fully at peace. 

He sits up with a sigh, looking out across his High Marshal quarters. 

He dreamt of her again this night. Dreamt of her bright and burning smile, of all the moments they had shared before, when the end of the world was drawing close and all they had was one another to hold on to, desperate to never lose a second. 

But the end had come and gone, and now Aloy is in Meridian, dealing with the Carja once more. 

A low groan, and Kotallo scrubs his hand across his face, trying to will his thoughts to leave her. He has to set it all aside once more—has to fall into his duties as is expected of him. 

He doesn't have time to be missing her. 

His feet hit the worn stones of the floor.

There's work to be done. 

-

Sometimes he feels strange, sitting here in their focus conferences. Hundreds of miles separate them all, and yet in a moment like this, he can almost convince himself that they are all back at the base. 

Home again.

Aloy sits behind some kind of desk—a gift from Avad, she had explained once—and Kotallo tries not to look at her, tries to ignore the ache building itself within his chest once more as she speaks, reporting on the latest progress from the capital of the Sundom. 

After Nemesis, everything had splintered. Their little group—their family—falling apart at the edges, untethered and unmoored and drifting away from one another.  

Kotallo was stationed back at the Grove, and after three long years of being wholly dedicated to Aloy and her mission, he had finally found his focus held solely upon the Tenakth once more. Hekarro had made him High Marshal not long after that, though there had been a twinge in his chest that those he now counted closest in his life could not be there for that moment. 

Erend had headed back up to the Claim, somehow pulled into leadership by the Oseram there. He hadn't wanted to go, but after Avad gently but forcibly retired him from service as captain of the Vanguard, there was little more that could be done to dissuade his countrymen from giving him such a role. 

He still spoke of it sometimes, on those long nights when he and Kotallo had sat awake at the fire's edge, speaking of battles and how things would never be the same. Kotallo had considered losing his arm one of his biggest challenges to ever face, but they both knew now that Erend had recieved a rough lot as well, his leg weakened to the point of barely supporting him at times. 

Alva had become the official ambassador of the Quen, which kept her busy, though sometimes Kotallo would get a chance to see her when his own duties brought him to the coast. Her family had also been brought on the next voyage across the ocean, something she had been able to negotiate on and given as a slight reward for playing such a hand in the works happening across furthest waters. 

Zo had been admitted into the chorus only two short months before, much to the complaint of the chorus members, and much to the delight of many of the Utaru who supported her. Little Vala seemed to be growing bigger by the day, looking remarkably like her namesake, a fact that had drawn fullness of grief into Aloy's eyes the first time she had mentioned it to him. 

Kotallo lifts his head, the sound of Beta's voice drawing him into attention once more. She had changed the most of all of them since the end of Nemesis. Three hard years of training had finally molded her into someone capable of defending herself and others, yet after that battle she had sworn off all manner of fighting, and none could object of it. 

She seems happier now, training under Dekka's tutelage, learning all that she can of the Tenakth and their ways. Only a few months more and she would be moving east to dwell with Zo, continuing her documentation of all the tribes and spreading knowledge from what little they had been able to salvage from Apollo. 

And then that left Aloy.

Aloy, who was his first waking thought, who was the fire in his chest. 

Aloy, hundreds of miles away and now seen only by pixels and light. 

The Carja still hail her as Savior, thrice over now, or perhaps more. When she had left for Meridian three months ago, she had promised a short trip, that she would be back before the turning of the seasons, and they would all try to meet once more at the Base, just as they had at the cusp of every season before. 

What he wouldn't give to see her again, even if only for a few short hours. Even if he would never get to hold her again. So long as he could see her, know that she is truly safe and well. 

Beta finishes her update, and everyone's gazes fall upon him. Kotallo adjusts his stance, and readies himself to speak. 

He misses the fact that Aloy's hand moves from the top of the desk she sits behind, moving unseen to rest of on the curve of her stomach instead. 

Kotallo keeps his gaze hardened and focused on the wall. 

She had been the one to call it off. 

He will respect her will. 

-

When the ping comes, something almost like hope lurches within his chest. 

Kotallo's head jerks upwards, the message already displaying itself across his focus, and the purple light of it washes across his face in the darkness, something tremulous wavering in his lungs as his eyes scan over the words hanging in the air. 

His next breath cuts at his lungs, glass and ice and fire and steel and there is nothing he can do but stare blankly at those four words. 

I'm not coming back.

Kotallo shoves away from the map display, heart thundering within his chest as he stumbles out of the game room, desperation shadowing his gaze. Erend calls out something as he passes him by, but the words go unheard. 

"Call Aloy," he chokes, having to balance himself against the doorframe as they open too slowly, and it feels as if he cannot breathe. 

"Kotallo?" Gaia's voice filters in from his focus just as he manages to make it outside, the cold air sharp against his skin. "You are experiencing elevated vitals. Are you well?"

"I need to call Aloy." His hand curls against stone, supporting him, and then he sinks to the ground, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. 

I'm not coming back.

It was supposed to be today. They had all gathered together at the base the day before, tearful embraces and tired complaints of the journey. Aloy was set to arrive today.

I'm not coming back.

The moments between her name being dialed and when she accepts grow torturously long, but when she finally speaks—

"Kotallo?"

Something smooths itself over his raw and sparking nerves, and Kotallo lets out a slow breath. The sound of her voice is enough, the memory of her hands settled gently upon his skin. 

"Hello Aloy." Thank the Ten, his voice does not catch. There is nothing left to reveal how so few words had almost been enough to draw him to a breaking point. "Have you been well?" 

A sigh carries over the line of the focus, and he can almost imagine the little motion that must follow it now, how she rubs at the temple on her left side when tired. "This is about my message, isnt it." 

It is not a question. 

Kotallo dips his head. "Aloy," he says cautiously, uncertain in how to lay his words between them. "It has been some time since we have seen you. The others—"

"The others will understand," she says tersely, and he nearly flinches from the bite in statement. Is she claiming that he alone would not understand? Perhaps she is right, because he cannot find a way to comprehend this now. 

"Will you be staying in Meridian?" He shifts forward, adjusting his own postion upon the ground. He cannot see her there for the rest of time, caught in the webs the nobles spin between them. 

"I'm not." 

Two words, and nothing more. 

"May I... may I see you?" The words scrape at his throat as they fall from his lips, and yet while he expects Aloy to rebuke him, or to give an annoyed response—

A sigh. "Yeah. Yeah, just... just give me a moment."

Kotallo sits in absolute silence as he waits, his entire being fixated upon the gentle sounds coming from Aloy's side of the focus, the shift of her body and the huffs of breath as she moves. 

And then she is before him, painted in swathes of purple light once more. 

"Hi." 

Her hair is down from its usual braids, spilling across shoulders that are covered in carjan silk. She sits cross legged across from him, a pillow pulled flush against her middle and arms wrapped tight around it. 

Something in his heart twists upon seeing her, and it is only when she gives a small cough that he remembers his own holo image must be projected to her as well. 

"Hello," he says quietly, and it takes everything within him not to reach out and settle his hand overtop of her own. 

She is nothing but sparks and light now. 

"Where?" 

All he can do is hope that his voice does not betray him now. Does not reveal the emotions roiling within him. "Where will you be going next? Do you... is it another mission? I can be at your side within the day if only you called."

Aloy shakes her head, a slow motion. "I'm going home." 

"Home?" 

The word sticks within his chest. Home. Had he not been her home? Had she not said as much before? 

Home is in your arms, Kotallo. That's all I'll ever need.

"I have one more meeting with Avad tomorrow, and then... I'm leaving for the Nora Sacred Lands. I'm going home." 

"Aloy..." He feels as if he is walking the edge of a cliff, as if one wrong step will send him falling, severing what few threads of connection had remained between them. "You would always have a place here, in Tenakth lands, if you desired it." 

"Kotallo." 

His name on her lips is enough to fully halt all other thoughts, and he lifts his eyes to meet hers. He finds within them the fullness of exhaustion, the most weary he has ever seen her before. "I'm tired," Aloy says weakly, and the word hangs in the air between them. "I'm tired, and I'm tired of helping. Don't I deserve some rest?" 

"Of course." The words choke out of him, and all he desires in this moment is that she was truly close enough to hold, to touch. He would draw her into his arms and hold her until every drop of exhaustion had been spilled from her. Even if she was to never love him again, he had still pledged the entirety of his life to her, in every moment, in every trial. 

"No one would deny you that," Kotallo says quietly, and this time he does reach out, his fingers brushing into light where her knee would be if she was truly before him now. 

Aloy looks down, following his movement, and his heart nearly breaks from the hitch in her breathing. "It's been six long years," Aloy whispers. "It's been six years of fighting to stay alive, of fighting to keep it all together. I'm sick of fighting, Kotallo." 

"Then rest." Kotallo lifts his hand, brushing it into the space near her cheek, and Aloys lists her head to the side to meet him there. And though space and light separates them both, he swears he can feel the warmth of her against his skin, the weight and familiarity of her touch. 

"Please remain safe," he murmurs. Aloy's eyes flutter closed, and her hand draws up to press against his, no doubt passing through his own figure of sparks and light. "I know that we are not..." The words grow thick inside his throat, and he blinks against the pain of them. "I would still come if you called, Aloy. You do not have to be my commander or my lover to have my support." 

She does not have to be, yet she does. She has him, the fullness of all his devotion, the furthest depths of his heart.

In countless nights he had held her close and promised her forever. 

He does not intend to ever break his vow. 

Chapter Text

Sona met her at the gates of the Embrace, more fondness in the woman's eyes than Aloy had ever found there before. Weathered hands, riddled with scars and marks of age and skill, settling protectively against Aloy's own arms. 

"We welcome you home, Seeker." 

Aloy ducks her head, skin burning beneath the marks painted upon her face. Marks she had worn for years, long past the point of meaning they had held when first applied upon her. 

"Have you found all that you have sought?" 

A slow breath, and Aloy wavers on her feet, meeting Sona's gaze. "And more than I could ever think to want." 

The older woman's eyes dip lower, to the weight that Aloy bears upon herself now, one hand settled protectively upon the altered leathers of her armor. Sheltering the life within. "You return to us with more than just your presence alone." 

She steps side, her hand drifting to rest upon Aloy's shoulder, holding her close as she leads her into the Embrace, into the home Aloy had once known so dearly. "You will be at peace here, Annointed. All that the Sacred Lands have to offer, presented when you ask." 

A weary laugh, her chin dipping low. "All I can ask of now is a bed for sleep and a meal to eat." 

"And it shall be done." 

Perhaps that is amusement she hears within Sona's voice, though the thought is left behind. No, she is simply tired from the journey, her body aching from the passage of time and the weight carried upon her now. 

Her hand splays out along her stomach, and the is the press of the little one there against her touch. "We're almost home," she whispers, blinking back the sudden prick of tears. "And I swear, you will be loved." 

-

"The cabin still stands." 

Sona—no longer the war chief—had almost softened around the edges in the years that had passed since Aloy had seen her last. She still bore a sharpness to her gaze, a proud and certain hold to her shoulders, her very being, but it was not as tinged with force as it had been before. 

"Time will wear at you," she had explained quietly. Aloy had asked after it that first night, bundled in blankets and sitting beside the fire in Sona's home. "Time passes, and time is lost, and you come to realize that the things you have work towards through many years do not carry the worth of things that had been sacrificed for the sake of gain." 

She did not become the War Chief without sacrifice. 

But it was because of the sacrifice of another that she had lost what she had worked towards her very life.

"I'm sorry," Aloy had croaked, and Sona had only hummed in response, her hand coming to settle atop Aloy's head, stroking through burning braids. "I wish I could have stopped him." 

Sona simply shook her head, and though the woman had never smiled before, her eyes had shone in a different way. "Varl made that choice for himself. It is not for any of us to regret his action. He was a Brave, through and through, and he died as the best of Braves do." 

Her hand shifted, coming to rest at Aloy's cheek, and she had leaned into the touch. "He gave of himself to protect another. A mother could never be so proud." 

And now they stand before Rost's cabin, the place where Aloy had grown and lived, learned and loved. 

Another person who had sacrificed for her own sake. 

"The shrine—" the words nearly choke within her throat, heart fluttering dimly as if a bird caught within brush. "It looks..." 

Candles are set in groups before the stone, marks and carvings upon wax, and there is a small chest open before, the inside of it filled with—

"Watcher lenses?" Aloy nearly laughs, kneeling before the gravestone and reaching into the chest. "And why are there so many of them?" 

Sona's hand settles upon her shoulder, and Aloy has to take a breath in order not to react to such a simple touch. "We did not speak of it when you were here last, but after you had left for the Forbidden West, the Matriarchs finally permitted us to speak of Rost, and they told us what he had done as a Death Seeker." 

Aloy dips her head, curling up both her hands against her chest as Sona continues. 

"And the next set of young ones set to become Braves, they decided to journey up here first. Said they should walk the path of the Annointed, to know your steps before they undertook the Proving trail."

A sigh, spilling into the air between them. 

"It wasn't long before they would come for other reasons as well, and this place slowly shifted from the lowly home of an Outcast, to what they now call Spirit's Keep. They set Watcher lenses here, in hopes that All-Mother might watch over them as surely as Rost had watched over you." 

"That's—" the thought tastes foul, her stomach churning, and Aloy presses her hands lower, drawing in a breath. "I'm not something to be revered, Sona. And Rost isn't either. He was a good man, but if he found out they were placing him to the level of the All-Mother..." 

"Peace, child." Sona's grip tightens upon her, before loosening to a gentle pat. "They are aware that he was just a man. But many now within the tribe view him highly, that he had been the one to raise the Annointed Daughter of All-Mother, that he had been the one to save her in her deepest hour of need. There is no harm to come from those who seek guidance from this place." 

Aloy lets out a dry laugh, attempting to rise to her feet. It's only with a small prick of helplessness that she is forced to take Sona's offered hand up. "I had returned here before... to ask advice from him as well. I suppose it's good to know that I am not alone in finding comfort from him, even when he is gone." 

She takes one last, wistful look back at the cabin, her hand still clasped within Sona's own. "Seems a shame to have walked all this way for so little time." 

"Perhaps," Sona's voice is smooth as she turns away, obviously expecting Aloy to follow. "But I had suspected you would have like to know of this place, and what it had become in the years since you had lived here. Now come, the sun will begin its descent soon, and I would prefer to be asleep by the time your caller from the west reaches out to you once more." 

Aloy flushes at her words, hand settling upon her rounded stomach, a private smile twitching at her lips. 

Sona was not wrong. 

Kotallo was meant to call this night. 

-

Distance was both a blessing and a curse. 

Time had drawn between them both, as the days pulled endlessly on, yet it seemed that as far apart as they were, it only grew Kotallo's desire to speak with her. 

And—Aloy had realized with an aching in her chest—she desired his company all the more. They spent many passing nights with the focus opened between them, the only sounds that of their breathing until one of them inevitably slipped into sleep. With the sound of him there, the familiar warmth of it, Aloy could almost trick herself into believing that he was truly at her side, his arm pulled tight against her stomach as they slept. 

They didn't speak so much as they simply existed, and though the distance separated them both, it was the most connected that Aloy had ever felt to Kotallo since she had broken them apart after the fall of Nemesis. 

On this night, the time was spent in passing, Aloy settled beside the fire once more, one hand resting gently to her stomach as the other scrolled idly through data on the focus. Kotallo was quiet on the other side of the line, this small stream of data and sound keeping them connected across countless miles and days of travel. 

"It's been two months."

His voice is a low rumble in her ear, and Aloy lets out a soft breath, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Have the Sacred Lands been treating you well. Have... have the people?"

An almost chuckle, and Aloy opens her eyes, staring into the wavering tongues of flame before her. "Well, they won't stop calling me Annointed," she says dryly, and is rewarded with a huff of amusement from Kotallo. She traces her hand along the wood floor beside her, following time-worn lines. "But it's easier now, I suppose. They seem to be expecting less of me, they just... watch in awe." 

"And you're getting rest?"

The child within her shifts, and Aloy lets out a gasping breath, a small whine catching within her throat. "When I can," she huffs, adjusting her position. 

"Aloy?" Kotallo's voice is colored by alarm, yet the sound of it is enough to ease some of the anxiety that had begun spinning itself through her mind. 

"I'm fine," she says quickly, her other hand moving to rub against her back. "Nothing to worry over, Kotallo. Just an old pain flaring up again." 

The silence on the other side of the line remains dubious, yet Kotallo does not push the matter, something that she would remain endlessly grateful for. 

It had been nearly five months since she had discovered her pregnancy, but no one outside of Zo and Gaia knew why she had left the west so suddenly, taking her leave to Meridian. Once there she had remained within the gilded walls of the palace, and Avad had sworn that word of her true reason to dwelling there would never be shared. 

She could have stayed there, stayed in Meridian, bright and shining. He had offered it, offered his home, his palace, his hand. And Aloy had almost been tempted to remain, to take his offer, to remain safe and at rest. 

But then she had thought of Kotallo, of all the moments they had shared, of the love that had been born between them. And she looked at Avad and knew that the wanting in his eyes would never truly cease. That if she were to remain, he would love her with a fervor that she could never meet. 

Not when her heart still lied across the western border, bound and set for as long as they both would live. 

So Aloy had readied herself, and instead of flying back to the west to meet with the others... 

I'm not coming back.

Perhaps it had been that moment, when Kotallo had held her across the impossibility of space, when he had sworn himself to her even if he no longer loved her... 

"How are the other Marshals?" She croaks, dragging her thoughts away from that moment. That had been the last time they had seen one another; she didn't think she would have the strength to look him in the eyes once more and not drop everything to be at his side. 

"They are well. Hekarro intends to hold another Kulrut at the next passing of seasons."

A smile pulls itself across her lips. "Sounds like those marshal quarters will start getting full soon. Aren't you glad you have a space all to your own?" 

There is a long silence then, hanging between them, and doubt curls itself is her chest before Kotallo finally speaks. 

"The solitude is... unfamiliar. Though I suppose that having you here on nights like these, I do not feel so alone."

Aloy mutters a quiet curse to herself, trying to ignore the way that his words burn within her in a way that fire could never hope to match, lighting through her very bones and soul. 

"You watch those words of yours, Marshal," she had murmured once, pressed up against a wall with his frame sheltering her from any outside eyes. "Could make anyone fall in love with you if you spoke at them right." 

He had kissed her then, in that familiar, fervent way. "Then it is good that you are the only one I speak to thus. These words are for you alone, Aloy. Always."

"I like having you, too," she murmurs, listing her head to the side. "It's strange here, being back in a land I had lived in yet never truly known. Alone though I am surrounded by many."

"Together, then," Kotallo says, his voice rich and full. "We can be alone together."

Aloy lets out a drowsy sigh, her head tipping back against the wall she is settled beside. "I like the sound of that," she murmurs.

-

Kotallo clings to the soft sounds of Aloy's breathing, his eyes open as he stares up to the wooden slats of the shelter above him, the fire crackling in the solitude of the night. 

He remains as such, listening to the silence stretched between them, and mourns everything that could have been, mourns who they once were. He grieves for what had been held between them, tremulous and wonderful beyond hope. 

He had never thought himself truly deserving of her, yet she had loved him anyway. 

He can only hope that she lands she dwells in now would come to love her as completely as she deserves. 

He is nearly into that realm of sleep when the focus at his ear crackles, sending him stiffening in response. His breath draws in one ragged time, before—

"This is High Marshal Kotallo?"

The voice is time-worn, but firm, and something within him feels as if he is somehow being scolded in this moment. 

"It is," he murmurs, rolling over to support himself on his arm. "Why are you in possession of Aloy's focus?" 

The woman on the other side of the line does not answer that question, but rather lets out a huff of breath. "Can you make an attempt to persuade the Annointed into falling asleep on her own bed, rather than the floor? This is the third time this week, and I will be stuck with her complaints of an aching back in the morning." 

A smile pulls across Kotallo's lips, memories of Aloy dozing off while at her workstation drifting across his mind. "Of course," he answers. "Though I cannot promise she will listen. She is stubborn that way." 

A breath, one Kotallo takes as a sound of agreement. "That she is, High Marshal. That she is."

The woman bids him goodnight, her murmurs of All-Mother's blessing ringing in his ears as he disconnects the call to Aloy's focus, the words of it aligning with a prayer Varl had once said over him. 

Yet he still has Aloy here with him, together alone. 

That is blessing enough for him. 

Chapter Text

The turn of the seasons is upon them again. 

It is quieter in the base this time, and though none of them will speak it, they all know why. 

Kotallo keeps his head dipped low, staring down at the tankard of ale Erend had somehow settled into his hand earlier in the evening, and tries to let his thoughts unspool themselves from the tangled knot they have tied themselves into. 

He cannot linger as he often would before. There is no time for such a thing, not this time. Hekarro has already called the Kulrut, and the only thing permitting his absence as High Marshal in these days leading up to the event is the Sunwing which Aloy had given him, allowing him to cross great spans of the clan territories in only hours. 

But for now, he will try to enjoy the company of his friends. 

Kotallo lifts his head, catching Beta's attention, and the young woman sends him a sad smile, her hand tapping against Alva's shoulder in a move to excuse herself from the group conversation before making her way to come sit across from him. 

"How are you handling all of it?" Her head tilts slightly as she speaks, and he feels as if he is being analyzed, broken down and weaknesses bared before her. A machine to be scanned by a focus. 

He does not meet her gaze. "There is nothing to be handled. I am fine." 

"Kotallo." Her voice drips with exasperation, and he looks up to find her giving him a tired expression. "We all know this hit you the worst of us. You don't have to keep up appearances while here. You're home right now." 

Something tightens in his throat, and Kotallo washes away the sensation with a gulp of ale, the taste of it humming in his veins. "I'm fine," he mutters again. 

Beta is silent for a long moment, staring at him, and the weight of her gaze begins to feel unbearable as she finally speaks. "Why didn't you try to stop her, Kotallo?"

He ignores the way her question echoes the one he has been endlessly asking himself since that moment, since that call. "Because she wanted to go. And I would be remiss to hold her back. I cannot ever keep her from her mission, Beta."

"Mission?" She scoffs, folding her arms. "We've already saved the world twice over; things are finally calm, for once in our lives. What more of a mission could she have?" 

"To find peace," Kotallo says quietly, the words barely more than a breath. "That is her only mission left, Beta. To find peace, and to let herself rest. After what she has given to save us all, I think that is the least of all that we can do, to allow her this time."

"And if this time stretches into forever?" Beta pushes, leaning forward and taking the tankard from him. "What if she just decides to never come back? What do we do then?"

"Then we love her." He will not let himself cry. For however amidst family he might be, this is one vulnerability he has only ever shared with her alone. "And we let her leave. That is all we can do." 

It is all that he can do. 

-

"The Marshal ranks are becoming full." Kotallo comes to stand at his chief's side, the two of them looking down to the arena where a squad of marshals are now facing off against a frostclaw together, their shouts cutting through the sound of battle. 

"You guide them well," Hekarro says in response, his voice rumbling above the noise. "I could ask for no better High Marshal to stand at my side." 

When Kotallo remains silent beside him, he turns his attention towards the man, brow furrowing behind his crown. "You are troubled. What weighs upon you now?"

Kotallo lets out a slow breath, his hand curling into a fist at his side. "It is of no consequence, my chief." 

"I did not ask if it was of consequence," Hekarro presses. "I asked what troubles you now." 

There is a long moment as Kotallo holds his chief's gaze, befire dropping his head with a sigh. "Peace," Kotallo replies bitterly, gesturing down to the fight occurring across frost-laden sands. "I cannot find myself at ease, my chief. After many aching years of battle and rage, the world has finally seemed to settle itself into peace, yet I can find none to claim as my own." A breath, one that rattles within his lungs, his gaze shifting to the skies. "I feel as if I stand at a precipice, that turmoil lies ahead, yet I cannot see it fully, only the shape upon the horizon." 

Hekarro lets out a thoughtful sound, turning towards his high marshal. "And what can be done to lighten this burden? What steps would you lay before another if they came to you with such a problem?" 

Kotallo dips his head, thoughts spiraling within his mind. He knows what he would ask for, what he longs for, yet such an action is not to be taken by his own demands. 

He also knows what words he would lay upon another if they had sought answers from him. 

"Time, my chief. This is simply a matter that can only be solved through the passage of time." 

Though Kotallo cannot see it, head bowed as it is, the chief's expression shifts into one caught between mourning and disappointment, as if the answer given was one not desired, but not unexpected. Still, Hekarro does not say as such, and only bids towards Kotallo with a clear voice. "Then continue with your work, High Marshal. Report on this matter as you see fit." 

Kotallo raises his head, pressing his fist to his chest. "By your word, my chief." 

The conversation ended, they both turn their attention towards the fight, now drawn to a close with one of the marshals standing atop the metal beast, their hands raised into the air as they give a woop of triumph. 

Ivirra turns towards the Chief's platform, her blue paints split by the white of her grin, and Hekarro wears a subtler smile of amusement as he looks down at her, accepting her salute with a nod of his head. 

"The challengers are set to arrive in the morning," Hekarro says, turning away from the arena. "I am curious to see who the Ten will supply us with through this trial." 

"Likewise." Kotallo falls into step beside him, the two walking back into the heart of the Memorial Grove. "I am certain they will bring to us those who are needed in this moment." 

"And I am certain they will give you peace," Hekarro murmurs, pausing to rest his hand atop Kotallo's shoulder. 

Kotallo looks at his chief's hand, then draws his gaze towards the man before him, and can offer nothing more than a wane smile. "As time permits." 

The smile Hekarro gives in return is tinged with sadness, yet there is an acceptance to it, as if there had been something wholly inevitable in what Kotallo had said. "As time permits."

There's a finality to the way he says it.

Kotallo turns away. 

Back to his duties. 

-

"Teb, I don't understand how you do this all the time."

Aloy shifts her weight, rolling the bone needle across the pad of her thumb. She scowls down at the lopsided pattern before her, then looks over to Teb's own example made with perfect, even stitches.

"I'm able to do it because I do it all the time," Teb says lightly, casting a smile towards her from where he is bent over his newest armor work, blue thread trailing from the needle in his hand. "You're the one who stormed in here today and demanded I show you how to do it." 

Aloy lets out a huff of breath, but she isn't truly upset with him in this moment. She's upset with herself, with the restlessness running through her as if now is the only time she has left to move, to take action, to do. 

Do what, she doesn't know. 

It's infuriating. 

"Is there anything else you want, Teb?" Aloy asks, setting aside the half-stitched pelt, which she is pretty sure was meant to go over a boot at some point. "Something that gets me moving. I'll do anything." 

Teb's gaze darts downwards, and when it returns to meet her own there is a meek smile across his face. "Are you really certain you should be doing... anything? In your condition?" 

Aloy rolls her eyes, standing up. "I'm pregnant, Teb, not dead. I'm certain there's plenty I could still do "in my condition." But any time I offer to do something or try to leave, the guards at the gates just give me some nonsense excuse about the Matriarchs." 

She reaches up to tug on one of her braids, her thumbnail scraping along the back of the plaited hair. "It's going to drive me all insane, I swear." 

"They're just trying to look out for you," Teb says gently, and Aloy can hear him moving behind her as she turns away. "You're the Annointed, Aloy, and the child you carry shows the fullness of the All-Mother's blessing upon you."

Something twists in Aloy's stomach, the words unsettling and churning within her, and she turns back around to refute them—

Tension scrawls its way up her back, and Aloy draws in a shortly cut breath, her brow furrowing. Teb stops, looking at her, and his head dips in concern as he steps closer. "Aloy? Is everything alright?" 

Aloy waves away the question, forcing her next exhale to come out evenly and slow, and the tightness begins to ebb. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Teb. Just ready for all of this to be over." 

She gestures towards the pelt still unfinished, an awkward smile tilting the corner of her lips. "Thanks for putting up with me today. I'll leave you to it, that way you don't get any more behind than I already made you" 

If he tries to protest her leaving, Aloy doesn't hear it, all of her focus instead settling upon the shifting sensations within her, her hand coming to rest against her stomach. 

"It's fine," she whispers, splaying out her hand. "You've still got two more weeks. That was just from sitting too long." 

She looks up, her gaze drawing along the sun setting at the western horizon, and tries to ignore the way the sight of it tightens something within her chest. "You're fine," she whispers again, though this time, she doesn't truly know who she is speaking to. 

It has to be fine. 

-

Kotallo sits on the edge of his bunk, listening to the sounds of the other Marshals chattering in the other room, their muffled words carrying rumors of challengers, and their own theories on who would be the next to join their ranks come the next morning. 

Part of him aches to be in there with them, to laugh as easily as they do, to take part in their pride at being Hekarro's chosen warriors, at being proven above all other ranks. 

Yet he is not one of them. 

This is not through the fault of his rank as High Marshal. In truth, when Regalla had stood as Hekarro's right and, and later when Javveh took her role, they had been deeply connected with their fellow Marshals, the peace amidst the peacekeepers. Yet even as these new marshals follow his words and heed his commands, he still feels the distance between them, an ever-growing canyon that yawns wider with each passing day, stones crumbling beneath his feet. 

He does not know these soldiers, these men and women that he is meant to entrust his life to. He had been there for each kulrut, yes. He had welcomed each one into this new brotherhood, this new claim upon their lives. He had been one of the first to press painted hands upon their skin, second only to Hekarro. 

Yet he does not know them. 

These passing years had been spent in a breakneck speed of searching for answers, searching for salvation, searching for anything that could bring meaning back into the world as Nemesis hurtled ever closer, as destruction drew near with all the threat of a Thunderjaw upon a child. 

Aloy had been his solace through it all—his connection—and the two of them had clung to one another, drawing roots deep into the ground as time rushed around them. 

But Nemesis is gone. 

Kotallo has survived. 

The world has survived. 

And it has been a year since the world has made any semblance of sense to him. 

Kotallo lies back upon his bed, breathing through the selfish desire that urges him to reach upwards, to connect with Aloy, to hear her voice once more. 

She will call as she is able. 

And he will wait for her, for however many endless days it may take, however many more years must slip through his grasp. 

And if the end of time should pass away before she ever loved him again, not a day would be wasted in loving her. 

After all... he loves her more than life itself. 

Chapter Text

"I'm fine, Sona." Aloy grits her teeth, her nails digging against the back of the wooden chair before her, even as another shift of pain pulls itself through her muscles. Her breathing hitches, a small whine slipping through her teeth before it finally dies somewhere in her throat.

Sona's hand settles at Aloy's shoulder, and she wearily turns her head go look towards the older woman. "How did you do this?" She groans, swiping her knuckles over her forehead. "Twice?" 

The woman's eyes crease at the corners—the closest she will ever come to a smile, Aloy has come to learn. "All-Mother gives strength when it is needed. She will give it to you as well, Aloy."

"Right." Aloy huffs a quick breath, falling back into her rhythm of pacing around the dimly lit room, candles flickering on the walls inside the cabin. 

"You should try to rest." Sona steps away, her attention turning towards the arrows the two women had previously been crafting together, before the inevitable reality of this all came crashing down upon Aloy. "You will need your energy for what is to come." 

Aloy shoots her a dry look. "Sona, it feels like every ten minutes a Stalker is hitting me in the back. That seems pretty impossible to rest through." 

"Give it time," Sona answers, her voice commanding. "Give yourself time, Aloy. This is not something that can be rushed through. You cannot set your own terms for this kind of battle. There is no offensive strike you can take upon it now. Settle yourself, Annointed, and rest."

Aloy rubs her hands across her back, her steps slow as they carry her towards her bed, and a groan reverberates in her chest as she sinks down onto the blanket. A fresh shift of pain sparks along her spine. "I hate this," she mutters, leaning forward in an attempt to dispell some of the tension writing itself up in the rest of her body.

She remains in such a position for several minutes more, trying to settle her own restless nerves as the press of the late hour settles upon her. 

It's too quiet here in this cabin. 

Her hand travels up to her temple almost without thought, fingers brushing against the smooth metal of her focus, and the breath that releases at the sight of Kotallo's name is one tinged with relief. 

The shift of sound in her ear draws a breathy sigh out of her, and Aloy adjusts her postion, closing her eyes as she leans back. "You're up late, Marshal." 

Kotallo hums quietly, the sound spilling deep into her mind, and Aloy settles her hand overtop of her stomach. "I could say the same of you, Champion."

"Can you talk to me?" She murmurs, her eyes flicking to the countdown on her focus, readying herself for another contraction. "It's a bit hard to fall asleep right now." 

Kotallo is quiet but for the rustle of movement, and Aloy shifts her own position, lips twisting as her body complains of the change. 

Finally—he speaks. "What would you have me speak of, Aloy?" 

She sinks down further to the bed, rolling onto her side. "Anything," she huffs, swiping her hair away from where it clings to her temples. "Everything. Just talk, Kotallo." 

He gives his own huff, one tinged with amusement, and it pulls a smile across her own lips. 

"Well..." he lingers upon the word. Aloy likes it when he does that, when his voice gets that little cut of roughness to it. "I suppose I could tell you of what some of the other Marshals found when out traveling last week." 

Aloy closes her eyes, letting his words seep over her aching muscles. "That sounds nice. Tell me about that."

"Of course," Kotallo murmurs. 

She drifts off to sleep at some point, comforted by the sound of his voice. 

-

Pain burns through her, pressing deep along her spine and sparking through every bone, and Aloy lets out a groan that falls somewhere into a whimper, her head hanging limply backwards. "I can't do this," she whispers, the words hoarse and scraping from her throat. 

"You have to do this." Fea urges her quiety, and Aloy barely resists the urge to snap at the Nora midwife, her breaths coming out too unevenly to summon the energy. "Keep going, Annointed." 

"I can't," Aloy chokes. She blinks, surprised to find tears rolling down the curve of her cheeks, hot against her burning skin. "I can't do this alone, I cant." Her vision swims, and for one trembling moment, she almost swears she hears him. 

"Kotallo," she says weakly, and gives in fully to the tears that threaten to drown her, the sensations drawing through her body mere aches in comparison to the longing that strikes through her very soul. 

Any other words are lost to next contraction that crashes into her. 

She doesn't register the focus being taken off of her temple. 

-

The challengers give their final salutes to their chief, and turn to charge into the arena. The hiss of their repelling hooks is lost to the roar of the crowd, yet Kotallo hears the echo of his own Kulrut flashing through his mind. 

"They look strong," Ivirra murmurs, leaning in close so the words may be caught over the noise. "I expect at least four to come from this kulrut." 

"You have high hopes," Kotallo mutters back, lifting his chin. "Look at that attack—it's sloppy. If that was an apex machine, it would have turned faster and gutted him where he stands." 

He narrows his eyes, studying the fight, and gives a small grunt. "Those two. That is who I would expect to rise to join us this day." His hand raises, and Ivirra's gaze follows the point of his fingers. "There, from the Desert, and that one from the Sky." 

"No lowlanders?" Ivirra asks, a slight of teasing in her voice. 

Kotallo presses his lips into a thin line, and Ivirra grins at what comes his closest to a show of amusement these days. "There's enough of you here already," he says quietly, his voice dipping ever lower. "Soon enough we shall be overrun." 

Ivirra scoffs out a quiet laugh, crossing her arms over her chest. "Don't let your chieftain hear you say that, Kotallo. He might take offense to such a claim." 

Kotallo opens his mouth to refute her when the focus at his temple chirps, the sound settling all his nerves jumping into attention.

His hand raises, one tap to the surface of it, and something caught between desperation and hope sings through his veins, readying himself for the familiar sound of her voice—

"High Marshal Kotallo?"

All of his thoughts come crashing to a halt, and the sound of the arena drops to nothing but the blood roaring in his ears. "Who is this?" His voice drops, a growl tearing into his throat, and his hand curls into a fist at his side. 

"She needs you right now."

Countless threats pulls themselves to the front of his mind, but then a cry of pain cuts through from the other side of the focus line, stopping the very beat of his heart within his chest. 

He knows that sound. 

Aloy.

He turns towards his chief, and Hekarro looks back at him with a question in his gaze, one to which Kotallo can only offer an apology in turn. "I have to—"

There's another groan, louder this time, reverberating in his mind, and whoever had held Aloy's focus must have put it back on her. He winces from the sound, panic in his eyes as he looks at Hekarro again. 

The other man motions with his head to the side, brow furrowed. "Go," he says quietly, the sound nearly lost to the ragged breathing against his ear that cuts through every other thought. 

Kotallo does not have to be told twice. He turns, nearly running through the Grove in search of a quieter place to remain, and all the while Aloy pants across the focus. 

"Kotallo." She lets out a broken sob, and he can all but hear the tears choking in her throat. 

He stops in his tracks, fingers digging at the armor above his heart, as if such a thing could help the pain now lancing through his chest. "I'm here," he croaks, the burn of tears within his own eyes. "I'm here, Aloy. I'm right here for you." 

She gasps, and Kotallo pushes his back against a wall, desperation clawing at his chest. How can he truly be there for her, if he is so far away? How can he stand here and listen to the pain she holds now, and simply do nothing?

"Kotallo." His name shudders on her breath, and he closes his eyes, gritting his teeth. 

When he opens them again, the decision is made. "I'm coming for you, Aloy. I'm right here for you, and I will be at your side. Not even the Ten themselves can stay me now." 

She seems slightly more lucid now, more aware, more the Aloy he truly knows and loves emerging from amidst the pain. "No, Kota—aghhh—"

Her voice twists, and it cuts him to the core. 

Voices begin to shout, and Kotallo drops into a crouch, uncaring of the tears that mar their way down his paint. 

"Sona, hold her down! Annointed, grab my hand." 

"It's Aloy!" She snaps back, and Kotallo cannot help the twist of pride at hearing her fight back against whatever may be causing her such anguish. 

"Please," he whispers, drawing his hand up to cover his eyes, as if that might quiet the visions drawing themselves through his mind. 

He has never cursed the distance between them more than he does now in this moment. 

"Talk to me, Kotallo," Aloy whimpers, and each sound is like a knife to his chest. 

He draws in a breath—has he breathed a single time since he was called? "What would you have me speak of?" His voice wavers, yet Kotallo forces the emotion away, swearing within himself to remain strong for her. 

"Anything." Another catch in her breath. "Everything."

"Of course." Kotallo swallows hard, and tips his head back, tears burning hot against his skin. "Anything and everything." 

Everything for her.

-

Time loses its sense of meaning.

Kotallo remains as he is, his voice dropped to a low croon as he murmurs to Aloy. Stories, questions, words of encouragement. Anything and everything. His hand shakes as he speaks, matching the tremble within his chest, yet all of it is without consequence. 

"Keep going, Aloy." His voice scrapes along his throat, his head sinking lower. If only he could be there for her, hold her through this moment. "You are the strongest person I know. You are strong enough for this." 

At some point the sounds of the Kulrut shift from battle to rejoicing, the cheers of every tenakth raising up the best of them all, yet Kotallo hears none of it. 

The celebration moves inwards, and Kotallo flinches away from the sound of it, his nerves already raw and sparking by the time Hekarro kneels before him, his hazel eyes searching and full of comfort. "How is she?" 

Kotallo opens his mouth to speak, but the words remain caught within him as more commands from the Nora at Aloy's side filter in through the focus. He closes his eyes and draws in a steadying breath. "She is strong," he finally chokes out, meeting Hekarro's gaze.

Hekarro offers him a hand, and Kotallo takes it, letting the chieftain pull him to his feet. "The Marshal's ceremony would start now, as customary," he says, his voice low. Then he lifts his head, studying Kotallo. "But I would be remiss to begin without my High Marshal." 

Something splinters in Kotallo's chest, the ties of his connections tearing at him, yet there is one cord set within his heart that he can never deny. "Apologies, my chief," he begins. "But I cannot leave her." 

Hekarro gives him a sad smile, settling his hand on his shoulder. "I know this," he answers. "And I would not ask you to." He straightens himself, stepping away. "We shall have the feast first; I am certain our two newest marshals will appreciate the rest and revelry." 

Kotallo is turning away when Hekarro's voice carries out once more, catching him in stillness. "And High Marshal?"

He lifts his head, exhaustion pressing upon him. "Yes, my chief?" 

"You'll want to speak with Ivirra. She's been worried ever since you disappeared." 

Kotallo dips his head, even though her concerns are the furthest from his own. "Of course, my chief." 

-

Aloy lets out a sigh of relief the moment that little cry spills into the air, and she can hear Kotallo at her side, his voice rumbling and low. "You did wonderfully, Aloy. No one could be more proud of you now, I am certain."

There's a certain emotion to his voice now, one she would surely analyze if it had been any other time, any other moment, but now she is simply too exhausted to care, and allows his words to blanket over her in comfort as he continues to speak softly. 

Fea smiles, swiping cloth along the baby's pink skin, little face still drawn tight into a cry of complaint. "Here she is now, Annointed." 

Aloy doesnt even have enough care left in her to protest the use of the title as Fea lowers the squalling child into Aloy's arms. She lets out a breathy laugh as the little one squirms against her, before finally settling atop her sweat-damp skin. "Hello," Aloy half gasps, and there's the choke of tears within her throat once more. "Aren't you a sight?" 

"I'm sure they're beautiful," Kotallo murmurs, and Aloy closes her eyes, allowing herself to pretend that the hand stroking through her hair belongs to him, that the callused thumb brushing against her skin is Kotallo's own. 

That he is here, at her side, rather than hundreds of miles away. 

"Thank you," she croaks, and something claws within her chest as she says the words. "Thank you for being here." 

When Kotallo remains silent, Aloy opens her eyes and holds her baby closer, her heart somehow mending and breaking at the exact same time. Here she holds her daughter—*their daughter—*the evidence of what their love had been once, seasons and seasons before. 

"I should let you rest." Kotallo's voice is abruptly strained, and it snags at a cord within Aloy's chest as the focus call suddenly disconnects. 

Aloy draws in one, shuddering breath, looking up at Sona—whose hands hold her still, and the woman's eyes soften. 

She says not a word as Aloy breaks into desperate, choking sobs, and simply holds the new mother close, letting her tears fall upon her leathers. Sona only shakes her head, silently cursing the shame of it all. 

A joyous moment such as this, clouded by such grief. 

Chapter Text

"Thank you for being here."

But he isn't there. He cannot hold her, cannot swipe the tears from her face with the gentlest of touches, cannot wrap his arm in comfort around her shoulders. 

When he opens his eyes, Ivirra stands before him, her hands open and waiting, a question in her eyes. 

"I should let you rest." The words barely cut their way free of his throat, and it is all his shaking hand can do to close the connection between them. 

Ivirra's hands land on his shoulders, pressing firmly against him, and it is only then that Kotallo realizes he had been swaying on his feet. "Steady there, High Marshal," she murmurs. "Take a breath." 

Kotallo closes his eyes, drawing air into his lungs. They burn as if he has not breathed in days, as if he has deprived them for as long as he has been alive, and they are only now remembering the sensation of air within him. 

"I can only guess what happened." Her hands shift, the one on his left dropping altogether, the one on his right sliding down his arm. "Care to keep me from guessing? You won't like the answers if I try." 

Kotallo forces his eyes open, and this too seems to burn, his vision barely drawing into focus at the Marshal staring back at him. "Aloy just had a child." 

"The Chamipon what?" Ivirra lurches back, hissing out a curse followed by several words of surprise that Kotallo cannot fully catch as the world shifts around him. He's not surprised by her reaction; there is still a struggle within his own chest to comprehend such a thing. 

When she finally collects herself, Ivirra steps forward again, dipping her head to try and catch his lowered gaze. "Kotallo?" Her hand reaches out for him, and he has to take another breath to center himself as her fingers brush against his skin. "Is it...?"

Yours?

The word goes unspoken. They both know what she means. 

Kotallo opens his mouth to speak, and all he can think of is Aloy, burning bright and beautiful, now embracing a flame he never knew had even grown within her. 

"No." The word breaks within him, and the Bulwark is crashing down once more, except this time it is his every grieving and desperate thought pouring out of him. "It cant be." 

"Kotallo—" 

He doesn't register his body collapsing beneath the weight of it all until his knees hit the ground, and then Ivirra is there, her hands at his chest keeping him upright as a groan pulls itself from him, the low sound of a machine just before it dies, the sound of a mountain seconds before it falls into ruin, the sound of a heart breaking. 

"Is this why?" The words are haunted as he stares down at his own shaking hand. "Did she leave because of me? Because of how she thought I might react?"

"Don't do that, Kotallo," Ivirra mutters. "Don't try to find her reasons for this. It will only tear you apart." 

"Did she think I would hate her?" He lifts his head, searching Ivirra's eyes. "That I would hate her little one, because it was not mine? That I would be so shallow, so jealous? Ivirra, if she ran because of me—"

"Stop!" Ivirra snaps, and the sound forces another breath back into his lungs. "You said Aloy went back to the Nora lands because she was tired, because she wanted to go home. The fact that she was pregnant doesn't change any of that, right?" 

Kotallo sinks back, pressing his hand against his chest, as if that might ease the ache within. "Ivirra..." 

"The Champion doesn't run," the other Marshal says calmly, drawing her touch away from him. "That is not her way. She never has, and she never will." She stands, looking down at him. "This doesnt change anything, Kotallo. Not really. So she had a child. So it isn't yours. What matters now is here, your duty. It isn't in the Sacred Lands. It isn't with her anymore" 

He wants to refute her, to prove her wrong somehow, yet her words only echo within his mind. 

"You have a chief to stand beside," Ivirra says sharply, her gaze scraping over him. "You have marshals to lead. You have us, and we're all looking to you, Kotallo. It's time you look back to your people, rather than out at the horizon." 

She offers her hand, and Kotallo takes it, yet it feels as if only half of him rises in this moment, the shell of a machine that has since been stripped of any value or use. "She's not your Commander anymore, Kotallo. It was her choice to leave. There's nothing you can do about it now. Respect the champion's will." 

Kotallo's hand grips tighter around her arm, and the hold his grasp, her eyes sparking. "Thank you, Marshal," he finally manages to say, even as the words taste like a lie. 

"At your service, High Marshal," she replies, releasing him. He begins to turn away when her voice catches its playful lilt once more. "And Kotallo? Clean up your paints before you join the rest of us at the feast. You'll want to look your best when you meet our two newest Marshals. You were right about them, after all." 

He gives her a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He wonders if it ever will again. "Of course, Ivirra." 

And as Kotallo walks out of that room, the decision is made. 

The other half of his heart is left bleeding out upon the floor. 

-

Motherhood is loud. 

Aloy's knew that babies cried, of course. She had been there for the birth of Vala, had been there as she slowly grew larger and older. She had own share of holding a suddenly squalling baby, only for the little one to be scooped into her mother's loving arms and quiet again. That's how it was supposed to work. Wasn't that how it was supposed to work?

Unfortunately, her daughter doesn't seem to know this. Beyond that first morning together, when they had both fallen into sleep after such an ordeal, neither of them have gotten much of it in the days that followed. 

Holding her close, Aloy presses a kiss to her daughter's thin wisps of red hair—so like her own—and wonders if she had ever been so fussy for Rost. 

"Sleep now, Talla," Aloy murmurs, even as Talla continues to wail against her chest. 

Sona had been insistent that she should wait until the naming ceremony upon the cliff, that she should wait for the All-Mother's blessing as she spoke the name back. But waiting all of those months for nothing more than an echo was the last thing Aloy ever planned to do. The name had slipped from her lips as soon as she truly saw her daughter's eyes. 

Her father's eyes.

A thought catches in the back of her mind.

"Would you like to hear a story?" Aloy adjusts her hold on her little one, bringing one hand up to her focus. It takes a moment to find the exact settings, and she flinches from every cry that falls from Talla's little lungs, yet the moment the recording begins to play—

Talla falls silent, her mouth still opened and face screwed up, but Kotallo's voice has settled over her just as it always does for Aloy, softening the edges of her raw emotions. 

Aloy lets out a sigh of relief, and the sudden quiet is such a change she almost wants to cry, the urge of it striking her in the chest. 

Or perhaps it is just the sound of Kotallo's voice, comforting her as it always does. 

Aloy curls up in her nest of blankets before the fire, Talla at her side. Their daughter blinks lazily towards the dancing flames, and Aloy watches the slow flutter of her eyes, until finally—

Asleep. 

Aloy closes her own eyes, settling her hand to rest atop Talla's stomach, and memorizes the feel of little lungs expanding and breathing. 

The proof of their love. 

She will ask him.

She has to. 

-

The Visions hold no answers for him. 

Kotallo knows this. He has been staring at the sky clan vision for over an hour now, letting the familiar crackle of words wash over him, the description of a home he had once known and loved.

A commander he would have been willing to give anything for, once. 

A life he had been all but dismissed from, turned to Hekarro's face instead. 

Twice now. 

It feels cruel to imagine Aloy in the same position as Tekotteh, yet Kotallo cannot deny the reflection of it across the planes of his life, the mirroring of time that had unfolded unbeknownst to the one living within it. 

He shouldn't be surprised. Of course Aloy had found another. Of course she found love. There was no one more deserving of love than her. He had sworn his life to her before, had spilled it out, blood upon stone, and through it all he would do it again, if only for her. 

He could probably list a dozen men who looked upon Aloy with such adoration, who desired only to be loved in return by her, to obtain the impossibility of her affections.

She had loved him too, once. 

And now she must love another, to have born their child. 

Kotallo shakes his head, turning away from the vision. It has been two days since everything has unfolded, and their words still echo within his mind. 

Thank you for being here.

It's time you look back to your people.

He knows what he must do. 

There is only one thing left that he can do.

He has to know if she is loved. 

-

Aloy stirs restlessly before the fire, energy humming through her bones even as exhaustion presses against her eyes. 

Teb had taken Talla, even if only for a few short hours. A promise to "let you breathe, Aloy. And get some sleep, too." 

Unfortunately, sleep has since alluded her, and Aloy stares blearily towards the fire. Perhaps if she just sits here long enough, it will finally overtake her, and she will wake with the ache of over-tired muscles that have finally been allowed to rest. 

Her focus chirps at her ear, and Aloy clings to it like a lifeline, a disruption from the strange silence that settles upon her now. "Kotallo?" 

Her voice sounds strangely bright, even to her own ears, yet she cannot help it, cannot help the smile that pulls itself across her lips in this moment. 

"Hello Aloy." 

She can hear the smile in his words, and Aloy settles herself back down on the blankets, breathing him in. "I'm surprised it took you so long to call," she murmurs, trailing her fingers along the winkles in the pelts and fabrics. 

There is a faint rustle, a beat of silence. "I wanted to give you time to... recover. To rest, as needed." 

Aloy huffs out a breath of complaint, letting her head sink back. "That's all anyone tells me to do. I think I'm going to go crazy, Kotallo." 

He gives that little amused chuckle, the one that always lights up within her chest, and Aloy pulls a hand to press against her heart, pleased to have earned such a sound from him. "You never were one to simply stop and breathe, Aloy. Even after the most difficult of battles." 

A wry smile falls over her lips. "Are you putting this one up there on the level with Nemesis?" 

If he was truly here before her, would he tuck her hair behind her ear, as he was so oft to do before? Just as he had done after he had woken from that grasp of death? Would he press his lips in gentle caresses on her skin as he had then, coaxing her into sleep? 

She wants him to. 

"It was a challenge that you faced well," he says gently, and there is a glow of pride within her. Only because of you, Kotallo. Because I had you.

"I didn't do it alone," she mumbles. She should say something, tell him now, but it feels as if she is caught on the edge, waiting. 

The two of them sit before a strike board, words their only pieces remaining, and Aloy has made her play. 

"Are you well?" Kotallo murmurs, and Aloy smiles at the familiar concern in his voice. He never pushed her too hard, yet Aloy had always found herself revealing everything to him before anyways. 

"We're both doing well." She wants to tell him. Wants to speak of how his words soothe his daughter to sleep just as they always have for her. "Her name is Talla." 

There's a small sound that unfurls from him then, and Aloy draws in a breath, readying herself. 

"A strong name," Kotallo finally says, and there is something about the way he says it, something about his words. 

It's a Tenakth name, she wants to shout. It's because of your name, Kotallo.

But when he doesnt say anything more, Aloy pushes herself to sit upright, gaze caught upon the fire before her. "Kotallo... was there another reason why you called today?"

A log within the fire cracks, a shower of sparks lost to the flames. "Yes." There is a seriousness to his voice, one that sends shivers crawling along her skin. "May I... ask you something?" 

He knows. He has to know. "Of course." The words spill from her with a quiver of relief, and it's everything she can do to breathe, to keep herself from pouring it all out before he even has a chance to speak. 

"Does the father—" He pauses, and it's long enough for her heart to whisper you, Kotallo. "Is he there for you, Aloy?" 

He is. He is here, his presence real around her, held by the weight of his words alone. And even though days of travel and hundreds of miles stretch between them, she knows that Kotallo is here for her, even as she stands alone. And everything in her longs to be there in such a way for him as well. 

She opens her mouth to speak, but the words freeze at the sound of the door opening, Teb's voice carrying into the cabin. "Quietly now, Talla. We don't want to wake your mother." He stops when he finds Aloy sitting upright and nestled before the fire, and the paints on his face twist in surprise. "Aloy," he half whispers, half scolds as he crosses to stand at her side. "You were supposed to be resting."

"I'm fine, Teb." She can't help the exasperation that slips into her voice now. Somehow, the aftermath of it all is worse. Everyone treating her as if she is more delicate than the first frost of the season. "And I have been resting. It's all I've done these past few days." 

Teb settles Talla into Aloy's waiting arms, but this also frees him up to press a hand to her forehead. "You're running warm," his says, his voice thin. "And you still look exhausted." 

"It's just from the fire," Aloy mumbles, but she can't denying what they both know is true. 

They remain as they are, and Teb holds her gaze, searching for answer to a question he has never spoken, an answer that Aloy does not know how to give. 

Finally, a breath. He brushes his hand across Talla's brow, then settles it to weigh upon Aloy's shoulder. "Try to sleep," he murmurs. "You've been through a lot."

Aloy opens her mouth to speak, but no words draw themselves out of her beyond his name. "Teb..." 

She sounds exhausted. 

Teb gives her a quiet, desperate look, before finally stepping away. "I have to go back to the shop. If you need anything at all, you know what to do." 

She doesn't, really. She doesn't know what to do about any of this, but still she nods, and that seems to be enough to Teb. 

Aloy waits until the door closes behind him, before letting out a breath that had building up behind her chest. "Sorry, Kotallo," she murmurs, her voice ringing in her ears. "You had asked me something?" 

There is a thin, cracked sound that slips from his end of the call, and she can almost imagine the way he must be shaking his head now. "Put it from your mind, Aloy. You didn't have to give an answer; I knew it already."

"Oh." She dips her head, nestling Talla close against her, and she stares up at Aloy with widened eyes, warm and brown and just like her father's. "But you did say you wanted to talk." 

"Of course," Kotallo rumbles, and a smile drifts across Aloy's lips at the sound of it. "I have something to tell you." 

"Me too." The whisper barely seems real, it all hardly seems real, yet as Aloy looks down at Talla, as she listens to Kotallo speak, she knows that the time is now. 

Kotallo lets out a slow breath, and Aloy readies herself, hope building up within her chest. 

"I don't think we should contact each other anymore."

The hope in her chest snaps—

"What?" 

She's falling, falling like at the Proving, snow caught amidst the air around her. She's drowning, drowning in the waters outside Latopolis, the burn of water in her lungs. She's dying, dying like he had been in those final moments, when her whole body had shook from the effort of being alive, and Kotallo was bleeding out on the ground and dying. 

She has to be.

This cannot be real.

But Kotallo's voice is flat and devoid of any emotion as he speaks, and each word digs into her chest like knives, steel and blood and cutting away any warmth within her. "I think it's for the best, Aloy. For both of us."

-

Teb.  

Kotallo remembers Teb. 

The Nora stitcher was there in that Banuk camp they had stopped at on their journey up north, and Aloy had been overjoyed to see him then. The two of them had talked for hours, and Kotallo had tried his hardest not to let the pain within his chest show upon his face. 

When Aloy had finally questioned it, he simply told her the cold was affecting his arm. 

It almost makes sense, listening to them, listening to the concern clear in his voice.

If Aloy truly was as tired as she claimed, if she wanted to leave all semblance of battle behind her, it makes sense that she would no longer seek out one to fight at her side. Of course she could feel at peace with a man such as Teb, who smiled gently and freely, his hands light and easily settling upon Aloy's time-scarred arms. 

She would fall for a man who tasted of peace and quietness, rather than one who still woke up with the taste of blood in his mouth and the haunting of dreams stained within his mind. 

Teb was gentle in peace in all the ways Kotallo could never be. 

And Aloy deserves nothing less than peace. 

"I don't think we should contact each other anymore."

Do the words fall from his own lips? They must have. There is no one else here who could have said them. 

"What?"

Kotallo holds that word within his mind, considering all of the qualities to it, the little inflections in her voice that are so uniquely Aloy.

He wonders if he will ever truly get to hear her voice again, face to face, rather than through the focus at his temple. 

"I think it's for the best, Aloy. For both of us." 

She's happy now. She's found her peace. She has a Nora who speaks softly to her, who smiles easily, who responds more gently to her stubborn tendencies than Kotallo himself ever has. 

And he has the Marshals. He has a whole tribe to concern himself over. 

"Kotallo, wait—"

He grits his teeth, forcing himself to speak, forcing himself to sever the ties before his last threads of will snap and leave him saying what he truly thinks. 

That he loves her still. That he loves her always. 

"I need to become more committed to my duties, Aloy. I spent years at your side and have become unfamiliar with those who stand beside me. They deserve a better leader than the one I am now." 

The words burn in his throat, but still they must be said. 

"I wish you all the happiness, Aloy. You and Talla both." 

She isn't speaking. Why isn't she speaking? Why isn't she telling him that this is a terrible idea, that she doesn't want him to leave? 

Ten damn it, he doesn't want to leave.

"May the grounds flourish beneath your feet—" His voice begins to shake, and Kotallo shuts his eyes tight, ignoring the heat of tears upon his skin. "And may you live with all the peace of the All-Mother's loving embrace."

Still, Aloy does not speak. She doesn't make a sound. Kotallo would almost think that she has left altogether—disconnected the call and he simply had not heard—but he can still hear the soft coos that could only be coming from Talla, wrapped in her mother's arms. 

"May the sun shine upon you, and the blue light illuminate your path." Every prayer he has ever heard, every blessing that he knows. "May your forge always be warm and your body never burned."

"Kotallo."

Just one word. His name on her lips. 

Kotallo savors the sound, committing it to memory. 

"And may you fly with all the strength of the Ten, high above any troubles that may come your way." One shuddering breath. Kotallo swallows back a sob. 

"Goodbye, Aloy." 

When he drops the call, he leaves what remains of his heart settled in her hands. 

He has no use of it now. 

It was only ever hers to begin with.

Chapter Text

- Four Years Later -

Peace is quiet. 

Peace is long. 

Peace is the endless track that Kotallo finds himself pacing in the dead of night, his body set on alert against dangers that never come, that never grow beyond his own mind. 

Peace is the mantle of time set upon his shoulders, the burden of those under his command. 

Hekarro seems at ease in the midst of peace. It is the one ornament of Chiefdom that Kotallo desires, to have the surety and contentment that he finds in his chief's eyes. 

Instead, Kotallo stares blankly at the eastern horizon, waiting for the sun to rise, and tries to breathe past the hollow ache within his chest. 

He's grown to live with the emptiness there, the cut that presses against his heart and burns within him if he lingers upon it too long. He's grown to live with that absence, grown to ignore the quiet part of his mind that whispers that something is missing.

He knows what is missing. 

It's for the better that it is missing. 

A slow breath unfurls itself from his chest, and Kotallo turns away, the first rays of the sun lighting upon his back as he walks towards the Grove, readying himself for another day. 

He should touch up the paint beneath his eyes, in order to cover the shadows that have set themselves under his gaze, the evidence of many sleepless nights. 

Peace is quiet. 

The silence of it is deafening.

-

Peace is quiet. 

Peace is the sound of rain against her shutters, the storm rolling overhead. 

Peace is the steady rise and fall of Talla's breathing, matched by the crackle of the fire. 

Peace is the press of her hand against her wrist, as if such a singular touch would be enough to settle herself through these restless days. 

Peace is the ache in her chest, the line in the sand, the border she will never cross again. 

Aloy lets out a breath, her hands curling tighter around her wooden cup as she listens to the storm, waiting for light to finally break through the clouds. 

The sun will rise, and day will finally settle itself over the Embrace. Aloy will take on the mantle of annointed once again, a name she never loved, yet every repetition is worth its weight to hear her favorite name of all. 

Mama.

There is an ache deep within her, yes, but it is an old wound. A bruise that time itself has forgotten, that only hurts when dwelt upon. It is the same as any of her other scars, a groaning within her bones any time it rains. 

A pain within her chest. 

But just as such an ache is the rain, so Talla is the sun, illuminating and bright. The shine of interest within her honeyed eyes, the gentle press of her hand against Aloy's skin. 

"Mama," she mumbles, her voice still soft with sleep, and that is all it takes for Aloy to pull her daughter into her lap, hand brushing gently over her daughter's hair. 

"Hello, my little scrapper," Aloy murmurs, her eyes creasing into the faintest of a smile. "Did you sleep well last night?" 

Talla's answer is muffled into her mother's shoulder, and Aloy smiles easily in response, pressing a kiss against her hair. 

Another hour spent waiting for the sun will not delay them, the cabin falling back into nothing more than the muffled sound of rain. 

Peace is quiet. 

The warmth of it is liberating. 

-

"Kotallo." 

He looks up to find Hekarro standing before him, and there's the silent presence of tension between them as he takes a seat across the table. 

"My Chief." The words are rough, stilted, and echo strangely in the air as if he had not been the one to say them at all. No further words part his lips, though, and he cannot deny the glimmer of disappointment in Hekarro's eyes. 

"My boy—" Kotallo represses a shiver. Its been years since Hekarro used those words, that tone. "When was the last time you slept?" 

"I sleep every night." It is the answer he is meant to give. The expected answer. 

"All through the night?" Hekarro pushes, giving him a pointed look. His hand settles on the table between them. 

Kotallo looks away, a knot tangling itself in his throat. He sits there, staring into the silence of the morning, and drags a breath through his lungs. "I sleep enough."

Hekarro makes a noise in the back of his throat, but does not make any attempts to further the subject. Instead, he turns his attention towards the sun hung on the eastern sky. "Peace agrees with our people." 

The words seem made of stone as he speaks them, the tang of metal cutting his teeth. "It does." 

Hekarro's gaze is heavy as it settles upon Kotallo, and he is drawn to match his gaze. "And you, my High Marshal?" There is that searching in his tone once again. "Does peace still weigh upon you? Does it still make itself unattainable unto you?" 

Kotallo opens his mouth, and there is the taste of blood coating his throat, the foul remnants of his deepest secret. The reason for his sleepless nights. 

In his dreams, he dies. Again, and again, and again. 

In those darkest moments, he can only be grateful for the solitude his position affords him. 

"I will endure." 

The words taste like a lie.

He doesn't know how much longer he can hold on.

-

Aloy wakes with a sheen of sweat over her body, each thread of panic laced through her thoughts suddenly pulling tight, jerking herself upright. 

"Kotallo." The name falls from her lips in a sound that is more groan than word, and Aloy forces herself to choke down a breath. Her hands reach up, the heels of her palms grinding into her closed eyes and sending sparks stuttering through her vision. 

Anything to get rid of that image. 

When she opens her eyes, Talla is sitting before her, her own eyes rounded and filled with concern. It strikes within Aloy's chest for her to recognize that fear is held there as well. 

"Talla," Aloy murmurs, even as Talla's little hands reach up to swipe away the tears running hot across her cheeks, no doubt smearing the paint upon her skin. "Why are you awake, my little scrapper?" 

"You were crying," Talla says quietly, her hands finally dropping to hang at her sides. Through the light of the fire Aloy can see the blue stained upon her palms. "Why are you sad, Mama?" 

Aloy gives her a weak smile, pulling her daughter into a hug, and Talla complies easily. "Sometimes I remember things, Talla. And sometimes remembering things hurts." 

Talla nestles her head against her mother's shoulder, her hand coming up to tug at the few necklaces Aloy keeps on even in sleep. "Does remembering Kotallo make you hurt?"

The air catches in Aloy's chest, and she chokes on the breath, the memory coming back in full. 

"Kotallo!" She screamed, and there was nothing she could do. There was too much blood. Blood on his chest. Blood on her hands. His blood on her hands. 

If he died it would be because of her. 

Dead because of what she had done.

Aloy shakes her head suddenly, blinking away a fresh wave of tears. Disgust roils in her stomach when she catches sight of Talla's little hand once more, and the paint looks like blood. 

"Let's just go back to sleep," she says shakily, her hand settling overtop of Talla's own. "It's still nighttime, little scrapper." 

Talla happily nestles herself under Aloy's blankets, and the sound of her breathing, the warmth of her presence, is just enough to soften the edge of panic that still cuts in Aloy's chest. She pulls her closer, pressing a kiss against her sleep-mussed hair. 

"Can we listen to the story man?" Talla mumbles, her voice already going soft from sleep. 

Something pulls at that cord in Aloy's chest. "Of course, Talla." 

The focus glows softly over them as Aloy sifts through all of the recorded calls, all of her memories through time, and finally settles on one that had always soothed her the most on the worst nights. When the loneliness had threatened to suffocate her, when the darkness had whispered for her to take its hand, Aloy had found this, and she had listened. 

"This is the story," Kotallos voice begins. "Of a very small fox." 

Though his words do not fully remove the images flashing through her mind, the sound of it is enough to dull her sparking emotions down to nothing more than a dull ache. Aloy takes his words like a blanket, a shelter from the outside world, a protection from harm, and wraps herself in them, nestled amidst the comfort they provide.

Just as she had for many of her restless nights over the years, Aloy falls into the darkness of sleep, led into dreams by the sound of Kotallo’s voice.

-

Kotallo settles at the head of the marshals’ table, watching those gathered before him. It has been over nine years since the events of the failed embassy, on that fateful day he had lost his brothers in arms, had lost his own arm, had lost his sense of self. Nine years since he had stood as Hekarro’s lone marshal, and now he stands High Marshal over an assembled force of sixteen marshals. 

They keep busy. 

He keeps busy. 

But for this moment, gathered together, he lets himself breathe. Forces all other thoughts to scatter from his mind, until nothing is left but the moment he finds himself in.

Only seven marshals are gathered at the Grove, other than himself, the others on assignment.

Three placed in Barren Light, though the marshals assigned there rotate out every three months; part of Hekarro's continuing efforts to reach and learn beyond their borders. 

Two more pairs have been assigned to various missions in the desert, and another sent up north dealing with rumors of strange reports.

Of those who remain, they work with the trainees sent in by different settlements for three months at a time, building up their skills and teaching them all manners of survival, in all environments, traveling a week at a time to the two clans unfamiliar to them.

And Kotallo keeps watch over it all, threads of his attention drawn taut, the pounding tension of a ropecaster struggling to hold a raging stormbird. 

Still, he cannot fail. 

Hekarro is counting on him. 

The marshals are counting on him. 

He has survived this long, against all matters of enemies and dangers. 

Peace will not earn his defeat. 

So he listens to the words around him. He laughs as the other Marshals do, and comments on stories when a breath is taken, a lull is revealed. He guides one towards a data point they would find interested in, and hears reports from another of their time spent traveling. 

He is as the perfect image of what a High Marshal should be. 

When night falls upon them, Kotallo retires to his quarters, and the mantle of example upon him is sloughed off to the floor. 

At night, the pains of the day can no longer be ignored. He feels each one as he crosses the stone floor of his room. Each stretch of shredded skin, of marred tattoos, of wounds that have long since healed, and deeper ones that never will. 

Kotallo sits on the edge of the bed, and the patchwork of his body ripples from the sensation of rest, ink and paint and torn up flesh. 

Then he waits. 

 If sleep comes, it will come with the ever present cloak of death upon it. 

If day comes, he will have escaped another night unscathed. 

Inward and out, Kotallo is marked. 

He feels as if he is more scars than skin, more nightmare than memory. 

More Marshal than man. 

And yet still he waits.

Chapter Text

You and I are getting drunk together tonight.

Kotallo stares at the message from Erend, waiting for the words to shift into a pattern or structure than makes any sense to him in this moment. 

It had been some time since he had spoken with the Oseram—longer still since he had seen him face-to-face. Yet the man would have told him if he was intending on traveling to the Tenakth lands. And surely he would not update Kotallo to such a movement at such late notice. 

His focus hums, and another message pops up, the lettering of it stark against the light. 

Find a quiet place to hang out. Don't need any of your marshalls thinking you're too drunk to lead them when you start talking to ghosts.

Ah. He intends to join over focus. 

Kotallo huffs a breath through his nose, then taps his own message off in quick reply. 

My Marshals are all familiar with the concept of focuses. In fact, the holocall is one of our most utilized functions.

Kotallo closes the contact, and pulls his attention towards the training he must prepare for. There will be time enough to speak with Erend later; now he must remained focused on his duties.

They are the only things left that really matter. 

He's halfway to the arena where he's due to teach three young squads from around the Sky Clan territory when his focus pings again. 

Your marshalls just sound like they can't figure out how to type yet.

Kotallo rolls his eyes. While the first year with the system had remained a struggle, Kotallo had forged ahead in bringing the other Marshals up to a satisfactory level of understanding on the focuses, and many still applied themselves beyond that point, their desire for knowledge beyond their lands insatiable.

They achieve beyond what is expected of them. Also, it is marshals, not marshalls. Perhaps you are the one who has not figured out how to type yet.

He doesn't bother to wait for a response, though he knows one will come. His footsteps echo through stone halls, the sound of it all crushing against his senses, the crash of voices and the cut of weapons. 

Ivirra meets him just before the arena, her brows drawn together in concern. "High Marshal," she says, her voice uncertain. "Are you well?" 

A growl catches in the back of his throat. He's tired of the questions, tired of the concern. He's lived just fine these past years—he has no need of their meddling now. "I'm fine," he mutters, pushing past her. 

"Hey!" She snaps, catching up to walk at his side. "I don't know why you bother lying to me, Kotallo. I've seen you looking fine before. This isn't that."

"We have work to be done." They step down into one of the inner hallways, and the noise from the Maw fades away sharply. "How I look is of no consequence." 

"Have you been sleeping?" 

Kotallo stops suddenly, his arm slamming out in front of Ivirra, forcing her to halt as well. "Marshal Ivirra," he says smoothly, his voice dipping low. "Your role is not to question me or my habits. You are here to be Hekarro's Marshal. My wellbeing is none of your concern." 

If her eyes had widened in surprise from his actions, he doesn't mention it, and she doesn't either. Ivirra simply crosses her arms, frowning at him. "Will you even be able to fight?" 

Something kicks in his chest, something that tastes like anger. 

"Do not question my capabilities, Marshal." He turns away from her, and the ache pulls within his chest. "Just fall in line. We have fresh squads to whip into shape. They will go weak if we do not keep our standards high." 

Erend sends him another message just as the doors to the arena open. 

Kotallo ignores it.

This continues through the day, a few messages popping up every hour, and Kotallo is struck by the distinct impression that he is being monitored. 

When evening finally settles upon the Grove and the sun has drawn itself off into the horizon, Kotallo settles alone at the table in his quarters, his nerves drawn to their breaking point. 

His chest aches, and Kotallo rubs his palm idly against it in a meager effort to dispel the pain as he pulls out a flask of his sharpest Sky Clan spirits. 

How long he sits, he doesn't know, but the moon is settled overhead by the time Erend's holocall finally comes through on the focus. 

"Sorry bout that!" The oseram calls loudly, and his image distorts as the system works to align the spatial data from their two focuses. A final glitching cut, and Erend sits across the table from Kotallo, his attention not quite drawn to him yet. "I swear it's like people can never figure out how to do things on their own. I have to explain everything for them or do it myself." 

Then his friends finally looks across the table, and stops.

Kotallo shifts as Erend studies him through the focus—or rather, studies his projected image of flickering lights. The oseram finally makes a sound in the back of his throat, and leans forward. "Let me find a way to say this uh... gently." 

Kotallo raises one brow, already unscrewing his flask. "Gently?" 

"You look like hell." 

"Hng." Kotallo washes his reaction down with a sharp swallow of the spirits. "Your tact is appreciated."

Erend scowls at him. "Don't get snippy with me, Marshal—"

"High Marshal," Kotallo corrects, but Erend keeps talking over him. 

"And you've been ignoring my messages all day!" 

Kotallo settles a glare at him, and this alone seems to cut him down. "What exactly is your point in this, Erend? I suspect you did not call me just to drink, and I do not believe your true issue is with the messages either." 

Erend lets out a sigh. "Look, Kotallo, you know me. You know I play it straight. And I know you're not one to waste words either, so I'll just say it." He leans forward, his gaze dead serious. "Whatever it is you're doing now, this thing that you're stuck in? I'm pretty sure it's killing you." 

"I'm fine." The words are automatic. They sound hollow.

"See, no." Erend leans back again, scowling over his tankard. "Because people who are actually fine don't sound like that. They don't look like you do."

"Thank you for insulting me again," Kotallo says dryly. "I'll get right on fixing my appearance." 

"I'm being serious, Kotallo." 

"As am I, Erend." 

They sit there, staring at each other. Erend is the first to break, his gaze dark as he looks away. "Getting any sleep?" 

Kotallo exhales heavily. "Must everyone ask me that question?" 

"I'll take that as a no." Erend pulls the tankard up to his lips, as close to contemplative as the man ever gets. "Nightmares getting any easier?" 

Something catches in his chest. The air suddenly tastes foul, like smoke on the wind. "No."

Erend nods in understanding, his gaze distant. "I swear I can still feel that thing's teeth in my leg. Makes sleeping damn near impossible some nights."

He understands. They both know that he understands. They both know that if anyone was to suffer from terrors in the night, after all that had happened, it would be Kotallo. 

His weak attempt at a lecture behind them, Erend falls into near silence alongside Kotallo as they finish off their drinks. When they do speak, it is of things of no real consequence. Stories of acquaintances, how their own tribes are adapting to these changes, of machines coming into existence that Beta had been hard at work designing. Their plans to all assemble once more, their seasonal gatherings having long since dropped to twice, then only once a year. 

"Aloy's supposed to try and come to this next one," Erend says. "Bring the little one with her." 

"Her name is Talla." There is a flare of heat within his chest, all for a child he doesn't even know. 

"Right, Talla," Erend mutters. "You know, this will be the first time Aloy's even left the Sacred Lands since everything happened." He makes no attempt to cover the bitterness in his voice. No one else had taken the sudden news of Aloy's child particularly well, seeing as she had hidden her pregnancy from all of them. All except Zo, who had been the one to recognize the signs and tell Aloy her suspicions. 

Beta hadn't spoken to Zo for almost two months after that, for keeping such a thing secret from them all, from her especially. 

Erend sets his tankard down with a clunk that carries through the line of the focus. "I just don't get how she could do it, Kotallo. I mean, holing herself up in the same place that hated her for years? How does someone even live like that? What happened to change her?" 

"What happened?" Kotallo echoes, his voice rough. "Erend, what hasn't happened to Aloy? Maybe she's just tired. Tired of it all. Tired of the fighting, of the running, of the fear." His hand is starting to shake, and he sets it in his lap to hide the movement. "The sacred lands may have hated her once, but they are now the safest place for her. For her daughter." 

Erend grunts. "Sure know a lot about how she feels for someone who hasn't talked to her in years." He stops short, considering Kotallo, who only looks away from his sharpening gaze. "What even happened to the two of you? How did you—" Erend gestures roughly at him, and Kotallo forces himself not to flinch. "Turn into this?" 

"You know what happened, Erend," Kotallo says roughly, turning his attention to the last few mouthfuls of alcohol within his own flask. 

"Do I?" Erend pushes. "Because you didn't used to be like this. Not when it all first happened. You were sullen, sure, but you weren't strangers."

"Our current arrangement is for the best," Kotallo mutters. 

"The best for who?" Erend is standing now, the vision of his hologram flickering from the movement. "For you? Because I would disagree on that. This is seriously messed up if this is what Aloy thinks is—"

"It was my choice!" Kotallo snaps, the words cutting out of him as he pushes to his feet. Anger and pain flicker within his chest, and he stares Erend down, his gaze filled with all the threat of an impending storm. "This was my call, Erend. Trust me, this is for the best." 

"Right," Erend says slowly, and Kotallo shakes his head in disgust. 

"You called me to drink, Erend. So are we going to drink, or are you going to keep talking? Because I can just as well drink alone." 

Erend sits down, and Kotallo takes two pacing steps before he joins him, his heart still unsteady within his chest. "Have you been?" Erend says quietly, and Kotallo affixes him with a glare. 

"Have I been what."

"Drinking alone. Or drinking often." Erend reaches out his hand once more, even though there is nothing of him to touch but sparks and light. "Take it from someone with experience in this, Kotallo. You don't want to give in to something like that. That kind of hold doesn't let go easily." 

This time Kotallo does match his gaze, and something softens in his chest. This isn't just passing concern. This is something Erend has faced, something known. "I haven't been," he replies, and the words hang between them. "For however little I may sleep, Erend, there are still things I am mindful of." 

The Oseram nods slowly, and when he looks up again, his gaze seems lighter. "That's good." 

The silence falls between them again, until they are left with nothing but their own empty thoughts swirling in the air, any further desire for drink since slaked. 

"You ever think we're going to get past this?" Erend murmurs. He's turned away, his back towards Kotallo as he leans against the table. "Get past everything that happened?" 

Kotallo shakes his head, an ache building in deepest recesses of his mind. "We never will, Erend. It is simply who we are now." He draws in a breath, hating the taste of blood upon it. "Aloy told me once that you cannot unbreak a bone. The bone may heal, but the damage can never be truly undone."

"Calling me broken, Kotallo?" Erend's words come out softer, almost muddled together, a mixture of the late hour and spirits shared, no doubt. 

"Calling us all," is his reply, pressing his hand to his chest, his heart aching within. "Nothing that was once broken can ever be perfectly mended. The evidence of it will always be there, and if the cracks ever fade, then time itself will not forget." 

"Sobering." 

Kotallo shakes his head. "Drink some more ale then, Erend. You said you and I were getting drunk this night."

"That I did." Erend pushes away from the table, no doubt in search of his own stash of alcohol. "Joining me for another round?" 

Kotallo lets out a slow breath, then opens his eyes.

"Of course, my friend." 

He can only hope the sting of the drink dulls out the ache in his heart. 

Chapter Text

Dawn is not a quiet affair in the Sacred Lands. 

The birds are what rise first, their familiar songs the backdrop to the world as the Nora themselves begin to wake. Cookfires are stoked, guard shifts along the wall are exchanged, children stumble half awake from their cabins with bleary eyes, sent to collect water for the morning. 

Slowly, surely, the Nora come back to life. 

Aloy watches it all from her cabin on one of the higher edges of the settlement, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. An old blend, one she only pulls out for the hardest of mornings. 

She has long since grown familiar with the morning habits of the nora here in Mother's Watch; too many sleepless nights drawing her to watch as the moon traded its place in the sky for that of the sun. Too many nights where sweat clung to her every thought, and the only relief to be found was in watching the slow wash of morning as it pulled its way up from the horizon. 

With the now settled daybreak and the hum of voices building around her once more, Aloy turns back towards the cabin at her back, worn slats of wood that would creak beneath the step of any other, any who did not walk it daily as she does. 

There is work to be done. 

There is always work to be done. 

-

Talla is still nestled in the furs upon their bed when Aloy stoops to press a kiss upon her brow, fondness shining in her eyes as she steps away. 

The nights are getting harder, and Talla is noticing more. Her solemn brown eyes—eyes that pull within Aloy's chest every time she sees them—seem to peer into her in a way that Aloy has ever felt known in one way before. 

They both see her, in a way that Aloy is terrified of. 

Talla is too young to know the burdens her mother has been forced to carry. She is too young to have any knowledge of the visions that tear through Aloy's mind, of the reasons for her tears. She is too young to have to find the great Annointed curled up before the fire, on days where the weight of life seems as if it is too much to bear. 

She is Atlas, from before the time of the old ones, the echo of the world upon her shoulders long after she had set aside the burden. 

And Talla, eyes deep and warm, is starting to see it all. 

The silence of it all breaks within Aloy's chest.

Still, when the mornings are young and the shadows are deep, Aloy slips out back, to the fenced in area behind their cabin, the creak of metal and huff of machines filling her ears.

Icarus stares down at her from the roof of their cabin, his wings tilted towards the sun as it rises, and Aloy finds something like disapproval caught within the familiar blue glow of his eyes. 

"Don't look at me like that," she says tiredly. "I'll take you out to fly when I can." 

As much comfort as Aloy found hung within the sky, it was an indulgence she could rarely give herself. Talla had not yet worked up the courage to face such dizzying heights, and Aloy could not blame her, so they spent many of their trips between settlements settled atop a Strider Talla had aptly named Blue a few years ago, when the first of words had fallen from her lips. 

There is little time elsewise for Aloy to take to the skies alone, with nothing around her but the expanse of clouds and light, the break of wind against her body. Too little time, too many tasks, and the air upon the ground is thin enough as it is. 

Better to not tempt fate by chasing desperately towards the sun. 

Blue is also penned within the back patch of mountain and grass behind their cabin, her body humming softly at a lower operating mode, her namesake lights nothing more than a dim glow against the ground. She is joined by Kealen, Teb's grazer that was regularly found nestled at his side, yet frequently had taken faltering steps and whose kneecap had sudden snapped one day, leaving the machine stranded and without movement. 

Kealen is simply one of the many machines that cycle through Aloy's makeshift workshop, particularly since her introduction of domesticated machines into the lives of the Nora around her. They had learned that first year that allowing the machines back into cauldrons for repairs completely reverted them to base operating standards, and for those who had already bonded with the blessed gifts given by All-Mother's Annointed...

Simply put, Aloy had to do a lot of hunting to recover and override the machines that had been lost to her oversight. And since then, she had been the sole person responsible for the upkeep and management of the Blessed Machines. 

And now, the latest in her own personal crew. 

Aloy drops into a crouch in front of a badly damaged scrapper, whole panels of plating completely missing and large portions of gears and vessels removed and slowly categorized to be replaced when new parts could come in. 

It stares back at her, and there's something that almost sounds like a groan that grates within its chest, its lights flickering a barely-there yellow. 

She sighs, settling her hand atop its metal plated head, fingers scratching idly across the worn surface of it. "They really did a number on you, didn't they?" 

It had only been two days ago when the scrapper was brought in by a group of young Nora, too young to have even be made Braves yet. It was obvious they had used the scrapper as some form of melee practice, and Aloy could not fault them for that. She had faced off against countless machines over the years, and reduced them all to nothing more than scrap metal and the clink of resources in her packs. 

Their mistake had been being careless enough to bring it to her, completely unaware that it was still alive. 

Still, Aloy had payed them off with a couple of lenses they couldn't find anywhere in the Sacred Lands, and a harsh lecture as to the importance to finishing a kill before the enemy could finish them. 

Then she set her sights towards fixing the poor machine up. 

"I have to give you a name eventually," Aloy hums, moving to run her hands along its side, removing a the last few panels she had left on it the night before. "Cant just keep calling you scrapper. That nickname is already taken." 

The machine looks up at her, lights flickering, and Aloy pats its head again, before turning her attention back to its front leg. Or really, the lack of a leg. She had been forced to completely remove the damaged limb, since it seemed to take the brunt of one attack and completely shredded through wires and hoses, machine oil dripping all over the ground until she had managed to seal off the leaks. 

"I'll have to ask the next hunting party to bring me in another leg, see if I can get it to match up to your system." 

If the scrapper disapproves, it doesn't say anything, and Aloy takes that as an acceptance of her words. "Let's get to work, then." 

Morning twists and bends around her, the sky brightening as the sun pulls its way across it. The positions Aloy finds herself in are awkward, and holding her arm at this angle is beginning to burn, but anything is better than that ache of restlessness that starts to pulse within her when she grows too still. 

Still, her senses snap to attention the moment she hears the back door creak open, and Aloy is already working herself out from under the machine when Talla comes to stand beside her, staring down at her mother. 

"Hello." She huffs out a breath, then lifts her head. "You slept in late today, little scrapper." 

Talla reaches out, her hand smudging a spot of machine oil on Aloy's cheek. "Paints," she says quietly. Aloy sighs, pulling the last of her tools away from the machine. 

"Right, you're right. Let's go get our paints on for the day." 

Aloy swipes her hands across her leathers, already wincing from the Teb would surely scold her the next time he came over and saw the streaks against her legs. But he wasn't here now, and machine oil would wash out well enough. 

They don't make their way directly to the house. Talla pauses to pat the noses of each machine resting in the yard, and Aloy takes this time to stash the last of her materials, cleaning up any lingering mess from the last time she had settled to work out here. It's with a warmth of fondness in her chest that she watches her daughter stroke the dented metal of the scrapper, her hands light as the run over the serrated grinder. 

She only takes two steps towards the house before Talla is pressed against her side once more, and Aloy smiles at her presence, rubbing her fingertips faintly over her daughter's hair. "What do you think we should do today, Talla?" 

Her hand pulls tight against Aloy's leg, grabbing up a fistful of her pants. "I wanna go up the mountain." 

Something pulls in Aloy's chest at those words, and she hides the choke in her words behind the creak of the opening door. "We can... we can do that. Yeah, we can absolutely do that." 

Compared to the light of morning outside, the interior of the cabin might as well be pitch back, and it takes Aloy several blinking seconds for her sight to adjust to the dimly lit room. "Better open up the windows," she hums to herself, and then, louder—"Talla, can you go grab the paint jar out?" 

The sunlight that filters now into the one room cabin is specked with dust, and Aloy stares after the motes, almost like falling snow. 

Talla hadn't understood why she had been crying the last time it had snowed.

The two set up their stools across from one another, and Aloy takes the wooden paint pot in hand. "Hold still now, little scrapper." 

The motions are familiar, long since ingrained into her memory. 

She had painted these very strokes onto him once, long ago.

The teeth set about her lower face, beginning at the chin and following the curve of her jaw. Then came Aloy's own marks, the ones she had carried for years, striking above one eye and crossing beneath the other. Talla's nose wrinkles from the texture of the paint, and Aloy smiles at her reaction, leaning forward to press a kiss at her daughter's brow. 

"You don't have to wear the paints," she murmurs, leaning back to being the work of tidying up her own markings. "Not until you're older, anyways." 

Talla shakes her head, fingers hovering just above the surface of her skin. "I want to match you." 

Still, her fingernail scratches against the corner of her paint, and Aloy only sighs in response, too endeared by her daughter to scold her over such a small thing.

To Talla, it is just paint. Like all of the other Nora children, she matches her mother in the paint that she wears. 

Nothing more. 

"Go grab your bag if we're going out today," Aloy says, shooing her daughter away from her stool. It takes only a moment for her to push her own braided hair back and over her shoulder, the long cord of it hanging down her back. "I'll grab food for the road." 

She's halfway through loading up their packs and heading for the door when the call comes, the chirp of her focus echoing in her mind. 

Aloy stops in her tracks, and there's that terrible lurch of hope within her chest. That terrible hope that will never leave her, no matter how long she lives. 

She taps her focus, and the hope shrivels up within her. It's not Kotallo. It never is. He hasn't called once since that day years ago, and she's long since stopped trying to call him back. 

Instead, Aloy pulls on as bright a voice as she can manage. "Hey there, Beta!" 

She can practically feel her sister wince. "Oh, Aloy that was terrible. Please, could you never do that to me again?" 

"Do what?" Aloy chuckles, turning to sign to Talla to grab a water flask for them each. The girl nods, falling back into movement as her mother continues speaking. "Greet you?" 

"Not like that," Beta huffs. "I swear I can taste the lies on those words, Aloy. Tastes like fruit that's gone foul."

"Thank you for that wonderful comparison," Aloy snips back, but there's a knot within her chest that is slowly beginning to unravel itself. "Any other particular reason for your call today? Not that I'm complaining, of course."

"Yeah, actually." 

Aloy shuts the door behind Talla, watching as she runs up towards their Stider. "Whats up then, Beta?" 

A breath. A long pause. 

Aloy stops. 

Then, slowly, hesitantly, Beta's voice. 

"There's something you need to know."

Chapter Text

Frustration is already biting at Kotallo's nerves by the time he ends up calling Beta. 

When not one, not two, but three different marshals had all stopped him on his way to breakfast to complain about how the Marshals Focus system was down, he had been barely able to placate them long enough to grab a meal and promise to look at it when he had the time. 

He hadn't had the time through much of the morning, until Ivirra showed up in the afternoon with annoyance sparking in her eyes. Even though they had only held the communication system for a few short years, it was still long enough that many of the marshals relied on it for the passage of information quickly between their ranks, and the sudden isolation and lack of access was sending nerves on edge. 

So the task of training the current batch of recruits was passed off to the other Marshals still stationed at the Grove, and Kotallo holed himself up at the highest point he could manage, with express orders not to bother him, and another promise that he would not return until the problem was solved. 

At first he thought the solution would come quickly. The first time the Marshal system had shut down, it was because someone had attempted to contact outside of the system, and one of the few safeguards Kotallo had set in place with Beta's assistance suddenly closed the whole communication line. 

After a few careful days of interrogation and puzzlement with Beta working digitally at his side, Kotallo had learned that one of the marshals had seen the focus as a direct line towards the champion, and he wanted to follow that line to the sound of her voice, to know where she was. 

Beta doubled down on these things she called firewalls and only gave two other tenakth access to the main Gaia server: Hekarro and Dekka. 

Many other such situations and glitches had led to Kotallo becoming quite familiar with the first steps to take in troubleshooting the system, and while he would only ever be passable in the realm of technological training, it was still something that he alone could achieve in this moment.

Until he couldn't fix it, the words System Error glaring back at him every time he swiped from the Gaia server to the Marshal system. 

Now, Kotallo looks down at the movement of the grove below him, and waits for Beta to pick up the line. 

It takes only one heartbeat more, perhaps two, before her voice comes spilling out of his focus, and he nearly flinches from the sound of it. “Hey Kotallo! Long time no call.”

His throat burns as he forces a sense of friendliness into his voice, the words falling flat. “Hello to you too, Beta. We’re having difficulties with the marshal system again.”

The woman lets out a hissing breath, though her tone is light as she speaks. “Ah, I see. No time to chat. You only ever call me when you need me.”

“My role does not permit me much time for conversation,” Kotallo says quietly, and he can only hope that she is able to pick up the regret in his voice for the truth of it. With all of the work he has taken on and the missions he has been running, there is little leisure time left for him to partake in anything but the most brutal of spars, nothing more than the clash of weapons and limbs, enough to get blood roaring in his ears, yet never enough to settle the ache in his chest. 

There is simply too much to do to have time for anything else.

As if sensing the change in mood between them, Beta shifts her attention back to the matter at hand. “I’ll poke around when I have a chance, but there’s no promises that I’ll be able to fix most of it remotely. Aloy was the one who designed that whole system—"

The mere mention of her name sends his thoughts ringing, as if he has been caught in the blast of a longleg and unable to comprehend anything more than the echo of it within his mind. When Kotallo’s thoughts finally settle themselves and he finds himself returned to the conversation, Beta has moved on and is rambling about the complexities of machine coding and how difficult it is to maintain a communication system overtop of already existing programming.

“Beta,” he says softly, cutting her words short. “I am sorry. I wish we had more time to talk, but this has already put me behind today and there is still work to be done." 

"Cant spare another minute more?" There's something else to her voice now, something suddenly nervous. Kotallo sighs, shaking his head, but Beta seems to take his silence for acceptance, as she continues talking. "I do actually want to ask you something while I have you on the line."

"You could always message me," Kotallo says, even as the words click within his mind. She never did like messages, always preferring holos or calls over them. Said hearing their voices made it all seem more real. "Or not." 

"Right," Beta mutters. "Or not." 

They sit there in the silence, unwilling to speak, unwilling to move. Kotallo stares out at the Grove once more, soaking in the wash of the sun above him, and waits.

He's always waiting, these days. Waiting for something he doesn't even know, waiting for a change that will never come. 

Waiting for the day it all makes sense. 

For the day he doesn't feel it anymore.

“Beta,” he says again, his voice slightly more strained. “I do have to go."

“Right…” The word trials off, and yet still she does not disconnect. 

Kotallo closes his eyes, and tries not to think of another who he had spent many hours beside, sitting in silence such as this. 

Finally—Beta speaks. "Kotallo, are you... ok?"

Of all the things to ask. 

"I'm fine." Kotallo tries to keep his voice gentle, but he's tired. Tired of people asking the same question all of the time. Tired of the pity people get in their eyes when they look at him. He's sick of pity. He's had enough of it for a thousand lifetimes. 

"You know we're all here for you, right?" Beta's voice wavers, and Kotallo dips his head. 

"I am aware, Beta. You all say as such every time you call."

"Because it's true."

"I know." 

How many times can one thought be held? 

How long had it been since their little group felt like a real family, when Kotallo had finally felt at home? 

"Was there anything more, Beta? I believe your minute is almost up." 

"Hah." Her voice is dry, but the sound of it still brings an almost smile to the corners of his lips. "No, I just uh... just wanted to let you know that Aloy wont be coming to the next gathering... again. And that we're holding it in Meridian this year." 

"Again?" He cannot help the shock that lurches in his chest, and even deeper within, there is a part of him that grieves this. "But Erend had said..." 

"Yeah, well, Aloy changed her mind." The words come out fast, and there's a cut of bitterness to them as well. "Said she's got too much to do. Not like the rest of us don't have our own lives that we try and put on hold for one week out of the year." 

"Hn." Kotallo rises, his body clicking and popping from falling into movement once more. "We do not know the specifics of her life, Beta. She could have much to handle." 

"You know, for someone who hates her as much as you do, you sure do spend a lot of time defending her." 

Kotallo freezes, her words echoing dully through his thoughts. "What did you say?" The pressure in his chest builds, even as Beta begins to repeat herself. 

"I said, for someone who hates her as much as—"

"I don't hate her." The words cut out of him, slick with the taste of blood and the pounding of his heart. "Beta, how could you—"

"Then why dont the two of you ever talk?" He can hear the anger in her voice, yet everything is feeling very far away in this moment, her previous words on repeat in his mind. "Seriously, Kotallo, what happened between the two of you? What happened to the man who had said she held the rest of his life?" 

He died. 

He had died, and Aloy seemed to take that as fulfillment enough of his pledge to her. 

"We're done talking now." The words taste of smoke, and Kotallo cannot breathe past them. "Contact me when you fix the system."

It disconnects against the harsh cut of Beta calling out, yet Kotallo does not hear her words. 

Darkness spots across his vision, and slowly, slowly, he falls to his knees, hand crushing against his chest, desperate to breathe past the burn within his lungs. 

Keep breathing, the voice within him begs. You cannot fall now, Kotallo. Keep breathing.

Kotallo curls inwards, shifting down to rest his forehead upon the ground, his weight supported by the press of his elbow, hand crawling up to his focus. 

Keep breathing, she urges, her touch nothing more than a memory upon his skin. 

Kotallo muffles a cry as his shaking hand fumbles for her name, and the ground beneath him is unsteady and tinged with fire and smoke, the melt of snow against his skin. 

Keep breathing, she whispers, and Kotallo does. His first full breath in ages is drawn out of him by the sound of Aloy's voice. 

The tears choke out of him before they can be stopped. 

-

Kotallo comes down from the roof with assurances that the system will be fixed soon. Afternoon shifts into evening around them, the setting sun drawing the light from the sky. 

No one speaks of the newness of his paint. No one speaks of the gravel to his voice when he barks out commands in training. No one speaks of sudden distance in his gaze. 

Still, Kotallo knows they notice it all. These men and women he has fought and trained beside know him now, know him in ways that while they may never speak of it to his face, he knows they speak of it between themselves. 

He forces himself not to care. There is still work to be done. 

Kotallo is on his way to the baths on the furthest edge of the grove, the day's worth of sweat and sand sticking to his skin, when Ivirra arrives. 

The sight of her troubled expression brings that same tension crushing up against his chest once more. "Something's happened." 

"A runner from Salt Bite," Ivirra says, words strained. "Marshals Enatta and Pillah were due there for the last stop on their desert circuit, but never arrived."

A prickle of dread hits down his spine. "We can't contact them without the focuses," he mutters, gaze dipping away from Ivirra. "How long ago?" 

"They were due in early this morning. When sunhigh came and went without them reporting in, leadership sent a runner with word of it to the Grove." 

"Right." Kotallo curls his fist at his side, thoughts spilling outwards. "Send Kettah and Reikko," he says sharply. "They're decent trackers, and know that terrain better than the rest of us."

Ivirra's brow pinches. "Kotallo, no matter what they do find, it may be too far away for us to be of any use. Without the communication system—" 

A growl catches in his throat. "I will get the system back up, Ivirra. You just get my orders to those marshals." 

A spark in her gaze. Ivirra places her fist to her chest in a salute, and Kotallo mirrors the motions. They part, and all of Kotallo's thoughts narrow down to the situation at hand, his own hand moving to his focus once more. 

The words are on his lips, readied and sure as soon as the call connects—

"Kotallo, I don't have time." Beta's words snap across the focus, cutting his own short. 

"Beta, I know I asked before, but there's been a development." 

"No! No, get those men to the back! I'll be there in a moment."

Her voice shifts, losing some of its commanding edge as it lowers. "Look, Kotallo, I just got five delvers brought in in bad condition. I would love to help, I really would, but there simply isn't time." 

"And I might be running out of time too, Beta!" Kotallo snaps back, annoyance clawing at his thoughts even as guilt coats the inside of his throat. "We've got Marshals missing, and unless we get the system up, we might lose them altogether." 

There's a harsh clattering sound from the focus, followed by a groan of pain. He can hear Beta panting in his ear. "If you need the system back up so badly, Kotallo, contact Aloy. Otherwise you'll have to be on your own on this. I'm sorry, but I can't help you." 

He wants to protest. He has to find another way. But Beta closes the call with nothing more than a short goodbye, and Kotallo is left standing there with sparking nerves and a pounding headache beginning to crawl up the back of his skull. 

Contact Aloy, the words echo in his mind. Contact Aloy.

Let her be, a smaller part of him whispers. You've gone this long without speaking. She probably hates you.

His thoughts flick to Marshal Pillah, the youngest now amidst their group, from a settlement deeply nestled in the mountains of the Sky Clan. This was to be her first mission out to the Desert, a land so unlike the one she was used to. 

Resolve hardens in his chest. 

"Just this once," Kotallo mutters. "For their sake, not my own." 

His hand shakes as he presses her name, even as the action tears into his chest. 

The time of the call ringing echoes endlessly in his mind, and Kotallo turns away, muttering curses to himself as he begins to pace. 

A small click. 

His steps pause. 

"Kotallo?"

And at the sound of her voice, the world fades away. 

Chapter Text

"Kotallo's not coming to this next gathering." 

Aloy lets a breath whistle out from between her teeth, her body ridding itself of the tension that had suddenly knotted up within her chest. "By the sun, Beta, don't say it like that." She tosses the first pack across Blue's haunches. "You had me worried something was going on."

She doesn't say anything about the small thread of hope that just shriveled up within her. 

"Just thought you'd like to know," Beta says breezily. "Especially since you and him are on such rough terms. Wouldn't be easy seeing each other again. At least now you can come see the rest of us in peace." 

Aloy lifts Talla up, placing her just behind Blue's withers, and the girl immediately strands her hands through the cables around the machine's neck. "You make it sound as if Kotallo and I being there at the same time would ruin everything." 

A slight grunt of effort, and Aloy is astride the machine as well, reaching forward and around Talla to take the cables in hand. 

"Wouldn't it?" Beta's voice drifts out from the focus at her ear, and Aloy clicks to get the strider moving. "I mean, the two of you haven't even seen each other in what... four years?" 

"Closer to five, actually." The words scrape inside her throat, but Aloy takes comfort in the press of Talla leaning back against her chest. "Not that it really matters."

"Right..." Beta drawls. 

A certain kind of silence falls between them now, but it isn't a comfortable one. It's one filled with expectation. Beta is waiting for something. For what, Aloy doesn't know, but from the sounds her sister is making on thd other side of the line, she's clearly wanting Aloy to break the silence first. 

It's the first question that pops into the forefront of her mind. 

"Do we know why?" The words sound tangled to her own ears, and Aloy clears her throat, forcing herself to speak slower this next time. "Why he isn't coming, that is." 

"Ah, he gave me some excuse about marshal duties and how he couldn't get away." 

"High Marshal duties," Aloy corrects quietly, but the words seem to go unnoticed by Beta as she continues talking. 

"I mean, we've known the man for years now, Aloy. And we've known Hekarro for just as long. Surely he would be understanding enough to let Kotallo go, even for just one week. He can't be that important that everything would fall apart without him in such a short time."

Theres a flare in her chest, a desperate, burning echo. "I think Kotallo is plenty important," Aloy hisses. There's a bite to her words that almost takes her by surprise, except... she doesn't regret it at all. "Just because you don't agree with his decision doesn't mean you shouldn't respect it. He always honors other's choices, Beta, so maybe you should honor his too." 

Beta falls back into silence again, but this one is sharp. This one bristles with a thousand unsaid words, and Aloy draws in a breath, readying herself. 

"Why haven't you called him?" 

There it is. 

Aloy shifts her hand to settle it against Talla's stomach, and her daughter—their daughter—looks up at her with those shining brown eyes.

"Kotallo made his decision," she says shortly, turning the Strider in the direction of the mountain path that will lead up to Spirit's Keep. "And then he made his commitment to that decision abundantly clear. So I'm going to honor that." 

"How can you say that?" Beta huffs. "Aloy, he made that choice after getting the news of you having a child, and while I'll never understand that choice, I'm not surprised he reacted that way! You didnt have to go along with it too, though! Communication goes both ways." 

"Doesn't it?" Aloy snaps back. "Except I did try again. I did try to speak to him again, and again, and again. And eventually I got sick of pulling up calls that never rang through." 

"He's stubborn," Beta insists, her voice nearing desperate. "But you're stubborn too! At least, you used to be. What happened to the sister I knew who was so full of fire, who would do anything to get what she wanted?" 

"She grew up!" Aloy shouts. Her hands jerk Blue into a halt, and her lungs are heaving, burning for air, burning from grief, burning from all of the words stuck inside her that she never got to say. "She grew up, Beta, and she realized that the things she wants are costly. And those aren't prices she's willing to pay anymore."

"So... what?" Beta pushes. "You just gave up?" 

The pressure is clawing it's way up to her throat now. Aloy stares out at the horizon, dragging breath after ragged breath into her lungs. A tugging on her shirt pulls her attention downwards. 

Talla stares up at her, eyes piercing even as hands move to sign—sad? 

A breath slips through her lips. Aloy shakes her head, fingers pinching in a soft no. 

Talla's face screws up, brows drawing together as her hands shift, her lips moving silently along. Scared. She repeats the motion once more, before pointing at herself. 

Something twists insides Aloy's chest, and the prick of tears is more than she can bear in this moment. Aloy crumples forward, wrapping Talla up in both her arms even as she presses soft kisses to the girl's skin. "I'm sorry," she whispers, closing her eyes. "I shouldn't have yelled." 

Talla's hands settle over her arm, and Aloy drops one final kiss at the top of her head before she sits back up. "I'm done talking about this right now, Beta." 

"Aloy—"

"No." Her voice is firm, but not harsh. Practiced and even. A reprimand. "We can find something else to talk about, or we can hang up. It's your choice." 

"Something else, then." Beta's voice is an echo of the girl she once knew. Clipped. Formal. Removed. 

Aloy pushes the Strider back into motion. "Have you talked with Zo in a while? She said Vala's finally picking up archery, and that after the next gathering she'll be coming this way to the Sacred lands for a time." 

"That sounds nice," Beta says. "You'll have company on your way back home."

"Yeah," Aloy murmurs. "Yeah, I guess I will." 

-

They end up spending the rest of the day there at Rost's cabin, Talla playing and poking around as Aloy tends to the grave, cleaning and tidying the grounds. 

She had taken to hanging up the Watcher lenses from the trees in the area, and the sound of their clinking fills the air even as the sun filters through their crystalline centers, fractals of rainbows and scattered light shifting across the ground. 

Halfway through the afternoon they are joined by two young Nora, who are both surprised and overjoyed to be meeting with the Annointed in such a place. She allows them to talk her into telling a story, and the four of them share a meal together as Aloy's words weave the tale of her and Talanah's fight against Redmaw. 

They end up parting ways closer to sundown, and Aloy hums quietly as they ride back to Mother's Watch, Talla singing along in her small voice. 

From a much younger age, Talla had never found much fondness in speaking, and while Aloy had quickly learned and taught as much sign language to her as she could so they could still communicate, the first time she had ever sung came as a sharp surprise to her. 

It really shouldn't have been, in truth. The Nora lived their lives by song. Not in the way of the Utaru, perhaps, but with songs spilling around them in ever festival, low tones pouring from those in prayer, hummed from mother to child as they played, as they worked, as they walked through the winding sets of buildings. 

Rost had never sung for her, so Aloy did not realize the depths of silence her own childhood had been shrouded in. 

Yet another thing she refuses to let her daughter go without. 

So when Talla had first sang along to the sound of one of the festivals, something had grown within Aloy's chest in that moment, and she had drawn into their own lives the comfort of music.

When she got older, Aloy would show her the music of the old ones as well, but for now, she relished in the sound of her daughter's voice, carrying the song of the tribe. 

Accepted and whole.

Everything she had promised. 

Evening draws steadily towards them the closer they come to the settlement, and by the time Blue's steps lead them through the worn paths of Mother's Watch, darkness is beginning to hug the edges of the horizon. 

"What do you say?" Aloy hums, dropping a kiss on the top of Talla's head. "We curl up in front of the fire tonight and I'll read for us some as we eat?" 

Talla nods quickly, and Aloy matches her smile. "Sounds like a plan, then." 

They had just gotten to their home when her focus chirps, and Aloy pauses halfway to the cabin, Blue's packs thrown over one arm. "Is that Beta again?" She questions, shoving the back door open with her hip, allowing Talla to scurry inside and flop on the pelts before the unlit fireplace. 

Then she pulls up her focus display, and a strangled noise catches itself in her throat. 

The packs in her arm fall to the ground with a thump, and Talla's attention whips around to her mother as she takes one stumbling step back, her hand splaying out across the wall to catch herself. 

"Mama?" 

Aloy shakes her head roughly, staring at the name displayed, and struggles to make sense of it all. 

Why would he even be calling her? After all this time, all this silence, and now? To be trying to contact her out of the blue? 

Some spiteful part of her hisses within her chest, seething for her to ignore it, just as he had ignored them. 

But it's Kotallo, her heart cries. 

Aloy presses a hand to her mouth, stifling a heavy gasp, and accepts the call. 

Too late to back out now. 

"Kotallo?" 

He doesn't say anything. 

Something twists within her chest, something that pulls at the edges of her emotions, and Aloy dimly registers Talla wrapping herself around her leg, fingers pressing against her. "Mama?" She whispers again. 

"I'm ok," Aloy finally chokes out, dropping to crouch beside her daughter. "It's alright, Talla." 

There's a strained sound from the other side of the focus, before Kotallo's voice is flooding over her, and it takes every scrap of strength within her not to sob from relief from the sound of it. 

"Greetings, Aloy. I apologize for contacting you, but I assure you this would not be done if there was any other way." 

The comfort of his voice is overtaken by the sting in his words, and Aloy's lips twist into a scowl. All these years trying to get on with her life without him, when he made it so clear he had no desire for her to be held in his. All these years, and when he finally reaches out to her once more, his first words are a statement of how little he wants to speak to her. 

"What do you want, High Marshal?" The words sound so much harsher when held in the air, as if speaking them had caused them to be shifted from the soft of snow to the sharp of ice. "If you don't want to talk to me, what else could you possibly need?" 

The callouses around his voice seem to crack. "Aloy—" His voice is impossibly soft now, and she can hear the strain of emotion in it that she had long since memorized. The sound of his control slipping through his fingers.

"Get to the point, Kotallo." The words cut in her chest, but she cannot breathe, cannot think beyond the sudden reality of this moment, of Kotallo speaking with her. 

A sharp breath, and then Kotallo's voice falls into formality once more, tinged with the solemnity of his words. "The Marshal Communication system is down, and we have two marshals missing on an assignment. I've already done everything I can to fix the system, but nothing worked. I spoke with Beta about it too, but there was a situation involving delvers and she is unable to help in this moment."

Another breath, as if he is waiting for her to respond. Aloy sits mutely, his words spinning in her head. 

"Please, Aloy. I would not come to you if this was not urgent." 

She can practically feel his distress, and the last of her barriers come tumbling down in a shaking breath. 

"Right." Aloy turns her attention away, her hands settling on her daughter's shoulders. "Talla, go grab your blanket and pick your bag back up. You're spending tonight with Uncle Teb." She stands, pivoting to grab a different pack slung against the wall, the edge of her repelling hook peeking out from under its flap.

Talla follows her instructions obediently, and Aloy scoops up other pieces of gear, affixing them to her hips. "Kotallo, I want you to get on your sunwing and fly to the tallneck out in the Shining Wastes. I'll make my way to the one here at Devil's Thirst to walk you through what to do." 

Her hands pat against her supplies, mentally running through her checklists of necessary items, and there's a small thrill running through her chest. Talla appears back at her side, and Aloy scoops her up, holding her tightly. 

"I love you, Talla," she whispers, holding her daughter's gaze. 

"I can call you back. When I get to the Tallneck, that is." Kotallo's voice is strained again, and Aloy shakes her head, even though he cannot see the action. 

"Don't bother." Aloy kicks the door shut behind her, then whistles to Icarus perched above their home. "You'll need to run me through everything, and this will only take a moment." 

Aloy whispers a quiet thanks to the All-Mother when she finds Teb actually inside his own home, rather than set up in his shop still. He seems surprised at the suddenness of it all, but this isn't the first time that Tella has had to spend the night with him, and there's a knowing look in his eye that this will not be the last. 

"Be good," Aloy murmurs, pressing a kiss to Talla's forehead. "Listen to Uncle Teb. This shouldn't take me too long at all, ok?" 

Talla nods, even as her gaze shows her confusion. She crosses both arms across her chest, then presses one palm to Aloy's chest. 

Her gaze softens, and Aloy pulls her in close once more. "Mama loves you too, Talla." 

One breath more. Aloy lets her go. 

"Ok, Kotallo," she says, jumping onto her sunwing's back, and she can already hear the sounds of his own mount launching into flight. "Bring me up to speed." 

The sound of his voice sends shivers down her spine. 

"By your word, Commander." 

Chapter Text

It shouldn't be possible for this all to feel so right. 

Kotallo flies with Aloy at his side, the moon rising above him as they slip into old set patterns, a familiar give and take as constant as the push of the sea upon the shore. 

Aloy listens, listens just as she always has, and it is to her gentle silence that Kotallo feels word after word pried from his chest, words that go unspoken to all but her in this moment. Unspoken to his Marshals, to Hekarro, and oftentimes not even spoken aloud to himself. 

"I knew we should have paired Pillah with one from the Desert Clan for her assignment." The words are bitter against his tongue, the realization of his own failings. "If I had sent her with Reikko, perhaps none of this would have happened." 

"And maybe it all would have happened anyways," Aloy says in response, her voice sending aching sparks inside his chest with every word. "You can't deal in passed choices, Kotallo. You and I both know—"

The rest of the sentence cuts off suddenly. She's right, they do both know this truth. They know it too well. They've been living in the aftermath of such choices for the past five years. 

"All that matters now is finding them again." He can remember it now, that determined glint to her gaze. The one that had carried him through endless battles before, looking to her with nothing but the fullness of trust within his own sight. "If you let yourself get caught in the web of looking back at your mistakes, all you will get is a chest filled with regret and a dozen sleepless nights." 

Kotallo chokes out something that sounds as if it should be a laugh, but the sound of it is strange and unfamiliar even to his own ears. "You and I would know," he mutters. "And I would say that the sleepless nights far outweigh a dozen, Aloy." 

"Didn't you know?" Her own laugh is tinged with exhaustion, and the sound of it scrapes within his chest. "I meant a dozen nights for every week." 

They know. 

She knows. 

If anyone else was to know, to understand exactly how he feels, it would be her, wouldn't it? 

"Still," Kotalll growls, his gaze shifting over the landscape passing below him. "I should have planned better. It's my role as a leader to protect those under me. Any injury or loss upon them is a failing of my own."

Theres a small, choked sound that spills from Aloy's throat directly into his senses, and Kotallo flinches from the sharpness of it. "Aloy—" He starts, but anything more he might have to supply to her dries upon his tongue, leaving him silent. 

"No," Aloy mutters, and the sound of wind snapping around them fills the silence. "You're right. The leader is responsible for the wellbeing of her men." 

Back and back again.

It always led there, didn't it?

Four years since they had ever spoken, and the shadow of that night is between them again, sparking red eyes and glistening teeth. 

A pulse in his chest, and Kotallo presses his palm to his chest in a fruitless attempt to dull the pain. "That wasn't your fault, Aloy. I told you to—"

"Then this isn't your fault either, Kotallo," she snaps back. "You don't get to absolve me of the blame for something like that and claim this burden as yours alone." 

Kotallo has no words to refute her. The silence falls between them once more, and it is familiar once again but in a far different way. This silence is tinged with ice and the taste of metal, the tang of blood and snow on the wind. The same silence that had torn between them in those aching months after Nemesis. 

The lands beneath him shifts, and Kotallo lets out a breath. "I've reached the tallneck, Aloy." 

She remains silent, and there's a quiet tear within Kotallo's chest, that she might not have heard him, that she might be simply ignoring him. "I'm still twenty minutes out," Aloy finally says, and the exhaustion in her voice is evident. "Just hold on until I get there, Kotallo." 

"By your word." 

Kotallo pulls his sunwing up short, and readies himself to jump onto the tallneck. 

All this time, and he still trusts her words above all things. 

-

His voice has changed. 

It isn't a large change, not at all, but after four years of listening and soaking in every word he had spoken to her before, Aloy has all but memorized his every tone, the lilt to each word, the familiar pattern and cadence of his speech. 

It is a small thing to notice, yet Aloy notices it all the same. 

In fact, it's quite distracting, the way his focus holds longer on certain words now, or the scrape of his breath paired with a deeper gravel in the back of his throat. 

But the way he says her name has remained the same. A familiarity. 

A constant. 

The pain in his voice is something else that is a familiarity, and each time she hears it slip into his words it sends something aching within her own chest, the pull of a current in deep waters. Its the same voice that would have sent them into the arms of one another, if they had truly been at each other's side. 

But they aren't. 

They are separated by hundreds of miles and the crushing weight of all of her mistakes, and the bite of them seem closer to the surface than ever before. 

This isn't how it was meant to go. 

Aloy pulls her sunwing through the towering buildings of Devil's Thirst, and hovers above the shape of the tallneck, shrouded in the full set of darkness upon it. Her hands grip tighter on the cables of the machine's neck. "Kotallo," she calls out, rousing him from the silence he had fallen in. "I'm here now."

There's a shuffle of sound from his side of the call, and then his voice floods through, pouring sparks over her every thought. "Let's get this over with." 

Aloy drops onto the tallneck's head, her body giving a slight jolt of complaint in response to the landing. "Override on your side," she commands, kneeling as she shoves her own module into connecting. 

It feels right, working at his side like this. Kotallo and Aloy trade descriptions back and forth to each other, and at some point she sends her own hologram over with the command to mimic what she is doing. 

Kotallo sits silently for a long moment, and Aloy looks up to the west, as if he is also looking to her in this moment, their gazes drawn across countless miles. 

"Kotallo? You still with me?" 

A rustle of movement, a faint breath. "I am here, Aloy. You said to move this line of code here?" 

"Right," Aloy confirms, turning her focus back towards the work. "Yeah, take this segment here and copy over there. We might have to draw all new connections." 

Time slips around them, and Aloy only registers the passing of it by the shift of the moon high above her. The same moon that passes over Kotallo now, binding them together under its light. 

Finally, Aloy lets out a groan of frustration. "And you said you did all of the exact steps?" She questions, rubbing at her eyes. 

"Of course," Kotallo responds, his voice trickling in annoyance. With her? With this situation? She's too tired to care. "If I can do one thing, Aloy, it's follow commands." 

"Right," Aloy sighs, shifting her weight. "Ok, new plan." She pulls up a new display on her focus, brow twisting in concentration. "I've got an idea." 

Her fingers tap against the displayed light, and something begins to burn in her chest. "We transfer remote control of your entire tallneck over to mine, and I completely recode the communication system. It'll take a while, but it should fix everything. The maps, the trackers, the coms, the data, everything." 

"Yes." There is no hesitation on his part. "We need communication lines reestablished, or something like this will only happen again."

"Ok," Aloy breathes. "Ok, then here's what we need to do." 

-

Kotallo tries to tell himself it doesn't mean anything. That the marks upon her face, however familiar they might be, are an act of pure coincidence. That they hold no connection to him alone. 

Still, to see his own marks written upon her face, in whatever similarity it might be, stirs something deep in his chest, a wanting he has long since kept locked away. 

There is little that he can do on his end to transfer full control over to Aloy, so Kotallo resigns himself to simply watch over her. Her hair is no longer loose and free as he knew it, but pulled into a thick braid that she alternates between pulling over she shoulder, and tossing over her back in annoyance. 

Her commands that clip through the focus are short and to the point, a lifeline that Kotallo clings to. Her voice cuts through the wandering of his mind, forcing him to remain present, rather than dwelling upon all that has changed about her. 

"Take that line there—" Aloy points to a segment of coding, and Kotallo shifts his attention to the mirror of it upon his own tallneck, still shifting and ambling beneath him. 

His mind floods with memories of the last time they had sat like this atop one of these great machines, their voices low and quiet as they looked to the inevitability of the future. 

Of Nemesis. 

Of the promise that Kotallo had sworn to Aloy. 

Kotallo pushes past the surge of emotion within him, and does as Aloy commands, forcing his breathing to remain even. A breath, and the whole map of lights and scattered codes flickers into a brilliant green. "It's changed," Kotallo confirms. 

"Yes!" Aloy tosses both hands up in the air in her success, and the sight of it steals his breath away, an ache within his chest. "Ok—" she settles back down, her hands flying into movement once more. "You just need to confirm, and then the transfer will begin. All we have to do then is wait." 

He's grown familiar with the concept of waiting. 

It feels strange to be doing so when she is here at his side. 

"Transfer started," Kotallo murmurs, looking away. "Two hours remaining." 

Aloy hisses out a curse, pulling her braid into her hands. "Two hours. I'm sorry, Kotallo. I now you needed this faster." 

Kotallo shakes his head, dipping to brush his chin against his chest. "It cannot be helped." Another steadying breath. "You have done all that you can in this moment." 

"Still feels like a waste." 

"Breathe." Kotallo settles the word gently upon her, and he can see the shiver of her body's reaction to it. Or perhaps it is just the wind, the edges of winter already drawing across the Embrace. "Let yourself wait." 

Aloy rolls a noise through the back of her throat, but she does not protest his words. She adjusts her position, drawing her hand up to her focus. "But maybe there's something..."

Kotallo only shakes his head, a faint curl of fondness within his chest. Nine years since the day they had met, and yet still she remains the same. 

Impossible and stubborn. 

He would have her no other way. 

Kotallo reaches out, his fingers stroking against strands of light. “You should rest,” he murmurs. “You look tired.”

Aloy scrubs her hands over her eyes. “I could say the same about you, Kotallo. You sound exhausted.”

“So everyone says.” Kotallo sighs, rubbing away the ache beginning to pound at his temples. “Seems as if that is the only thing people see of me anymore.”

“Hmm.” Aloy rests her head upon her arm, and though she cannot truly see him in this moment, Kotallo is struck by the presence in her gaze as she looks directly at him, piercing and true. “And what do you see of yourself, Kotallo?”

His breath catches within his lungs, and the words will not come, even as he looks upon her, emotion welling up in his lungs. “I think…” Her hand reaches out, and through the span of space and stars, Kotallo lays his own overtop. “I think I have never been so weary.”

The words settle dimly between them, and Kotallo looks away, his throat now choked with every unspoken thought. The pulse within his chest turns to a heavy drum, the beat of a mourning procession, the final steps of soldiers off to war.

Those few terrible seconds as he commanded Aloy to go, to finish the work.

“I dream of that day.” The words slip from his lips, dry as ash, and Kotallo bows his head. “More nights than not, I wake with the taste of it upon my tongue. And I—” a shuddering breath. “Exhaustion is preferable to such a thing.”

“Kotallo.” He shivers at the sound of her voice. “I should have—”

“No.” Kotallo cuts her statement short. “Do not even say it, Aloy. You should not apologize for that night, not again. My life was of no consequence in that moment. You did as you were meant to do—for all of our sakes. And I have survived. All is well.”

She sighs, and Kotallo looks over to find her laying against the swaying metal of the tallneck beneath her, her hologram flickering such as the light of a star. “Can I…” The words trail off, and she closes her eyes, drawing her hands up tight to her chest. “Can I see you, please?”

His body burns with the thought of it, to have her gaze upon him again, truly and fully. A mere echo of what time they had spent together, but to be seen by her, even this final time…

“At your word.”

He can only pray to the Ten above that his hand does not shake as it creeps up to his focus. A breath.

Kotallo reveals himself to her, to the only person by whom he has ever felt truly known.

Her eyes shine as a smile slips itself across her lips. “Hello,” Aloy whispers.

Kotallo reaches out, and her gaze follows the movement as his hand settles atop her outstretched one once more. “Hello,” he murmurs back, his voice wavering.

Aloy’s fingers curl, as if to grasp his hand in hers, and Kotallo’s chest aches with the distance between them as she closes her eyes once more, the weariness upon her face shifting, softening. “I missed you.” The words are barely there, almost caught away by the wind itself, yet Kotallo hears them all the same. The shape of them nestle directly into his chest, and he knows, as undeniable as the sun, these words will always remain with him.

More than anything else she had said this night, these words will remain.

She missed him.

“I missed you as well.” They are nothing more than a choked release of breath, yet Aloy’s lips press into something desperate, her body curling in towards itself.

“Don’t leave me again,” she whispers, and the sound of it shatters within him. “Please, Kotallo. Stay with me.”

Kotallo leans forward, stroking his hand upon her image, the pull within his chest now undeniable. 

"I am here." Are the words spoken, or are they fully broken from his chest? The shards of them cut into his lungs, the ache of a thousand days spent without her crushing into him in this moment. 

To say goodbye again may just be the death of him.

Chapter Text

"Aloy."

She smiles faintly, the sound of his voice humming in her ear. "Hey, Tallo," she mumbles, adjusting her place upon the bed, blankets rustling around her.

His fingers skim along her curve of her neck, and Aloy hums in soft contentment, warmth pulsing within her chest. "You have to get up now."

Her eyes flutter, yet Aloy buries herself deeper into the comfort of the darkness, soaking in every sensation. "Five more minutes," she insists, pressing the words against her own skin, lips brushing upon her arm.

"Aloy."

His voice, more insistent now, and Aloy groans in distress, the bed shifting beneath her as she curls tighter upon herself.

"Aloy, you must rise."

Aloy pulls her arms up, hands traveling to press upon her ears, to block out the call in his words.

"Aloy!"

Her body jerks—

The dream falls away. The soft comfort of worn pelts shift into the hard press of metal beneath her, the warmth of Kotallo's hand to the cut of wind upon her skin.

Aloy pushes herself onto her hands and knees, her lungs straining suddenly as she gasps down a breath, and Kotallo's voice still rings within her ear. "Aloy! It's ok, you're ok. Take a breath, Aloy."

"I'm fine," she manages to growl out, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she sits up. "What happened?"

Kotallo is still sitting across from her, his projection revealing the worn expression upon his face. "The transfer is over," he says flatly. "I assumed you would want to be woken when it was completed."

"Yeah." Aloy scrubs her hands over her cheeks, then shifts closer to the module. "Thank you."

Her brow furrows as she looks down at the light displayed, then pulls the scaffolding of the code up high, lights circling her as she drags portions from line to line. Her eyes snap and fingers fly, and Aloy loses herself to the work, a strange comfort to be found in the business.

Her life has since been filled with so much work, yet much of it without true meaning.

But this? To be helping? To be needed?

Something within Aloy's heart sings—

Kotallo is silent at her side, though every time she glances towards him she finds his gaze set solely upon her, and perhaps it is just the flicker of lights between them that sends sparks within her chest to be looking at him once more.

He had been there, in those few moments before she had drifted off to sleep. His hand had drifted upon her skin then, hadnt it?

Aloy shakes her head, the mix of dream and memory and hope and reality all churning within her mind, and a frustrated huff slips its way past her lips, falling frozen to the ground beneath her.

The code flashes red, and Aloy spits a curse into the air, anger skittering across her skin as she glares at the lights displayed.

"I can't—" the word chokes within her, and Aloy grinds the heels of her palms into her hands. "Why can't I figure this out?"

"Hey—" Kotallo's voice has been silent in her ear for all this time, yet now it draws through the focus, rumbling and low. "You do not need to rush this, Aloy. Haste will not help in this moment."

Aloys cuts him off with a sharp breath, dropping her hands into her lap. "Weren't you the one who called me because you were desperate to get your marshals back?" Her glare shifts to settle upon him, and Kotallo looks back with exhaustion in his eyes. Aloy's voice feels impossibly small as she speaks. "Why aren't you more concerned about this?"

"I trust you."

Three little words. They sink right to her stomach, and Aloy can hardly breathe from the weight of them.

"And I trust that you are doing all within your power to help, Aloy."

His hand reaches out, and Aloy nearly shies away from it, some panicked thought deep within her dreading the sensation of his touch.

But he isn't here.

He's hundred of miles away, and the years between them are tearing into her, and all she can hear is the soft of his voice, the sobs that had caught within her chest in that moment.

I think it's for the best, Aloy. For both of us.

It wasn't. Not for her. Her best was having him at her side, holding her close, waking in a tangle of warmth and blankets and breath against skin.

Her best is getting to see Talla in her father's arms, a sight she had only before dared to dream of.

Something solidifies in her chest, something insistent and desperate and clawing at her throat, and Aloy knows.

She's not letting him go.

Not this time.

Not again.

"I'll fix this." The words are nothing more than a breath from her lungs, and Aloy dips her head, eyes closed against the sight of Kotallo's ethereal fingers brushing at her cheek.

"I know you will."

Kotallo's voice warms within her chest, relentless and sure, and Aloy breathes in the sound of it, the reality of his presence.

Another breath. Aloy turns away. Now isn't the time for her to be caught within her own mind.

Kotallo is counting on her. Counting on her to get this right.

The fate of life, held once again within her hands.

The weight of the world in his gaze.

She gets back to work.

-

It's been too much time.

No matter how Kotallo looks at it, he cannot find a way to make the hours align, for a favorable outcome to be found.

Too many hours have passed since word came to the Grove of the marshals who had gone missing. At the very best, they would have had to set out from bleeding mark three days ago to have arrived at Salt Bite by the morning. Three days of travel, during which they could have disappeared at any time.

Three days and endless miles between them.

Endless miles that his Marshals—who he is meant to lead and protect—could now be lost to.

The guilt of it all tears into Kotallo's stomach, and for once, he can almost understand.

He can almost see why Aloy had turned from him in the aftermath of Nemesis.

Had seen herself as a failure because she wasn't able to protect him? To save him? Could she have had him dismissed from her service from the sheer guilt of it all?

If every time she looked upon him and saw—

Kotallo shakes his head, knocking the thought away. Regardless of why she had left him after Nemesis, she had left all the same. And months later, when she should have drawn closer to her family, should have leaned upon them for support, she had instead run from them all.

Ivirra had said once that Aloy never ran, yet Kotallo can find no other word to describe what had happened.

And it is not simply the matter of her absence. It was the secrecy behind it, the way she had so carefully concealed from them.

As if frightened that they might know.

What had they ever done to make her think that they would react in so terribly to such news?

That he would?

"How is Talla?"

The words trip from his throat before he can even think so stop them, and once they fall between them, Kotallo knows that he has misstepped. That whatever tenuous peace had strung between themselves these past hours has suddenly been snapped by these errant words.

That he has now crossed a point of no return.

Aloy stares at him, her eyes wide and mouth open, as if her own response is caught just on the tip of her tongue, yet nothing is said. She simply stares at him, and Kotallo matches her gaze, fighting desperately within himself to not look away.

The words cannot be taken back.

He will not apologize for them now.

"I know it's been—" Aloy's expression shifts, and Kotallo swallows hard, forcing the words back up through his throat. "I know it has been many years. But... there is little news that I have heard of her. Or you."

Aloy blinks at him. Once. Twice. Then her face twists into something he cannot name, and she whips her head around to focus solely on the code before her.

The silence has nearly cut into his lungs by the time she speaks, her voice soft. "She's four years old now."

Something in his chest shifts—

"And she's quiet." Aloy's words drift slowly between when, and Kotallo dips his head. "Not that quiet is a bad thing. It's simply part of who she is." Her voice shifts—turning almost defensive. "And I love every part of her."

"As you should," Kotallo murmurs, looking away. The light of the moon wavers upon the glowing surface of the tallneck, and he draws a breath into aching lungs. "She is your daughter, Aloy. No one would hold your love against you."

The cut of her words is barely found, barely muttered against the wind, yet Kotallo hears them all the same.

And they cut him to the quick.

"Wouldn't they?"

Who? Who would dare such a thing? Who would hold anything from Aloy, the one person Kotallo knows has given everything for the sake of others. The one person who has given as near to life itself without death. The one person, above all others, who deserves anything that she might ask after all such sacrifice that she has given?

But Aloy's voice continues, completely unaware of the way her prior words echo within his mind.

"She likes to sing, too. Likes music in general. The only time she isn't quiet, I suppose."

There's a lightness slipping into the tone now, one that aches within his chest.

"I'm fixing up a scrapper for her now. A little easier for her to climb on top of than a Strider, and it'll give her a little freedom whenever we go out together."

Her motions are faster now, smoother, and when she turns, Kotallo is caught fully by the smile that pulls against her lips. It is a smile unhindered by years of anxiety and grief, free of the weight that Kotallo had often seen in her features before.

"We're going to the next gathering." Kotallo watches, enthralled by the softness to Aloy's expression as her hands continue the work. "Talla's excited. She's never been outside of the Sacred Lands before, and now I'll be taking her to Meridian."

Something pulls in his chest against, something relentless, something he does not want to name. But there is also something also that coils itself through his thoughts: confusion. “Wait…” Kotallo shifts forward, drawing the edges of his thoughts together. “But I thought Beta said—”

“Are you going?” Aloy’s voice cuts over his words, and there is still that same brightness within her tone. “To Meridian?”

A beat. Kotallo stares at her, the words lodged within his throat, and he finds that he could not answer her even if he desired to. Had he held intent to go before? Does he still hold such an intent even now?

“You should go.” Aloy’s gaze lifts, meeting his own, and that pain within him throbs again. “I want you to go, Kotallo.”

“Of course.” The words fall easily from his lips, and there is a thread of surprise within him that he would agree so readily to her.

But then, Kotallo shouldn’t be surprised at all.

He had only truly denied her twice before, and those choices had led them to where they stand now, hundreds of miles apart.

He does not want to tear them apart in such a way again.

“I will be there.” Another beat, and Kotallo presses his fist to his chest, gazing intently towards Aloy. “I swear it on my life.”

-

On my life.

On my life.

Kotallo always swears of things on his life. As if his life is of so little importance, he would lay it down in any circumstances. As if the things he vows to do carry more value than his very existence.

As if his death is of more meaning than his life.

Aloy turns away, the choke of tears within her throat, and affixes her attention on the coding once more. Only a few more lines, perhaps, and the entire system will be reset. A few more lines, and Kotallo will be leaving her, back to his own duties.

His duties that Beta said he would be too busy with to attend the gathering in Meridian. The duties that, as he had claimed, were the reason he had walked away from her. The duties that had once been vowed to her alone.

He had sworn the rest of his life that day, in the aftermath of the Kulrut.

Aloy had never before considered that what he had truly been swearing to her was his death.

She had never truly considered in losing him in such away. Not until the harsh reality of Nemesis was all around them, the aftermath was burning through the air, and Aloy had desperately pressed what remained of Kotallo’s life into him with her own hands.

A final line. Something on her focus pings. Aloy shifts her weight, sinking back in exhaustion.

“It’s done,” she manages to croak, even as words themselves feel as if a struggle that cannot be won against. She turns her head, searching for Kotallo once more, and finds the exhaustion that had been shadowing his gaze this entire time is suddenly giving over to hope, the light of it sparking within her chest.

“It’s done.” The words are barely a breath in her lungs, but there is excitement humming in her bones now, and she cannot deny it now. “Kotallo, all you have to do is resync your focus to the system and you should be able to access everything. I’ll start disconnecting the Tallnecks from my end.”

Kotallo snaps into motion at her words, and there is a sense of purpose behind every action now, the urgency that had hung through him before now back in full force, a crease deeply drawn upon his brow.

A breath.

“I have them!”

Kotallo flicks something on his focus display, and now the map of the west hangs between them both, marks and pins blinking into existence. And there, hanging to the northwest of Salt Bite, are two pins rimmed in red.

“Wait a minute,” Aloy mutters, leaning in closer. “Isn’t that near Cauldron Iota?”

Kotallo’s hand reaches out, brushing against the two marks, and scowls at the information that spills before him. “Enatta is injured.” There’s a growl to his voice now, and he is already rising to stand. “Pillah is too, but Enatta seems to be in worse shape.”

His hand lifts to his focus, the words spilling out of him almost without thought. “I’ll contact the Marshals Ivirra sent towards the Salt Bite. They’ll ready the healers there.”

A pause. Kotallo turns back, and there is something shifting within his gaze as he looks back at her, something that pulls within Aloy’s chest at the sight of it. “Thank you, Aloy. For helping me. You didn’t have to.”

“Of course I did.” Aloy is standing now too, and the winds that she had forgotten through much of the night now catch against her skin. “You asked, Kotallo. How could I have told you no?”  

His gaze drops. “You will not be bothered by such a matter again. I swear it.”

“It’s not a bother, Kotallo.” Her hand shifts at her side, and if he was only here—

She would take his hand in her own. She would hold him as they had held each other once, long ago. She wouldn’t let him go this time.

“Tell me how it all turns out?” The faintest of a smile is all that she can manage in this moment, a searching within her eyes. “Let me know once you get them back to the Grove safely, ok? And that… that we can take another look at the focus system, if we have to. Just to make sure that it’s still working properly.”

He still will not meet her gaze. “I will make sure word is delivered to you. Somehow.”

Kotallo turns, and the ache within her chest sharpens.

“Kotallo.” Aloy steps forward, heart in her throat, and something is tearing within her lungs. “Why does this feel like more than just a goodbye?”

“Aloy.” There’s something in the way he says her name now. Something that almost feels as if a warning. She shoves the thought aside. “I told you before—”

“No,” She snaps, her words sparking, and the heights around her are suddenly dizzying. “No, you don’t get to do this to me again Kotallo. You don’t get to break back into my life only to drop from it again.”

“I’m sorry.”

And he still refuses to meet her gaze.

“Stop apologizing to me, Kotallo! Just—shut up!” Aloy reaches up, tangling her fingers into her hair, forcing herself to breathe. “You told me it was for the best,” she snaps, the words cutting across her teeth. “Then whose best was it for, Kotallo? Because it certainly wasn’t mine.”

Another step forward, and Aloy is back to hating the distance between them, but for very different reasons this time. She wants to grab him by his stupid spiky armor, wants to jerk him close, wants her fingers to curl around his chin and lift it from this hateful way that he looks upon the ground.

Anything to make him look at her now, rather than feeling as if she is simply a ghost before him. “I have tried. For so many years, I have tried to be at peace with this. I have tried to be at peace with us. But tonight has only shown me that I don’t think I can do it anymore.” There are tears burning in her eyes, tears that she refuses to let fall. “So go ahead and tell me, Kotallo. Whose best is this for now?”

“Aloy, stop—” his voice is pleading, and it’s the most emotion she’s heard from him this whole time.

“Look me in the eyes—” her voice catches, and the cut of tears is hot against her skin. “And tell me again that this is for the best.” Aloy squares herself off against him, anger and grief and wanting all burning within her. “You do that, and you’ll never have to hear from me again. You wont even have to think of me.”

“I always think of you.”

Kotallo looks up, and the light of the hologram catches the tears within his own eyes. “I think of you every day, Aloy.”

“Then stay.” If only she could take his hand now. Could tether themselves together once more. Could remain on this Tallneck forever.

Kotallo shakes his head, and there is a desperation in his eyes. “Aloy, I cant.”

He lifts his hand.

The connection cuts.

And Aloy drops to her knees on the tallneck, a sob shuddering through her lungs.

When had it all gone wrong?

Chapter Text

- The Day Before Nemesis – 

Aloy leans back against Kotallo’s chest, their hands intertwined and settled against her stomach, his thumb tracing slow circles across her skin. The tallneck beneath them sways with every step, the motions of it lulling Aloy in as close to peace as she has felt in many aching months, the light of the setting sun bleeding through her thoughts.

Kotallo’s head is ducked, his breath a constant comfort against her skin, his lips pressing soft whispers upon the curve of her neck, his hand pulling tighter against her. “Breathe, Aloy.” The command is gentle, barely able to be called a command at all, yet Aloy shivers from the weight of it all the same.

“I cant.” The words are sticking in her chest, air solidifying in her lungs, the slip of blood against her teeth. Or perhaps it’s just the memory of blood, the forethought of ruin and dismay, the reflection of a thousand battles crushing against her now.

His hand looses from hers, rising now to press against her chest, his lips traveling to the curve of her jaw. “Breathe.” The word is hot against her skin, and Aloy shudders, her head tipping backwards.

“How much time?” She doesn’t need to ask. She already knows the answer, even without looking at her own focus. Every time she closes her eyes she sees it, the ticking of a clock that will soon draw to a close. There are only two ways that it can end.

“Seventeen hours.” Kotallo drops his head, the weight of it so familiar against her now. “There is nothing more that we can do.”

He’s right. She knows he’s right. That is the worst of it all, that there truly is nothing more that can be done. There is nothing she can conjure into existence that might now promise them victory. There is nothing that can be done to assure the safety of her friends, of her allies.

There is nothing more that she can do to know that they might still be alive at the next setting of the sun.

“We will win.” Kotallo’s words reverberate within her, the rumble in his chest settling straight into her bones. “You will succeed, Aloy. I swear it on my life.”

Aloy shakes her head, the sting of tears overtaking the vision of sun before her, and she turns. Breath is shuddering within her lungs as she crushes her lips against his, her hands splaying along the line of his jaw, and when Kotallo groans, she drinks in the sound of it, suffocating the sob that tightens within her throat.

“Kiss me,” she chokes, her head dipping, and Kotallo’s arm draws tight around her waist. Her hands move, shifting back to tangle into his hair, and Kotallo spills another groan against her skin. “Hold me.”

“I love you.” The words are insistent, reverent, a promise in every syllable, his lips hot against hers now. “I have loved you with the light of every sunrise, and I will love you until this world ceases to exist.” Kotallo’s words draw the sob caught within her chest closer to the surface even as his actions burn within her veins.

“Don’t let me go.” Aloy’s hands scrabble to cling against his back, searching, achingly desperate for assurances that neither can truly promise. “You can’t leave me, Kotallo.”

“Tomorrow will not be your end.” She is dying, dying within his words. Kotallo’s hand splays against her back, cradling her until she is laid upon the surface of the tallneck, and even then his calloused touch remains upon her, relentlessly gentle. “I swear it upon my life, upon the breath in my lungs, you will live, Aloy.”

“Make me live.” The words are a gasp drawn from her paint-chapped lips, the sob within her chest releasing as Kotallo presses fervent lips against her own. His hand draws tight upon her waist, a keening sound deep within her is swallowed by the shallow gasps of his breath. “Make me feel, Kotallo.”

It is a desperate plea, one that Kotallo offers no defense against, his affections upon her deepening, his touch stuttering in her heart. Aloy lets her head sink back as each surge of emotion washes over her, the tangle of love and grief, desire and defeat, inevitability and relentless hope, inseparable within her.

She doesn’t say the words caught deep within her now, the fear they both know she holds in her lungs. Their motions are achingly slow, each touch flooded through with a sense of mourning, each breath a declaration of love.

Somehow, deep within her chest, Aloy knows.

They will never hold each other like this again.

The sun slips beyond the horizon, drawing all light from the sky.

Under the soft of the stars, Aloy lets go.

-

Kotallo leans in close against the back of his sunwing, urging it ever faster. He had already contacted Marshals Reikko and Kettah, and they were meant to be readying the healers in Salt Bite, but the cut of time still weighs upon him as he flies.

If he could just get there in time. If he could just reach them, help them, save them.

Make up for his failures, somehow.

It’s all that is left for him.

 -

Nemesis comes with the snow.

Aloy shudders against the chill of it in the wind, quietly thankful for the fact that she had managed to pull her shieldweaver back into working condition, the leathers of it warm against her skin. It may not last beyond this fight, but if all goes as they had planned, she may never need to wear it another day.

The snow crunches beneath her feet, the only sound amidst the dull of silence, and Aloy raises one hand to her focus, the line crackling in her ears. “Everyone keep an eye out. I don’t like the look of this.”

The Zenith’s island is too hot for snow. At least, it was supposed to have been. But now, standing here and ducking her head against the chill of it, it is a reality that Aloy cannot avoid.

The weight of the air settles upon her, stifling and unnatural, scraping through her lungs, pressure ringing in her ears.

“Eastern flank is ready.” Kotallo’s voice filters in through her focus, cutting through the harsh of her heavy breathing. “Moving to your location, Commander.”

Aloy’s hands grip tighter about her spear, ears straining beyond the silence. “Good, Kotallo. I could really use someone on my six out here. Visibility is only getting worse.”

Wind catches against her throat, wild and insistent, whipping the snow into a stinging frenzy, cutting at her eyes.

And in the distance, something howls.

- 

Aloy pushes herself up from the Tallneck, swiping her hair away from her face.

 She’s fine. She has to be fine. She has to go home and fall back into her life, her true place.

This night had been an escape, an escape from the reality of it all. A dream to be held under the cover of moonlight and the stars above, blanketing over her thoughts and concerns. But when was the last time she had truly dreamed, when the edges of it had not darkened in the end? When was the last time she had awoken with anything but tension and desperation in her breaths?

When was the last time his name had carried anything but the taste of tears upon her cheeks?

If tonight truly had been a dream, then this moment was the nightmare before waking.

A whistle to split the sky, and Icarus’ wings pound through the air, soaring down from his perch upon one of the buildings ringing the Tallneck’s track, the glow of his blue eyes cutting through the darkness. Her pullcaster jerks her through the night, an ache in her shoulder, and Aloy lands upon the machine’s back, her hands gripping tight around the cables.

“Let’s go home,” she mutters, ducking her head. “Go home, Icarus. Go home.”

Back home to her place in the Nora. Back home to Talla.

Back home to a life she never should have hoped could be different, if only he had stayed.

Aloy curls down closer to her sunwing’s neck, her hands shaking, her eyes closed.

She blames the sting of tears upon the wind.

-

Aloy ducks a mere heartbeat  before Kotallo’s sword clips through the air where her head had just been, cutting through the beast who had flung itself into attacking her. Her arms pound as she draws her bow back, flinging several arrows into the open maw of the next creature.

Beta had called them wolves.

These don’t seem like any wolves Aloy has ever seen images of.

Dark, ragged fur that almost seems to dissolve into smoke and ash, uncovered bones that glow amidst the darkness and gore of blood and muscle, the drip of it from their skin, from their eyes, from their mouths.

Blood against snow.

“We have to be getting closer to the central core!” Aloy shouts, drawing out a shredder disc and hurling it straight at another wolf, the creature falling to the ground as the saw bites through artificial flesh. “Gaia said there’s more on the way!”

Kotallo sends a surge of electricity sparking down the hallway they had just escaped, and pained whines and the hiss of electricity spills out of it, the char of burning flesh digging into Aloy’s senses. “The next door we find is getting closed. We cant let them get in behind us.”

“But the others—” Her lungs are burning, the air too thick within them. Kotallo’s hand finds hers as she dissolves into a fit of aching coughs.

“The others can—and will—defend themselves,” Kotallo murmurs, his voice low. “We’ve made it far enough Aloy, that now all they need do is keep themselves alive. But you—” his hand shifts to her back, pushing her into motion. “Have to keep going. No matter what. You cannot stop for anything, or anyone. Keep going Aloy.”

The hiss and yip of the wolves fall upon them again, drowning out the silence.

With Kotallo at her back, Aloy runs. 

-

“Pillah!” Kotallo’s voice burns within his throat, and he jumps off his sunwing before it ever hits the ground, the landing jolting up his legs. His hand lurches to his focus, scanning through the cut of darkness for the two marshals.

He had already attempted to call both of them before, but neither had answered, leaving Kotallo with that same, bitter panic.  

His focus alights upon them, settling their silhouettes aglow in a vibrant purple, and Kotallo pushes across the uneven ground, heart slamming in his chest. Their vitals flicker in the corner of his focus display, and the numbers slotted under Enatta’s name are worse than they had been when he had first pulled them up at Aloy’s side.

Aloy—

Kotallo shakes his head roughly, shoving away all thoughts of her as he skids down slope of craggy grass and stone, the mouth of a shallow cave yawning open before him. There will be time enough to reflect on such things later. Now, there is work to be done.

He can see them now, the shape of Enatta disappearing into the shadows and Pillah sitting within the mouth of it, body  slumped against the curving stone. Kotallo advances those last few strides, his hand already outstretched and falling upon Pillah as soon as she is in reach. “Marshal!” He snaps, the word making her whole body jerk in response.

A knife glints in the moonlight, one that Kotallo easily bats away, the clatter of it falling upon stone echoing in his ears even as Marshal Pillah stammers out a few shaking words. “Stay—stay back. You cant—”

“Pillah.” His hand wraps around her wrist, holding her still. “Take a breath. You are not in danger here. It’s Kotallo.”

Her gaze falls upon him, yet it still seems distant, unfocused. “H-high Marshal? But what are you…” a cough tears its way out of her, forcing her to lean forward.

“I couldn’t leave my marshals without aid.” He drops her hand, his fingers moving quickly at his side to unlatch his water. Kotallo pushes the flask up against Pillah, nodding at her. “Drink your fill. These lands will dry you out if you are not careful."

Pillah lets out a soft groan, leaning back to the stone wall once more, body shuddering in relief as she tips the flask to her lips. Nodding at her, Kotallo moves past the younger marshal to inspect Enatta, concern creasing at his brow as he scans over her. "What happened to the two of you, Marshal?"

When he looks back, Pillah is still lost to the flask, her throat bobbing desperately as she guzzles down the drink. Kotallo reaches back, nudging the water down. "Slowly now, Marshal. You'll make yourself sick and lose it all."

 "Hng." She drags the back of her hand across her mouth, her breaths audible and uneven. "There were… men. Yesterday, closer to night. Couldn't recognize them. They all wore masks, and their armor didn't seem Tenakth."

Another drink, calmer now. "They did… something. Made our focuses hiss and squeal. I couldn't hear anything after that, like getting hit by a longleg."

Kotallo's hand brushes against the cloth wrapped around Enatta’s stomach, the dark of blood seeping through the fabric. "An ambush," he says quietly, confirming her words. "You're still alive though. That's good."

Pillah lets out a scraping laugh, a catch in the sound. "Not for their lack of trying. We had them on the run though, I think. But there were a lot of them, and one of them caught Enatta in the side, another got my leg."

"Drink some more water, Marshal," Kotallo commands softly, scanning over Enatta with his focus once more, highlighting the damage sustained.

"Got us here," Pillah says weakly, voice shaking. "But I couldn't—couldn't get us far. Tried. My leg just couldnt—"

"It's ok." Kotallo's hand snakes around to grasp at her neck, drawing her forward to press his forehead against hers. "You fought hard, and you have survived. I am only—" his own voice catches, and he closes his eyes. "I am only sorry it took so long for me to get to you. Its going to be fine now, Pillah. I swear it."

He releases her from his grasp, turning his attention back to the third in their set. "But I'm going to need your help, even if only for a short while."

A glance back to the young Marshal, and her confusion stares back at him, wide eyed and dark.

Kotallo offers her a smile. "Are you ready to fly on the wings of the Ten, Pillah?"

-

Aloy's feet pound against metal, the ring of it echoing through hallway and mind alike. The red cords along the walls pulse in anger, and Aloy grins, determination in her matching every beat.

Theyre almost there. She's almost done it.

The sound beneath her feet changes as she crosses through the threshold, the material different in this room, though the fullest parts of her thoughts don't register the door until it is moving behind her.

She whips around just in time to catch sight of Kotallo saluting her—his fist pressed up against his chest—before the door closes fully. Alarm lurches in her chest, and Aloy moves back to the door, pounding her fist upon it. "Kotallo!" She shouts, each hit echoing with her heart. "Kotallo, open up this door!"

"I'm buying you time, Commander." His voice floods in from the focus at her temple, assured and smooth.

"What?" She cannot breathe. He couldn't possibly mean to… "No! Kotallo, I need you here! I need you to—"

"You will win this battle." Kotallo's voice is insistent and impossibly calm. "I have sworn it to you, Aloy. On my life, you will win this."

There are tears burning in her eyes, tearing at her chest. "Damn you, Kotallo! Open up this door!"

"I love you."

The words altogether halt and still her, her thoughts wavering.

"Now go save the world, Aloy. I'll be right here, waiting for you to get back."

Aloy swipes the tears from her eyes, determination burning in her chest. "I love you, Kotallo. So stay alive. And that's an order."

A faint chuckle, and even now she can hear the twist of howls from his own side of the focus. "By your word, Commander."

The silence that follows her next is deafening.

-

Aloy slips in through the shutter of Teb's window, the cabin quiet and dark as she pads through it.

A voice stops her in her tracks.

"You were out late."

Aloy turns to find Teb standing before her, and despite the gentleness in his words, there's something almost defensive in the way he is standing now.

She releases a sigh, shrugging as she looks away. "It's not like I expected it to take so much time," she mutters, rubbing her hands along her arms. "But he needed help, and I couldnt just tell him no."

"Couldnt you?" Teb tilts his head, opening one arm out. "How many years have you lived here, Aloy? How long has it taken for you to become used to choosing yourself before others? If he—" his voice cuts off, and his brow creases in concern. "Dont let yourself fall back onto that old path."

"Im fine, Teb." She cannot keep the small bite back from her words, or keep her from hating herself for it. Still, exhaustion is sinking into her thoughts, and the little sleep she had gotten the night before combining with the events of this past day and night is pressing against her now, numbing out all other sensations. "This was a one time thing." Something is stiff her throat, straining her breaths. "I promise."

Teb makes an uncertain sound, but doesnt push the matter any further. Aloy moves through the cabin, almost as if a ghost haunting through a life not her own, and finds Talla sprawled out across Teb's bed, her hair wild and half covering her face. Aloy lets out a weary sigh, pushing it off of her daughter's cheek.

"She refused to sleep for the longest time," Teb murmurs, at her side once more. "She said she had to wait for you, since you promised to come back soon."

Aloy reaches down, curling Talla up into her arms instead, and the young girl only snuffles in soft, sleeping complaint as she tucks her head against her mother's shoulder, her rest otherwise undisturbed. "I'm here now," Aloy murmurs, her voice low. "She'll never have to worry about me leaving her."

"Aloy…"

"It's fine." Aloy raises her head, turning a smile towards Teb that she knows does not hold quite right, so at odds with the tears burning in the corners of her gaze. "Thank you for watching her, Teb. And I'll make sure Kealen gets to you sometime tomorrow. Top priority."

Teb reaches out, pushing her hair back. "Try sleeping first, Aloy. Make that your top priority."

A shrug. A glance away. A weight that cannot be explained, a haunting he will never know. "We'll see."

She cannot blame him. There is no one to blame but herself.

-

Aloy staggers away from the control core, her whole body aching, blood dripping from somewhere on her arm.

"Kotallo." The name scrapes out of her, barely audible against the pounding of her heart, and Aloy's hand travels up to her focus, the world spinning before her. "Kotallo? I did it. It's over. You can—you can open the door back up now."

Her palm falls flat against the the door, and Aloy allows her head to sink down as well, pressing her forehead against it to seek comfort from the chill of the metal.

The silence stretches beyond her, and Aloy raises her head, alarm drawing itself out of her chest. "Kotallo?"

Another beat, another breath, and Kotallo's voice is barely there, strung through with a shaking breath. "S-sorry, Aloy. I can't—" a cough, a wet sound that stops her heart within her chest. "Can't reach the door."

"That's ok." Her voice trembles, and Aloy forces herself away from the door, her focus scanning over it to find how he had closed it in the first place. "I'll get the door open. I'll get to you Kotallo, ok? Just hold on for me, alright?"

"Hnn…" his voice trails off, waning with every breath, and Aloy's movements grow more frantic as she works.

By the time she finally finds a way to force her way through the door with her spear, Kotallo has gone silent in her ear, and Aloy can hardly think through the panic clawing at her chest.

The door creaks against her as it opens, and Aloy chokes on her next breath, the stench of death and blood drowning out her senses, and she gags from the weight of it. "Kotallo?" The wolves are everywhere, masses of fur and piled bodies, flesh and bone seeping, weeping blood.

Kotallo is just the same.

She finds him there, slumped across the body of one, his paint dripping in blood, and Aloy cannot tell which of it is his own, as soaked in red as he is.

His head lifts, just barely, and there is a distance in his gaze, as if he does not fully see her. "Aloy?" Her name is barely a breath upon his lips.

"No." She drops to her knees beside him, desperation clawing at her throat as one hand runs over him, the other still holding to her focus. "No, Kotallo you said you would be here waiting for me. What did you—"

"Im here." his hand reaches up, finding her arm. "Told you I..."

A sob is stuck in her throat, and she cannot breathe past it, cannot breathe past the fear. "You said you would stay alive," she hisses, tearing her scarf away from her throat to ball it up against one of the worst of the wounds, his blood hot beneath her hands. "Come on, Kotallo. Just hold on. It's gonna be—"

Her focus rings, and she picks up, pushing her hand down desperately, practically buryng the cloth into the point where his flesh was once held. "Zo!" Her hands are shaking. She can't breathe. "Zo, I need you to get here I need you to-—"

Kotallo lets out a groan, his head sinking backwards, and Aloy cannot help the cry that pulls from her chest. "No! Hey! Kotallo, stay with me!" Her hand cups against his cheek, pressing a desperate kiss to his lips, as if such a touch might be enough to tether him to life. "Come on, come on, come on. Stay with me!"

The words fall from her, unanswered.

-

The sunwing had been forced to fly low to the ground in order to carry all three of them, but they had made it.

Kotallo hovers at the edge of the healer's hut now, hand pressed against his aching lungs as he looks in on Pillah with a surge of fondness in his chest.

She looks exhausted, yes, and nearly all her paint has been stripped away from the events of the past few days, but there is a light to her gaze as she speaks to the different healers. Even as one of them begins the work to stitch together the flesh upon her leg, there is nothing more than a faint strain to her voice as she continues regaling an assistant with a story of her first patrol out as a true marshal.

Enatta is a different story.

What work that can be done for her is finished, the healers having walked away with bowed heads.

Her life now rests in the hands of the Ten.

Only time and the morning will tell of her fate.

-

Her world is soaked through with red.

Aloy stares blankly down at her hands, barely registering the movements around her.

Somewhere beyond her, they have pulled Kotallo onto a stretcher. Somewhere beyond her, Beta's voice has taken charge, her commands sharp and sure. Somewhere beyond her, Zo has taken over the work of keeping Kotallo alive.

There is not enough of him left. Too much of his life is poured out across her own body, her own hands. She is drowning in it, his blood pressed to her lips.

Someone says her name.

Does she even hear it? Does anything even exist, beyond that moment when they had all burst in, frantic heaving chests? When Aloy had looked up with tears in her eyes and Kotallo still warm beneath her hands, but to her focus he was nothing more than the cold grey of a corpse?

"I swear it on my life," he had said.

His life is on her hands now.

His death is on her hands.

Kotallo is—

-

Aloy lifts her head to the sound of birdsong, the taste of blood upon her tongue. She blinks slowly, repeatedly, waiting for her mind to accept where she truly is.

As far away from that place as possible.

From that moment.

The chirping repeats, and it takes another long breath to realize the sound of it is coming from her focus, rather than the wake of birds out beyond her cabin. In fact,—as Aloy draws herself out from the familiar comfort of her blankets and crosses to the closest window—she realizes that the sun has long since passed into morning.

Her hand raises, and she draws in a breath—

"Aloy?"

An exhale tinged through with relief. "Kotallo. Hey." She presses one hand to her mouth, as if to cover the smile pulling itself across her lips—though from who, she does not know. "It's good to hear from you."

"They're going to be ok, Aloy."

She nods mutely, blinking back the sudden spring of tears as she looks behind her towards Talla, still laid upon the bed. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Thank you." Kotallo's voice is soft and low, and her body shivers in response to it. "They would not have lived without your help."

"Anytime," she manages to say, dropping her hand to her chest instead. "For anything."

Kotallo lets out a soft sound, one that has her eyes fluttering closed, and Aloy drags in another shuddering breath.

"I mean it," she whispers, her voice falling into the silence. "You can call me, Kotallo. You don't even have to have a reason."

She stands there, waiting in the silence. Waiting for him to respond. And then—

"The sun is still rising here." Another pause, another heartbeat, another uncertain sound from Kotallo's lips. "Would you like to watch it with me?"

Aloy looses the breath from her lungs, smiling unabashedly. "Of course."

So she sits on the porch of her cabin, watching the drag of the sun across the morning sky. And hundreds of miles away, Kotallo sits at her side, their breaths in tandem, and his own head is turned to the rise of light upon the eastern horizon.

The end of an endless night.

Chapter Text

Kotallo drops down from the ridge, dust pluming up from the cracked earth beneath his feet.

There's a dryness to the lands here, drawing ever closer the the sun-seared sands of the desert, and Kotallo follows the tracks across the parched and aching lands. He had left Salt Bite shortly after the last colors of sunrise had melded into blue, and after getting Pillah and Enatta set to travel back to the Grove, he had turned his own attentions eastward once more, settled on the place that they had been attacked.

The ruins of blood and scraped earth that he found there matched to the story that Pillah had given, and the lingering indentations of bodies upon the ridge further carried her words. An ambush.

Whoever had attacked these two Marshals had not done it by random. The tracks had spilled further out to the ruins of what had once been a campsite, now reduced to nothing more than ash and the cut of machine parts resting upon earth. Lines of steps overlayed upon each other, ones that stretched far beyond the days it had taken for the marshals to be found and carried to safety.

This attack was planned. It was calculated. And if the words of Pilla's description were to be held in truth, it was by the hands of those meant to be strangers to these lands.

A shadow pulls across the land before him, and Kotallo raises his head, lifting his attention to the sky. His sunwing circles through the air above him, a low croon spilling from its mechanical parts. "No flying," Kotallo calls upwards, shaking his head. "Later, Ra."

The sunwing lets out a grinding chatter, clicks and whirrs of gears and metal, and Kotallo shakes his head. "You'll wear out your battery that way," he sighs, tapping his focus to bring back up the lay of tracks before him.

Five sepererate prints, from what he can tell. Two of them are heavier than the others, and there is a dig to the heels of one, suggesting they might have been carrying the most weight.

But weight of what? There was no evidence of a tent of any kind at their camp, and no other clues as to what might be burdening them now.

Or what might have burdened them before.

Kotallo lifts his head, his gaze narrowed as he traces out the path before him, purple haze marking steps taken long before. If they continue as the focus has set them out, the attackers were making their way south of Bleeding Mark, no doubt avoiding the settlement.

Yet another marker to say that they were not of the Tenakth.

Still. Perhaps the sunwing still calling above his head was right.

He could allow himself a moment of weightlessness.

To fly.

-

"And… done!"

Aloy draws back from the last coupling on Kealen's leg, a satisfied smile on her face as she tuns towards Talla at her side. "Good job, Talla!"

She reaches out to ruffle he daughter's hair, and Talla leans fully into the touch, beaming as she looks up at her mother. "Did I help? Was I good?"

Aloy reaches out, pulling her daughter close and scooping her onto her lap. "The greatest," she assures her, pressing a kiss to the edge of her nose. Talla crosses her eyes and puffs out her cheeks, drawing a softer smile upon Aloy's lips as the girl nestles against her. They both look up towards Teb's Grazer, which has fallen into scraping the ground repeatedly with it's newly repaired leg, a low tone warbling out of it.

"She's singing," Talla says quietly, her hand reaching out to brush against the machine's nose as it lowers its head.

Aloy chuckles lightly, her hands loosening about Talla as her daughter stands up, rubbing across the metal plating, blue light flickering pleasently across her face. "You sound like a Banuk," Aloy says, stroking at the back of Talla's hair. "You and your songs."

"Auntie Zo sings too." Talla pats Kealen's nose again, then turns back towards her mother. "Can we call her?"

Aloy opens her mouth to answer, but a yawn cracks across her features instead, a strained sound drawing out of her. Talla mimics the motion, clicking her teeth as she closes her mouth. "Maybe in a bit, Talla," Aloy murmurs, unfolding herself from where she had spent the last few hours sitting upon the ground. Talla hops to the side, catching her balance on her mother's shoulder before stepping to the side, wandering off towards Blue as Aloy rises to stand. "I think we should both settle for a nap, Talla. And afterwards, we can deliver Kealen to Teb and then call Zo and Vala, ok?"

Talla stops before the damaged scrapper, stepping closer to it and draping her upper body across its head. "I dont wanna nap," she huffs, her brown eyes turning pleadingly towards her mother.

Aloy stops, staring at her, that cord within her chest tugging once more. One step forward, and the pressure within her lungs loosens, fading as she scoops up her daughter into her arms. "And normally," Aloy says, tapping at Talla's nose. "I would agree. But we both know you stayed up too late last night, Little Scrapper."

"I was waiting for you," Talla murmurs, resting her head on her mother's shoulder. Still, she gives no further complaint as Aloy walks them both back inside, pulling the shutters closed to dim the cabin.

Aloy sets Talla down on her own bed, but the girl shoves away all attempts to settle a blanket upon her. "I wanna sleep with you," she huffs, her brow drawing tight.

Another pang in her chest. A flicker of a memory, Kotallo leaning upon her and his words thick with drink. The heat of his breath upon her skin. The warmth of his body settled upon hers when they both woke in the morning, crashed in a tangle of limbs upon the couches in the base.

That night…

That morning…

Aloy gives Talla a permissive smile, stepping away with a sigh. "Bring your blanket with you. You're not stealing all of mine again this time."

Talla chirps out a pleased sound, quickly sliding off of her bed and dragging her blanket behind her as she crosses to Aloy's own bed, her feet kicking at one of the slats as she lifts herself to the higher surface. Aloy follows in her wake, pulling off the few working layers she had worn outside, sinking down at Talla's side.

"Can we call Auntie Zo?" Talla asks again, tapping at her mother's shoulder.

"Later," Aloy murmurs, tapping at the bed beside her as she lays down, pulling a few blankets over the two of them as Talla finally settles down as well. "I promise. But first, you have to sleep, ok Talla?"

"Ok Mama." Talla curls her arms up close to her chest, her eyes closing, and Aloy smiles down at her daughter.

"I love you," she whispers, pressing a soft kiss upon her forehead, reaching out to stroke at Talla's cheek.

Would he love you too, if only he knew you? If only he had been here?

Aloy shakes her head, setting those thoughts aside. For however much she might hope for it, might dream for it, Kotallo wasn't here. And he hadn't been for these four long years.

He may be back in her life now, but that doesn't mean that he wants—

A hissing breath. Aloy closes her eyes.

Sleep.

She's meant to be sleeping.

She…

She drifts off, inevitably, the weight of the night before and drawing her in. And Talla, curled up at her side, opens her eyes with a held gleam within her gaze.

And Aloy? She is too far lost to the comfort of dreams to notice the small hand that pulls the focus away from her temple.

-

Kotallo is his sunwing low to the ground when the ping from his focus comes.

He leans back from its neck, his machine hand curling about the cabling as his other hand draws up to his temple. Something catches in his chest when his eyes scan over the name written in lights, and Kotallo draws his sunwing up short, stilling amidst the air.

A breath loosed from his lungs.

He accepts the call.

"Hello, Alo—"

"Hi Auntie Zo!"

Kotallo stops, the child's voice suddenly chirping at him from the other side of the line bringing all of his thoughts to a crashing halt. Dimly, he's aware of urging his sunwing down the few beats it takes to meet the ground, yet that fact is very far away from his mind in this moment.

"Ah—" his voice catches, and Kotallo slides off his sunwing, leaning his back against the metal beast's side. "You must be Talla."

A beat. A breath. A guardedness to her young voice. "You're not Auntie Zo."

Kotallo chuckles, shaking his head. "You are correct, I am not. My name is—"

"Story Man!" Talla cuts him off with a squeal, followed by a sharp intake of breath, and several longer beats of silence. Kotallo sits in fellow, quiet amusement, waiting for an explanation to the young girl's response. "Hello story man," she whispers, voice smaller this time.

"I… hello, Talla." Kotallo lets out a shaking breath, pressing his hand to his chest, some part of him instinctively preparing for an ache within, the relentless claws that tear into his lungs. Instead, all he finds is a subtle warmth settling deep within him, one that draws a smile upon his lips as he tilts his head back. "I'm the story man, am I?"

"Mmm-hmm," Talla agrees, the words followed by the faint sound of humming. "Are you here to tell me a new story? Mama does stories before sleep but she didn't do a story today. Do you have a story?"

"I have a deal." Kotallo turns, patting at Ra's side, and the sunwing looks curiously back at him. "You answer two of my questions, and I will tell you any story you wish."

"Any story?" Talla echoes, her voice brightening.

"Any story." Kotallo dips his head, stepping away from the sunwing. "So the first of my questions, little one." His voice sharpens, only the slightest, a proddingness to his words. "Does your mother know that you're messing with her focus?"

Talla goes very silent, and Kotallo can hear nothing more from her than the faint drag of her breathing in his ear. "Um," she finally says, her voice small. "She said I could call Auntie Zo?"

Kotallo huffs, a breath, a smile tugging relentlessly at his lips. "Did she really?"

Another long, quiet moment. "After we nap. She said we could call her after seeing Uncle Teb."

Another catch to his breath, a thread unraveling within his mind. "I see. " An echo, an itch, something that does not align. "So does that mean you're supposed to be asleep right now?"

Uncle Teb.

"But I'm not tired. Mama is tired. She had an adventure last night. With someone named Ko-tal-o."

Uncle Teb.

"Did she now?"

Uncle Teb.

Wait—

"Kotallo makes her cry."

His thoughts snap again, losing any semblance at all to reason or order, and Kotallo drags in a shaking, scraping breath, the dry air of the desert burning into his lungs.

"Mama cries about him a lot. I don't like it when Mama cries."

Something sparks and flares within his chest, that same pain he had been dreading before, lashes of fire and the bite of teeth, the echo of words the cut and slip and scratch and repeat.

Uncle Teb.

Kotallo makes her cry.

Stay with me—

"Are you gonna tell me a story now?" Talla's voice draws him out of his thoughts, and Kotallo coughs slightly, shaking his head. "I promise I'll go to sleep if you do."

The pain ebbs, the flow of it like waves pulling back from the shore, and that warmth flickers within him once more. "Of course," He mumurs, his voice soft. "What story would you like to hear?"

"The litle fox." There's a shift to her words now, a muffled quality. The sound of a yawn, splitting beside his ear. "It's my favorite."

And years ago, Aloy, draped across his chest, her hand drawing lazily across his skin.

"It's my favorite."

Kotallo closes his eyes, and the words draw themselves out, familiar as the stars.

Chapter Text

Aloy wakes slowly, an unfurling of her body, a popping amidst her joints as she stretches, a flower blooming before the sun, grass waving in the wind. Her arms drop back down, a satisfying burn having etched itself between her shoulders, and she looks down to Talla at her side with a smile.

The flare of red hair across the bed. The curl of her body, half hidden beneath the blankets. The shine of a focus at her temple.

The smile on Aloy's lips drops.

The light is still flickering—still active—and something in Aloy's stomach twists as her hand snatches it away from her daughter, shaking as the gleam of it is brought to her own skin.

"Who is this." A growl torn through her voice, an edge to it that feels unfamiliar, but right.

A shuffle of sound from the other side of the line, and this time her stomach does not twist. This time, her breathing catches as Kotallo's voice spills out from the silence and into her ear. "Ah, Aloy. You're awake, then."

"Kotallo." His name drops clumsily from her lips—or perhaps it falls as if it was always meant to fit there—these days she does not know. "I'm sorry, why are you...?"

"Ah." Another crackle of sound, and when Aloy breathes in she can find the whip of wind chasing alongside Kotallo's voice. "Your daughter called me earlier, on accident it seems. She was looking for her Auntie Zo?"

"Little scrap," Aloy murmurs, tracing her finger's through Talla's hair. "I told her that we could call them after her nap." A sigh through her nose, a shaking breath. "I'm sorry, Kotallo. I hope she didn't bother you too much."

"It is fine." Kotallo's voice is warm as it filters through, and there's that cord again, tying itself up into knots in her chest. "It was… nice. Meeting her, I mean."

A snapping of threads, a breaking in her lungs. They've never once met. Half a world away, and she's gone and found him anyways.

Aloy draws her legs up, resting her head upon her knees. "You didn't have to stay on the line," she murmurs, voice soft. "She was asleep. You could have hung up."

"She was keeping me company. I did not mind." The sound of a sunwing, grating gears and scraping call. The slightest of a grunt. "Besides, perhaps I wanted to say hello to you when you finally woke."

A noise pulls itself from her lungs, some sound that catches within her throat, one that Aloy desperately tries to stifle behind her hand. She can only hope that Kotallo does not hear it.

If he did, he makes no comment upon it, Aloy draws another steadying breath inward, letting her head sink forward. There's a hum that draws from him, the warmth of it draping across her shoulders. "She snores when she sleeps."

Aloy's own lips twist to match the amusement in his voice, a smile that creases in the corners of her eyes. "It's not like you have any room to talk,"she laughs, the sound of it warm and flooding through her chest. "I swear I could never figure out who snored worse: you, or Erend!"

"Clearly, it was Erend." Kotallo's voice is flooded through with smugness, a gravel to the edge of it that catches at her every breath. "Because if I was as bad as him, I don't think you would have let me spend a single night at your side."

As soon as the words fall, Aloy tenses, waiting. And from the hitch in Kotallo's breathing, she knows he is waiting as well. To see how she might react? Does she even know how she is meant to react? Heat burns along her skin, pulling flush across her cheeks and neck, prickling at every nerve, and all she can hear is Kotallo's breath, hot and heavy in her ear.

He's too close. He is half a world away. She needs him, needs him now, needs to get away, needs to breath, needs to—

"You have a cute snore." The words trip out of her before she can even think them, ever stop them, ever do anything but stare out at the shape of them as the curl within the air. "I never minded."

"I'm…" She cannot breathe. She cannot think. She can only hold that sensation, his arm around her, his breaths hot upon her, the rumble of his snore too familiar to forget. "Thank you, Aloy."

She winces—flinches—swings her legs off the bed and takes two uncertain steps. She's messed it all up, somehow. Said the wrong thing. Ruined whatever this is between them now.

What even is between them now? A love that she had torn? A friendship that he had discarded? A child that doesn't even know the sensation of her own father's hand?

How is she even meant to begin to describe whatever this is now? Not even a full day since he had reappeared, after four years of complete and utter silence, her only news of him passed from the lips of another, and here she is, flushing and thinking back to when they had last slept together.

When was the last time she had slept with any modicum of peace?

Aloy sighs, burying her head in her hands, and there is a wash of relief over her, that Kotallo might only hear her in this moment, and not see her, what he does to her. What he has always done to her.

"Aloy."

Her head snaps up, a grazer caught on alarm, heart tripping against her lungs, and she hates how desperately her body responds to him, hates the shake of her hands as she pulls the words out from her aching chest. "Yes, Kotallo?"

He is silent for a moment, and she can almost see him. Almost see the crease to his brow that he would get, that same little furrow that she used to trace in his sleep, following the line of it until his expression softened, soothed by her touch.

Has that line deepened in all these aching years? How much of him has changed in all this time, in all the ways that a holo call simply cannot show?

"When you said I could call you at any time…" Her breathing catches, and Aloy holds it desperately, her fingers curling tight, nails digging into her palms. "I want you to know that I… I want that too. For you. To—to call me. If you ever want to, that is."

A breath. A breathless relief. A smile that she cannot hold, cannot hide, cannot discourage, as Aloy looks up, the prick of tears in her eyes as she looks up to the ceiling of her little cabin, and something in her soul sings—

"I'd like that," she murmurs, her voice soft, so free of every emotion crashing within her throat. "Thank you, Kotallo."

"You don't even have to have a reason," Kotallo says, his words echoing her own from only hours before. "Any time, Aloy."

"Ok."

The word hangs there, tremulous and waiting, and Aloy finally lets it go, loosing it with the edge of her breath. "I'm going to have to have a long talk with Talla," she murmurs, fingers toying at the edges of the young girl's hair. "She can't just be taking my focus away."

"Perhaps it is a trait of all Nora." Kotallo's voice is light, teasing, leading ahead of her even as her own thoughts remain caught upon his words. "Or perhaps you simply need to keep better hold upon it, Aloy."

"This was one time—" Aloy starts to protest, but the sound of Kotallo's low, warm chuckle cuts her off.

"And what of all those times I was scolded for letting you fall asleep upon the floor?"

"I didn't—" Aloy's brow furrows, and she bites at the edge of her lower lip. "I don't think I ever scolded you…"

"You didn't," Kotallo reassures her, though somehow in this moment, his tone is still too sparked through with amusement to be fully affective in its goal. "Now, Sona, on the other hand…"

"No." Aloy's hand flies to her mouth, and she pins a gasp behind it, her eyes widening. "Kotallo, you must be kidding. She's the definition of a proper Nora; she wouldn't even accept a machine companion when I offered one to her! She would never try to use Old World tech like a Focus."

"Wouldn't she?"

"I…" Aloy trails off, then stops.

It shouldn't make sense, and yet…

"So all of those times—" Aloy adjusts her position upon the bed, leaning forward. "That you started checking up on me, asking about blankets and whether I was truly in bed and—that was because of Sona?"

"I have met the former war chief," Kotallo rumbles, his words spilling over her. "She is not a woman whose ill graces I would want to fall into. She also seemed under the impression that I would be more affective in convincing you into proper habits."

Something else flickers through her mind. A moment she had hardly thought about, in the aftermath of all that had fallen in its wake. And yet—

She can't remember calling Kotallo while she was in labor.

There was… she had called out—she remembers it. The shape of his name, caught within her chest. And then—

There was no then. There simply was Kotallo, his voice washing over her, his words wrapping around her and soothing over her skin, low tones murmured into her ear as Aloy carried their child into the world.

She hadn't called Kotallo on that day.

"Aloy?"

She blinks, drawn back into attention by the warmth of her voice, and Aloy looses a breath from her lungs, stepping away from the bed. "Yeah," she murmurs, wrapping her arms around herself. "Yeah, I'm with you, Kotallo."

And now she could only hope that he would remain with her as well.

-

Their conversation is light, a continuation of the few topics that had woven between them earlier in the morning. Kotallo speaks of the marshals, of the ones she knows, and the ones she has not yet met.

He does not speak about how stories of her many feats are told at every fire circle, every night.

Aloy speaks of holidays amidst the Nora, great celebrations that she could never attend before she had returned to the Sacred Lands.

She does not speak of anything that she misses from her years spent outside the embrace.

They pass news between them, stories another friend had told, or rumors that had reached their own ends of the map, the breadth of the Carja Sundom yawning wide between them.

Through it all, Kotallo tracks, occasionally landing his sunwing in order to keep his path aligned with that of the mysterious attackers who had disappeared the few days before. His focus whirrs each time, noting divots and glints of metal that would have gone overlooked from any other gaze, but now carry both the purple glow and the soft warmth of the afternoon sun.

A glint—a reflection of light that flashes in his eye.

Aloy is mid-story, describing the Banuk envoy that had come down the year before, when Kotallo lets out a harsh cut of breath, kneeling upon the sands to balance his weight as he reaches out.

"Kotallo?" Her voice flickers, the focus distorting the shape of it, and there is the barest shuffle of sound from her side of the line. "Is everything alright?"

"I found something," he murmurs, drawing out the gleaming piece from where it had been half-buried in the sand. Kotallo scowls at it, something humming in the back of his mind as he turns the lense over in his hand.

"From the attackers?" Aloy's breath quickens—he can hear it—and it is almost as if they are working together once more, side by side.

Kotallo shifts the lens into his machine hand, and raises his other up to his focus, readying a hologram. "Take a look at this," he says, sending the image over to Aloy. "Do you recognize which one it it is?"

Aloy hums, her voice low in his ear, and the sensation of it washes over Kotallo, catching at the edges of his thoughts. "Its not… but that doesn't make any sense."

Her voice drops in volume, becoming nothing more the scraps of muttered words, and Kotallo can almost visualize her swiping through her focus, searching for a component that might back. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his thoughts spill forward, reminding him that he could just as easily be doing the same thing.

Yet Aloy… she sounds different in this moment, as she works at his side. It was a difference he had not quite held the realization of until now, but looking back, it is all that he can see. In moments of stillness, of little work done between the, she had sounded almost… exhausted. Like a dimmer reflection of the woman he had known and loved, fought beside and cared for.

In moments like these, Aloy seems to speak to life once more, shifting from the low heat of an ember to the crackle of flame reaching into the air.

"Leaplasher!"

Her cry cuts through any further thoughts on the matter, and Kotallo lifts his head, already cycling through his own data to find that resource log. "That doesn't make any sense," he mutters, his brow pulling tight. "There shouldn't be any leaplashers this far to the west."

"Where are you again?" Aloy murmurs, and something tugs in Kotallo's chest. "Maybe Beta ended up changing the machine plan for a Cauldron in the area."

Kotallo shakes his head. "No, I've talked with her about the machine distribution in the clan lands recently. Leaplashers should still only be installed as close as No Man's Land on the other side of the mountains."

The unknowing settles between them, a grit to his thoughts, like sand caught between his teeth, and Kotallo lets out a low sound. "What reason would there be for Leaplasher scrap to even be out here? And why would the outlanders bring it this far?"

"Maybe they needed it for something else," Aloy murmurs, her voice going thoughtful. "Are there any other parts, or just discarded scrap?"

Kotallo flicks his focus over the area, then shakes his head. "A few other shards, disturbed sand, but nothing more."

"Maybe it doesn't mean anything." Though her words are clear, Kotallo can hear the doubt growing in the edges of her voice, uncertain even as she speaks. "Maybe they got into a scuffle with some machines, and they just lost some resources along the way."

"Perhaps." Kotallo turns the lense over in his hand once more, then rises to stand, brushing the sand off the wrappings on his right hand. "Either way, I must continue. They may have had the days' lead on me, but I have the wings of the Ten to carry me. They will be caught soon enough."

"I'm sure they will be." Her voice shifts again, like facets through a crystalline edge. At one time, he thought he knew ever lilt to her voice, ever emotion and how it would sound woven through her words.

Once, to hear her would have been enough to read her as easily as if she had been standing beside him.

Something tugs in his chest with the realization that through these many years—something must have changed, because the quality to her voice now is something he cannot name.

"You always could do anything you put your mind to, Kotallo."

Kotallo opens his mouth to speak, to respond, but the sharp click of an alert flashes across his focus instead, cutting all words and thoughts and responses short. "I'm sorry, Aloy, I—"

Alert. Severe Weather Anomaly Detected.

Please Seek Shelter.

A curse cuts from Kotallo's teeth, and he can hear Aloy bristling in alert to the muttered words. "Kotallo? Is everything ok?"

A sigh through his nose, eyes narrowed as they scan across the map of his focus. "I will be fine." A whistle to split the air, the beat of Ra's wings stirring the sands beneath him into a frenzy. "There is simply a sand storm detected. The new stormbird system we have been trialing has… not had the best of results, as of late."

Another harsh cut sound at his ear. "Kotallo? Are you sure you'll be ok? Do I need to—do I need to contact Beta?"

"No need." They take to the sky, and Kotallo casts a look behind him, and the darkness settling itself on the horizon. "There is a shelter nearby. I will be able to settle through the worst of it."

The silence draws between them, and it draws within his chest as well, clipping into his breaths, aching with the beat of his heart. "Aloy," Kotallo murmurs, his voice softening. "I will be well. Do not concern yourself over me."

A breath, a hesitation, and Kotallo bows himself over the sunwing's neck. "I should probably leave you now." Wind, chasing at his skin, chasing at his thoughts. "When she wakes… would you tell Talla I said hello?"

A sound, a sound that cuts into him, and Kotallo's hands curl tighter before him. "Of course," Aloy whispers. "I… I will. Just, please, Kotallo. Stay safe."

"Of course." He smiles, and for one moment, it feels as if nothing has changed, as if they are simply who they were years ago, careful brushes of skin and lips before each mission. "You know I always do."

A murmured goodbye. Kotallo closes his line.

And behind him, the storm begins to break.

Chapter Text

Kotallo lets out a heavy breath, staring down at the map table before him, carved wooden pieces and flickering lights.

His focus hums at his ear—or perhaps it is silent. Maybe the sound is just in his head. He's been stuck in his own head for too long these days.

Footsteps sound, drawing close, drawing him to lift his gaze, and he finds Hekarro standing there, something that echoes of disappointment written across his paints.

"Kotallo."

A quiet admonition. Kotallo looks away.

"High Marshal."

The words burn into the back of his mind. and Kotallo sighs, leaning back from the table, his hand hanging in a loose fist at his side. "My Chief," he murmurs in response, irritation flickering beneath his skin. It isn't at Hekarro, it never is. It's the bitter taste of blame, crushing agianst his tongue.

"Are you aware that it is the middle of the night?" Hekarro questions, stepping closer, his gaze softening, searching.

Kotallo swallows down another breath. "Well aware."

He has been aware of every hour that has passed since that day. He's been feeling every breath drawn into his lungs, every beat of his heart, and it all tastes of blame.

Two marshals. Marshals under his watch, under his command—and for all those aching hours, he thought he had lost them. Only to have them back, alive, but not well. They would get there. The healers assured him of it every time he stopped in to check on them. Promised that word would be sent to him immediately if anything was to occur, but at nearly two weeks after the attack, all that was left was for them to heal.

To recover.

Recover.

The word tastes just as false as all of the other lies Kotallo has ever held within his chest, as any other smile he has pulled across his lips.

The healers had told him before that he was healed, but they had also failed to look him in the eye, and at that moment, Kotallo had known. For him, there never would be such a thing as recover.

Maybe that was what Erend had meant when he asked if they would ever get past this. Maybe he had known, deep within his own chest, that they've held too much damage over the years to ever truly recover.

"Son."

Hekarro's hand falls heavy upon his shoulder, and Kotallo looks up, exhaustion in his eyes. "I—"

"You're not awake for no reason." Hekarro's gaze is hot, burning into his chest, and he cannot breathe, cannot drag in any mouthful of air that does not taste of fire and smoke itself. "Speak to me, Kotallo. Let me help."

Kotallo opens his mouth, and the words are there—barely there, barely held, yet caught against his throat all the same. He blinks, once, twice, and raises his hand to press against his chest, to meet the pressure that grips about his lungs.

"I should have caught them."

He turns back towards the map. the flicker of lights seen only to his own eyes, and to Hekarro, it is nothing more than the display of their own territory, marked and painted out. His focus fills in the gaps, markings placed where they had fallen, where they had been found, and finally—

"They were a threat, Hekarro, and I lost them."

His hand curls uselessly before him, a fist that clings to nothing but air, matched to the one inside his chest, to the unevenness of his lungs.

"They have moved beyond our territory." Hekarro's voice is a low rumble as he speaks, the heralding of distant thunder. "You confirmed their path as such before the sandstorm forced you to halt your search. Every report since states that they have not been seen again. They are no longer our concern."

"That is what concerns me." Kotallo lifts his head, his gaze wavering, uncertain. "They may have moved beyond our lands, my chief, but I do not think they were here without purpose. I believe that whatever their intentions had been in attacking Marshals Pillah and Enatta, they are not ones that come without risk. They may have passsed us by, Hekarro, but something tells me this is not the last that they will be seen."

"They would have entered the Sundom by now." Hekarro looks down at the map, his brow beginning to crease. "Perhaps even traveled beyond it. Far beyond our borders."

"I know." Kotallo cuts a sigh from his lungs, dragging his hand down his face. "I have already contacted the others, let them know of what occured, to keep their eyes open, and yet…"

"It haunts you still." Hekarro turns towards him once more, understanding and grief within his eyes. "The question unanswered."

Kotallo nods slowly, plain flickering through his chest. "I cannot shake it, my Chief. This feeling that—" Another uncertain breath, tinged with doubt. "I fear I've made a mistake."

"My boy." Hekarro's hand curls against his shoulder, holding him steady. "There is nothing more you could have done. You found Pillah and Enatta. You tracked the attackers to the edge of our lands. There is nothing more that I as your chief could ask of you."

Then Hekarro bends, stooping slightly to catch Kotallo's gaze with startling clarity, a searching softness in his hazel eyes. "But as your friend, Kotallo, I ask you to let it go. Let yourself breathe, and walk away."

Kotallo opens his mouth to protest, even as he knows he should agree, yet Hekarro cuts him off with a shake of his head. "It's been two weeks, Kotallo. There is nothing more to be done."

A sigh. An inward breath. Kotallo dips his head, and relents. "As you say, my chief." He reaches up, resting his hand against Hekarro's outstretched arm. "You're right. As you often are."

"Often?" Hekarro huffs, amused. "Not always?"

Kotallo tosses him a smile, but the corners of it are wearied at the edges, and it does not meet his eyes. "If you were always right, my chief, you would have no need of me at all."

Hekarro laughs, a warm sound, yet it echoes only shallowly within Kotallo's own chest. Still, he gives no protest as the other man slings his arm around his shoulders, walking at his side.

The map is left behind them, descending into darkness, the light of the focus no longer flickering upon its surface.

The tracks upon it, cut and lost.

-

Aloy rolls her shoulders up, only slightly mourning the loss of fur typically draped around them, and how they would warm against her.

The bitter chill of winter had descended quickly upon the Nora lands after a long and warm autumn, and Aloy had looked upon it all with a twinge of dismay.

Presently, Talla had stolen Aloy's own cape, contentedly wrapped within the furs as she leans against the scrapper' s side, one hand outstretched as she speaks. Aloy smiles at the familiarity of the words, having heard them countless times in Kotallo's own voice, now carried on her daughter's lips.

The scrapper lets out an anxious, grating whine, and Aloy reaches up to pat its head. "Easy there, Marshal," she hums, her fingers splaying out across cold metal.

The name had struck her all at once, when the last of the ruined foreleg had been completely removed, and Aloy had finally been able to source all of the undamaged parts to replace it.

Maybe it had been nostalgia that led her to carefully paint each piece of armor as she slotted in place, bright sprawls of yellow and deepest shades of blue. Maybe it had been hope, as her fingers traced out jagged shapes and familiar lines.

Maybe it was desperation, as Aloy sighs, leaning her head foward to press it against the scrapper's head, tears burning behind her eyes. "I'm tired," she mumbles, hands curling before her. Always so tired.

"Mama!"

Talla's voice rings out, a spot of brightness amidst it all, and Aloy raises her head, smiling at the sight of her daughter, even as the ache only deepens within her chest.

Talla pulls her arms in, hands clutching around great fistfuls of the cape settling just in front her shoulders, and she catches Aloy's eye as she signs cold, her hands moving back and forth, the drape of furs around her muffling the shape of her motions.

Aloy smiles, mimicking the motion even as the words catch upon her lips. "You cold, Talla?"

Her daughter nods, flopping across her mother's lap, all limbs and knees and elbows as she adjusts to be fully curled up, crushing against Aloy's stomach.

Aloy drags a breath into her lungs, grunting slightly as Talla pushes against her once more, and places one hand behind her to find balance upon the cold and frozen ground. "Easy, Talla," she laughs, her other hand stroking at her daughter's hair. "You're gonna knock me over."

"It's cold," Talla mumbles, pulling the fur tighter around her. "The machines are cold out here."

"Talla." Aloy shakes her head, finally finding her balance and leaning forward once more, forced to curve around the shape of her daughter pinning her down. "The machines can't be that cold. They're made to function even in the coldest of temperatures."

"But they're cold," Talla whines, pressing her head against Aloy's chest.

Aloy huffs, reaching out to connect the last few wires on Marshal's leg. "Talla, my little scrapper, my darling child. They have heated processing systems built into them. They will be fine."

Talla lets out a strained sound, pouting as she settles closer against her mother, and Aloy huffs from the pressure of it.

Still, her quiet disappointment allows Aloy to finish off her work, even if the knowledge of it all bites at the back of her throat. It's a silly thing, really. It's barely worth thinking about. They don't have the space inside their cabin to fit the machines, anyways.

A tug on her shirt. Aloy drops her chin, looking down to Talla, who stares up at her with those soft brown eyes, solemn and wide. "Story Man says the snow can hurt machines. Is it gonna hurt Blue and Marshal and Ica—" she cuts off, her brow drawing tight, the name coming from her slowly. "Ic-ar-us?"

Aloy softens, wrapping one arm around her daughter. "No, Talla," she murmurs, pressing her lips in comfort to the girl's brow. "The cold won't hurt any of them, I promise. In fact, I found Icarus in the middle of the mountains and snow, and there were plenty of scrappers out in the cold when I was up north. They'll all be ok, Talla."

Talla sighs again, dipping her head. "I don't want the snow to hurt them."

Aloy closes her eyes, a shudder rolling through the back of her mind. The press of ice curls around her, the taste of smoke in her lungs, the metallic tang of blood.

Another breath dragged in, and Aloy lowers her head.

The only smoke here is from cookfires and hearths scattered amidst the settlement. It hasn't even snowed yet—Gaia's assurances that it would be another few weeks before it ever came.

She's as far from the Zenith island as she can be.

She's…

They're both safe.

They're all safe.

Aloy opens her eyes, and gives Marshal a final pat on the head. "All done, boy," she murmurs, and the scrapper warbles at her, pressing into her touch. "All better."

Talla crawls out from her lap, unfolding the cape from around her and pushing it at her mother's shoulders. "Inside now?"

Aloy laughs, pushing herself to stand. "Yes, Talla. We can go inside now."

Her daughter chirps in agreement, already dashing back towards the house, and Aloy watches after her with a fond smile.

The door closes behind her.

The smile drops.

-

Kotallo dips his head, leaning back against the half crumbled wall behind him, and focuses on steadying his breathing.

The rest of the Grove is mostly silent beneath him, only the sounds of the few guards on night duty filtering up to his place upon the highest roof, the flicker of torches casting shadows as they move.

Kotallo sucks down another breath, the night air cold within his lungs, grounding him as he tips his head back, the click of his beads scuffing against the stone. Another hour out here, maybe two, and he would go back down to his quarters.

He wouldn't go to the map.

He won't.

His hand curls from where it is settled across his lap, fingers catching against the uneven dips and ridges of the scars written on his skin. All the torn ink, the stories marred by newer ones, aged with time.

His focus trills at his temple, and Kotallo stiffens, tension scrawling itself between his shoulders as he raises his hand.

It's the middle of the night. No one should be awake. He shouldn't be awake. What reason would anyone have for contacting him, unless—

Unless.

His heart lurches at the sight of Aloy's name spilled before him in light, and there is no hesitation within him as he takes the call, breath caught within his lungs.

"Aloy?"

The word hangs from him, echoing in the silence around him, and on her own side of the line, Aloy is silent as well. Concern pushes deeper into Kotallo's chest, near suffocating beneath the dig of it into his lungs, and Kotallo presses his hand go his ribs in search of any faint relief.

"Aloy, are you there?"

A shaking breath, one that Kotallo flinches from, before the sound of it is abruptly cut off, breaking at the edges.

"Yeah," Aloy finally answers, her voice small, faint. "Yeah, I'm here, Kotallo."

He shifts his weight, and his voice strains, the barest of air eased into his lungs. "Are you ok? Is everything alright?"

Another shuddering breath. "No, I just… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called you. It's stupid, and I'm bothering you." A hesitation, and something lances into Kotallo's own chest. "I'm sorry. I should go."

"No!" Chills spark their way under his skin, and Kotallo shudders, knowing it is not from cold alone. "No, Aloy, please."

She does not leave immediately, no tone heralding her departure, and Kotallo takes it as a sign to continue.

"Stay. Please." Kotallo swallows down the break in his voice, the edge of it sharp within his throat. "I could… I could use the company."

Another beat. A slow, pained sound slips from Aloy, a sound that clenches within his heart.

"I'm staying," she murmurs, and perhaps it is his own foolish heart that says there is relief within her voice now. "I'm staying, Kotallo."

"Good. That's… that's good." He settles back against the wall once more, and some of the nervousness in him begins to ebb.

Her breaths still rattle in his ear, uneven and shocky, and Kotallo curls his hand in, nails digging into the fabric wrapped about his palm. "Aloy," he murmurs, his voice low.

She lets out another low, strangled sound, as if holding something deep within her chest and loathe to let it out. "M'fine," Aloy mutters, her voice scraping at his lungs.

"Aloy," Kotallo says her name again, closing his eyes. "Would you breathe with me?"

"I—" the word cuts off sharply, and Kotallo holds the silence between them gently, patiently, the sensation of it tremulous within him. "What?"

"Breathe with me," Kotallo murmurs again, voice warm. "It would be much easier if I was by your side, but—" a harsh swallow, the burn of her absence hot against his skin. "Just, breathe with me, Aloy."

"I don't…" Aloy hesitates once more, before a sigh, ragged and cut through with defeat. "Yeah. Just—Kotallo please, just keep talking to me."

Something lurches in his chest once more, and Kotallo presses his palm against it, grinding his teeth against the sensation, the gravel of it in his lungs.

"Keep talking?" Kotallo scuffs his knucles angst the center of his ribs, loosing another long breath. Something hums in the back of his mind has he hears Aloy's own breath following after his. "Aloy, are you sure that—"

"I'm fine." Her voice clips over his own, and Kotallo flinches. Another beat, before she sighs. "No, Kotallo, I'm sorry. I—I just need to listen to you for a while, ok? And then I can… then I can talk."

"Ok."

He can't see her. He can't feel her. But he can hear her, and he can hear the scrape in her voice, the same one that hung between them in many sleepless nights before, when Kotallo had held her close, mumbled words pressed softly to her skin.

Aloy isnt fine, no matter what she might say. He knows her too well, even with the distance and years cut between them.

But all Kotallo can do in this moment is to simply breathe, and let the words spill out, to give what little comfort he can offer, to pour out what little presence she might accept.

He can only hope that one day, something might change.

And tonight, he can only hope that her voice might follow in the wake of his own.

Chapter Text

"Breathe," Kotallo says.

Aloy pins her shaking hands to her chest, crushing forward onto her knees, and drags in breath after shaking breath, choking back the claws tearing at her throat, each whine that threatens to escape her muffled against her arm.

Obliviously, Talla sleeps on in her own bed, soft mumbles of words tossed as she unrolls herself from her blankets.

And at Aloy's ear, Kotallo speaks.

Not just her focus. Not just a recording. Not just her memory, flickering and faint and dissolving at the edges.

Him.

Alive.

Safe.

Speaking—the sound of his voice scattering like snow against the back of her mind, the flickering of static, the ripples of red that thread through every thought. The taste of blood, hot on her lips.

Aloy blinks, her tongue flicking out, and surprise slams another breath into her lungs. It isn't in her head this time. There are beads of it there, tipping back into her mouth. When had she bit her lip? How long had…

"Still with me, Aloy?"

She nearly groans, the sound of his voice enough to slip between aching muscles, loosening about her shoulders. Another beat of silence, and his voice again, so flooded through with concern in nearly hurts. "Aloy?"

"Still breathing," Aloy grits out, and drags her focus towards the fire flickering at the side of their cabin, fighting back the night chill from the autumn air. She stares at it, letting the light of it sear into her mind. Anything to wipe away the visions that had clung to her even as she jerked from sleep into consciousness with rattling, anxious lungs.

Her hands had almost been shaking too hard to call Kotallo. She's still not even certain why she had—or why he had answered. Any reasonable hour for wakefullnes or conversation had long since passed both of them by.

Yet he had. He had answered, and though even now she can hear the edge to his voice, the concern to each word, he doesn't push. He simply waits, waits for her to take the first step, to reach out to him.

She's tired of reaching.

She's so tired.

Always tired.

Aloy lets her head drop in exhaustion, forehead pressing against the rough and hew of the wooden floors beneath her, and breathes.

How many times had Kotallo lain at her side before, his touch gentle down her back, his words soft against her throat, murmured reminders to breathe, Aloy. How many terror locked nights had he pulled her from, then muffled each gasping sob against his chest until finally—finally, each breath did not feel as if a scream to her own ears.

How many times through aching years had Kotallo held her, held her as she fell apart, again and again and again?

How many more times does she have to fall without him at her side?

Finally, when her lungs ease within her, when she can draw in breath without each flood stinging in her throat, Aloy lifts her head, and speaks.

"Kotallo, I'm—I'm sorry."

His silence holds on the other side of the line, and Aloy unfolds herself from where she had collapsed onto the floor in the wake of her conciousness, darkness clawing deep into her lungs.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you, and I'm sorry that… that you have to put up with me. With that. You shouldn't have to deal with that. No one should."

"And what?" His words growl into her ear, goosebumps flooding down the plane of her back. "Whatever it was to make you react in such a way, you think you should carry it alone, Aloy? That it is too much to ask any other to bear the burden with you?"

"It's not your burden," Aloy mutters, the words scraping at her throat. The bed seems impossibly soft as she sinks back onto it, hatefully so, and another low whine catches itself within her. "You shouldn't have to—"

"And if I want to?"

Aloy quiets, draping her arm across her eyes, blocking out even the dim lighting of the fire and the shadows it casts upon wooden walls.

"Aloy, would you turn me away if I wanted to help you?"

But she had already, hadn't she? Hadn't he said such similar things to her then, in the aftermath of Nemesis, when her gaze had grown distant and shaken? Hadn't he looked her in the eyes then, and asked—

Aloy's hand shifts, covering her mouth now, drowning out the sob that lodges somewhere in her throat.

"No," she breathes, the word wavering in the air.

"Then let me help you."

Aloy releases a breath, yet it doesnt taste of defeat as she had expected. Instead, there is only a hollow echo within her chest.

Kotallo takes her silence for acceptance, and his voice is a gentle croon against her thoughts as he leads her in action. Her hands shake as she stares blankly down at the two pillows he's directed her to place, one pressed against the wall, and the other settled against it, partway down the bed.

And then, finally—

"Lay down, Aloy." His voice hums in her ear, gentle, aching.

Aloy obeys, staring blankly up to the ceiling above her as she shifts, adjusting her own place amidst it all, the faint cushion provided to her offering little of the help that Kotallo had promised.

A shift of movement from his side of the line, a small hum in the back of his throat, a satisfied sound. "Right. Now, just… accept the holocall. Please?"

Her hand is slow to move, weighted down by the sudden crush of exhaustion upon her limbs, and yet still it listens. All of her listens to him, as if her body is attuned to the sound of his voice, that even after so many years without him at her side—everything in her aches for him.

The holo flickers into colored existence, and Aloy finds Kotallo looking down at her, such an expression of searching warmth within his eyes that something catches in her throat.

"What—"

Her head turns, her thoughts slowly spilling out, absorbing the position she is in, and the flicker of Kotallo to her side, beneath her, above her, his hand reaching out to brush against her skin and she swears that she can feel it, the brush of his fingers down her cheek sending sparks stuttering in her bones.

She's laying in his lap.

She's—

"Comfortable?"

Aloy meets his gaze once more, and something rears itself within her chest, something terrible and dark and choking within her, something she cannot breathe against and—

A sob breaks itself from her lungs, and Aloy covers her face, gasping against the weight of it all.

"Aloy?"

Kotallo's voice is flooded through with concern once more, and the sensation of it burns in her very bones. Aloy crushes a hand against her mouth, muffling the next shuddering sob that threatens to escape from her.

Beyond her, on the other side of the room, Talla huffs out a little sleep-drawn sound, rolling over and tangling herself deeper into the blankets.

Aloy remains in silence, staggered, shaking breaths, before finally allowing her head to tip back once more, finding Kotallo's gaze still settled upon her. "I'm fine," She whispers, drawing down her hands. "I just… I don't want to wake Talla. She—" her brow creases, and Aloy closes her eyes. "She doesn't need to see me like this again."

Kotallo remains silent for a moment, and Aloy takes the ache within her chest and carries it closer—buries it deeper. Silences it, just as she has always had to. She can't afford falling apart. Not with Talla here, who needs her, who needs her more than anything.

She can't—

"Hey."

Aloy opens her eyes, and Kotallo has bowed himself closer than before, the hologram of his image flickering slightly. "Aloy, you don't have to say that you're fine."

She lets a dry laugh slip through her cracked and bloodied lips, one that cuts upon the edge of a sigh. "Should I be amused that you're the one saying this to me, Kotallo?"

"Of course not." His voice has drawn matter of fact, yet there is still the touch of amusement upon his lips. "In fact, these are not my words at all, but Erend's." His head dips, drawing slightly more solemn. "Aloy, people who are fine don't sound like you do." His hand moves, drifting as a ghost across her skin, and the gentleness in his gaze pulls within her chest once more, the hot of tears burning behind her eyes. "And I would know."

Aloy stares up at him, the shape of words wavering in her chest, the beat of them in tandem with her heart, etched into her skin, threaded through every thought. "I miss you," she whispers, holding his gaze. "I wish—"

The softness in his expression falters, breaking into something unhindered and raw, and Kotallo sits back, looking away. The ache in Aloy's chest deepens, thorns threading their way around her lungs, and she struggles to breathe against the prick of them.

"Aloy, I…" His voice is a strange parallel of detatched and strained, as if each word must be carefully placed between them.

"No." Aloy sits up suddenly, dragging a breath into her lungs. "No, no you're right." She pushes her hair away from her face, scowling to the distant side of the cabin. "You—you have work you're doing there. You're Hekarro's High Marshal. He needs you."

I need you, her own heart whispers.

"He… needs me," Kotallo echoes, his voice strangely faint within her ear. Then, firmer, more certain, and yet somehow Aloy cannot shake the sense of disappointment that hangs from them. "The marshals here need me."

Aloy sighs, sinking back onto the pillows and rolling onto her side, staring at her own curled up hands, and beyond them, Kotallo's hologram, flickering in the firelight. "I just… I'll have to wait," she murmurs, the words mostly to herself.

She's waited for four years. Four years of silence, of shattered nights and aching lungs. Four years of that terrible relentless hope that now—she cannot help but be relieved that it had refused to let go. And maybe she doesn't have him back, not how she used to, bit at least she has him once more, in whatever small way it may be.

"I'll be at the gathering." Kotallo's voice turns upwards, then catches. "I…. hope to see you there. You, and Talla?"

That tug within her chest, so sharp and strong Aloy nearly cries out. It's all she can manage to press a hand to the hollow there, easing the ache. "We'll be there. Both of us."

"Good." Kotallo's voice rumbles through her, sweet and low and drawing through her veins. "I'll be glad to see you then."

Aloy hums, adjusting herself to look up towards Kotallo once more, even as the press of exhaustion begins to settle against her. "I'm glad Beta was wrong when she said you couldn't be there."

"Ah—" Kotallo looks down, and Aloy watches as his shoulders curl in, a soundless laugh. "I had wondered about that." His head tilts, eyes narrowing. "Seeing as your sister had been the one to insist you would be the one not attending in six months."

"What?" Aloy's brow draws in confusion. "No, no I—" she stops, her gaze shifting. "I just… decided this year Talla was finally old enough to go. That—that it'd be safe."

Kotallo lets out a low sound at her words, but his own are still churning in her stomach, twisting in her mind. "Wait, Kotallo. You're saying Beta told you I wasn't going?"

"Correct." Kotallo dips his head. "And if she told you that I'm not going…"

Aloy jolts upright once more, this time turning to Kotallo, frustration burning across her skin. "That brat!" She hisses. "She lied to us!"

"Aloy."

"Oh I'm so going to punch her the next time I see her," Aloy seethes, balling up her hands into fists.

"Aloy," Kotallo sounds again, sounding more exasperated.

"Don't! Dont try to talk me out of it Kotallo. I trained her myself for three years, I know she can take a punch."

"Aloy, you're going to wake Talla."

She stops, holding his gaze, before slowly releasing a breath. "I can't believe she tried to trick us," Aloy finally huffs, sinking back down to the pillows once more. "I have half a mind to call her just so I can—"

"It's the middle of the night," Kotallo says gently, even as she can hear the smile behind his words. "I do not think she would appreciate being woken."

"It would serve her right," Aloy mumbles, crushing into her arm. "And besides, this is my sister we're talking about. She's just as likely to be awake right now."

"Once again, Aloy, I say that it is the middle of the night." Kotallo's voice strokes over her, and Aloy lets out a huff, shifting to look up towards him. "Any reasonable person would surely be asleep right now."

A smile settles across her lips. "Neither of us are asleep right now, Kotallo. What does that say about us?"

A beat. A long moment in which he holds her gaze, and she cannot draw herself to look away. "That we are far from reasonable, obviously."

The space between them is yawning wider, pulling into her heart and drawing every thread within her to the surface.

A breath catches upon her lips. "I suppose you're right."

Kotallo's expression softens, deepens, his gaze curving over her features. "Aloy," he says, his voice so gentle it burns in her lungs. "Why did you call me?"

"I—"

She stops, catching the words in her hands and holding them tight, a shuddering through her bones. This isn't his concern anymore. This stopped being his concern the moment he left them—left them both. He shouldnt—she shouldnt—

And yet… he was here now, wasn't he? He had answered when she had called, had held the silence alongside her when the weight of words was too much to handle.

How had everything and nothing at all managed to change between them in all of this time?

She closes her eyes, and lets go.

"I… I had a nightmare. And I had to make sure you were ok."

"A—" Kotallo hesiates, and when Aloy opens her eyes, she finds the shape of his hand hovering just by her cheek, nothing but rippling light, yet she finds herself leaning into it anyways, as if she might find some sort of warmth or sensation from the ghost of his presence here with her now. "Was it about me?"

Aloy draws her hands up to her chest, a shield, a shelter, holding every jagged and broken sensation deep within her lungs. "They always are."

If her eyes had been open, perhaps she would have seen the grief that had torn itself across Kotallo's features in that moment. If she had been at his side, she may have heard the choking breath caught in the back of his throat, or feel his whole body shudder at her words.

But they are not together. She is not at his side. She's lying upon a bed of pillows and pelts and trying desperately to remind herself just why this could never work again.

"You?" She manages to croak, curling closer to herself, fingers tangling into her own hair.

"The same." Kotallo's voice is low and scraping through her thoughts, and Aloy curls her hands tighter into her hair. "But sleepless before, rather than after."

A dry laugh that catches in her throat, one that is threaded through with tears and the ragged drag of breathing. "We make a mess of a pair, don't we?" Aloy asks, her voice shaking.

A sigh, and when breathes in, she can almost imagine that it is Kotallo's hand stroking upon her now, familiar callouses shifting across her skin. "Perhaps. But I would still rather our mess than any other person's form of perfection."

A small, trembling whine, and Aloy rolls her head back, the cut of tears hot upon her skin once more, slow and tracking down her cheeks. She can hear Kotallo's reaction, even see him moving above her, but all that she really knows is his eyes, familiar and warm and flooded through with concern as he looks down to her.

"I—"

Despite it all, despite every hurt that has torn itself through her heart, despite every thing that he has done, despite every word that she has said, despite every unspoken ache that still settles in her chest—

She loves him.

And she would rather their mess than anything else.

"You should go to sleep."

Kotallo's voice pulls her from her thoughts, and though she can still see the care within his eyes, there is something weary written there as well. Something that betrays the late hour and long days and longer years, his chin tucked up against his chest.

Aloy blinks slowly at him, yet his words alone are enough to remind her how exhausted she is, of how long it had been since she had felt truly rested upon waking.

"Don't worry," Kotallo says softly, his head tilting. "I will still be here in the morning." His words once more, drifting across her skin, covering every aching and twisted scar.

"Don't leave," Aloy whispers, closing her eyes. And there— the words deeper in her thoughts, unable to make their way from where they are rooted within her chest. I need you.

"I promise," Kotallo murmurs, the warmth of his lips drawn from her memory, set upon her skin. "I'll never leave you again."

With his words at her side, Aloy falls, deep into the set of dreams and darkness around her, the comfort of his touch made real within her mind.

She dreams of brighter days, where he is hers once more.

Chapter Text

Kotallo wakes with a crick in his neck and a warmth in his chest, something that has nothing to do with the wash of sunlight across his skin.

For a moment, his mind scrambles, searching for whatever reason he might have for being up here now, atop a roof of the Grove with the scrape of stone and wall hard against his back.

Then a sound filters into his ear, and Kotallo looks down, finally processing the construction of light set across his outstretched legs.

Aloy looks up at him, her hair mussed from sleep but her eyes are bright and warm, softened as she smiles up at him. "Morning, High Marshal Sleepyhead," she says, shifting from where she lays.

Another slow blink, before Kotallo smiles back at her as well. "Hello, Aloy." A stretch, a rolling of his shoulders, and Kotallo lets out a slight groan. "How long have you…?"

"Not long," Aloy answers, her voice still soft as she sits up. "But Talla still hasn't woken up yet, and this has been… nice. Being here. With you."

Something catches in Kotallo's throat, and he looks away, struggling to smooth his thoughts out. "You did not have to stay," he murmurs, his hand curling into a fist at his side.

"Maybe not." When he glances up, Aloy has already begun stroking her fingers through her hair, pulling them into seperate parts. "But I wanted to. And besides, you had promised to stay with me last night."

Her gaze catches his, electric and sparking and Kotallo is frozen by the weight behind it all. "Shouldn't I promise the same?"

"Only if you want to," Kotallo manages, that ache in his chest deepening, the spark setting to flame beneath his skin.

Aloy nods her head, just once. "Then I want to."

Another breath loosed from his lungs, before Kotallo looks away once more. "I should…"

"You have work to do," Aloy answers for him, her voice smoothing across his aching bones. "You're the high marshal, and you have people counting on you. I understand." Her hands have already begun twisting her hair into a braid, pulling the thick strands into obedience. "It's ok, Kotallo."

He pulls in a breath, and to wake with her once more, so familiar yet so dissimilar to how they had been before, before the final reach of Nemesis, before they had been torn apart just as sure as flesh and bone. A memory of who they were once, now repeated again in rising at each other's side, caught in distorted light and an electric hum.

"What are you doing later?" The words fall from him before he can fully hold them, and Kotallo catches the edge of them upon his breath, his gaze lifting up to find Aloy's in silence, waiting. The Grove is waking below him, the sound of it now rising to meet his ears, yet even still the only care he has is for the softness of Aloy's breath on the other side of the line.

Aloy tilts her head, finishing to the end of the braid, her eyes half closed in consideration. "I think we'll be heading out to the the forest today," she answers, tying off the cord around the tail of her hair. "I've been wanting a good hunt for a time, and Teb has been promising to show Talla what he picks to use as dyes."

She tosses the weight of her braid back over her shoulder, tilting her head the other way as she considers him. "And what will you be up to, High Marshal?"

Something in him shivers at the way she says it, the weight of his title held upon her lips never failing to stirr within him, yet Kotallo swallows back the sensation. "The current round of trainees we have in will be facing off against machines in the arena today. The final time to assess their improvement before the other marshals take them out tracking."

Aloy smiles, a warmness to her eyes. "I'm glad," she says, voice soft. "That you—and all the tenakth, really—haven't seemed to have lost their ways. That you're still…" a hesitation, and Aloy holds the word a moment longer, as if it must be handled carefully. "You. That you're still you."

A fainter smile, one that he is not set in its surity, the edges of it not meeting his eyes. "I did not think I could change so much in such a time."

"Yeah," Aloy breathes, pulling one leg up to rest her head upon her knee. "But is change such a bad thing?"

"Of course not."

Voices bark once more below him, and Kotallo looses a cutting breath, looking away from Aloy. "The guards are finally changing. I will be expected down there in a few minutes."

He catches her eye, holding her gaze, and something pulses in his chest, an unsteady beat set against that of his own heart, a straining in his lungs. "Could I call you again? Later?"

And when Aloy smiles, it feels as if the rising of the sun against the fiercest blizard, light cutting through the darkest of days. "When?"

He finds the sun once more, the first rays of it stretching against the tree growth surrounding the grove, and settles within himself. "Sunset? If you have the time?"

She leans forwards, the barest note of a challenge within her eyes. "Yours or mine?"

"Yours." Another beat, a hesitation, a thought that catches within him. "And I hope that I might… be able to speak with Talla as well?"

Her smile falters, only for a breath, yet the sight of it sets against Kotallo as the same as Aloy steadies her lips into warm neutrality once more. "I think she would like that, Kotallo." She starts to turn, and Kotallo can see the swing of her legs off her bed, the movement sending her hologram clipping through stone. A pause, a glance behind her. "Don't forget?"

Kotallo dips his head, pressing his fist against his chest. "I will be there, Aloy," he murmurs. "I swear it."

-

Kotallo presses his fist against the tightnes in his chest just as he steps out into the hallway, the rise of voice and sound spilling around him as he walks, the scuff of fabric against weaving and beads.

Three steps more, painted faces passing him by, the turn from living quarters to the more populated main halls. The scent of food woven through the air, settling in his stomach and reminding him of the time.

A pack of trainees cut in front of him, colored in blue and pink, and one turns to see him, freezing in their tracks and drawing their companions into stillness at their side.

"High Marshal," they all say in unison, widened eyes and hands falling into salute.

Kotallo dips his head, gaze warm as the edges of a smile pulls at his lips. "Cadets," he answers, his own salute meeting their own. "Go get your food, and ready yourselves. You have much to face today."

They nod, and for a moment Kotallo is struck by just how young they really are, and how much time has changed since he had been their age. But the moment slips, falling through his outstretched hand, and they are gone, rushing through the hallways once more, their laughter bouncing against stone.

Kotallo nods his head, turning towards the next junction where the other marshals would be meeting for the day, and instead finds himself met with Ivirra, her arms folded across her chest.

"High Marshal."

A tap of his fist to his chest. "Marshal Ivirra. Have you eaten yet?"

A pause. The sharpness in her eyes falters, and Ivirra looks back towards the two other marshals who had already settled near the map table, ducked heads and the brush of movement and voices. "What?"

Kotallo nods towards the table and the marshals standing there. "It's just Reikko and Tarreka, and they're always early. We still have time to get food, if you haven't yet."

Another long pause, her eyes narrowing only the slightest, and Kotallo can feel the weight of her gaze prickling along the back of his mind.

A shrug, and he begins to turn away. "Very well. I'll see you when the meeting begins, then."

"No." Her voice cuts the first of his steps short, before she falls in to match his stride. "No, I'll go with you."

Kotallo hums, a low sound in the back of his throat, but takes her company in silence, for whatever rippling, crackling energy is snapping around her now.

Ivirra seems wholly off put at his side, and from the corner of his eye he can see her open her mouth to speak—once, twice—before closing it with a sharp click and nothing more than glancing eyes and the sound of her strides matching his own.

They make it to the cook and take up their servings in further silence, even as the bustle of lives and words drift around them, streaks of paint and swathes of color, the congregation of every tribe displayed within these walls.

For all the noise around them, Ivirra makes no attempts to join her voice to the dialog, and Kotallo takes her silence in peace, making quick work of the meal even as his thoughts flick in anticipation towards the end of the day, when his own responsibilties would be shed and set aside, even if only for a few moments of solace.

A smile pulls across his lips as his thoughts cast back, to the sight of Aloy, the warmth in her eyes as she had looked to him when he woke. A warmth that—

No.

He cannot dare to hope. She may have admitted of missing his company, perhaps, but her words spilled out before had shown that all she sought of him now was friendship. Nothing more. No matter how much he aches to call this think flickering between them now something more… he cannot.

Besides, there was still Teb.

But Teb wasn't—

Then—

"Kotallo?"

His head jerks upwards, catching Ivirra's gaze, his own stumbling between her and the now empty plate gripped in his hand. "I'm sorry." A neutrality that he pulls across his features, one that doesnt match the crash and scattering of thoughts within the back of his mind. "Did you say something, Ivirra?"

Her expression shifts, eyes pulling tight at the corners, the edges of her gaze needling at his skin.

"Ok, what happened to you?"

Her head tips up, and the quiet way she has been studying him has snapped into words, caught against her teeth.

"Ivirra?"

"You just—" She gestures at him, yet all Kotallo can do is stare, the challenge to her voice pulling at his lungs. "What happened to you, Kotallo?"

"Ivirra—" her name again, more tired upon his tongue, and he can feel the weight of it sticking to his bones as he shakes his head. "Nothing happened. I am just the same today as I was yesterday."

"I know!" The other marshal says, pointing at him. "The same yesterday, and the day before, and the days before that but the problem is—" Ivirra leans closer, pressing one finger against his chest, and Kotallo raises his brow at the action. "Is that somewhere recently, Kotallo, you changed. And I don't know what it was, but you—"

Kotallo raises his machine arm, settling it upon her wrist and pushing her hand away from him, a patient smile upon his face. "I think," he says slowly. "You need to get some more sleep, Ivirra. You seem tired."

The other marshal barks out a sharp laugh, that same unsettled expression still upon her face, but she backs off all the same. "That's ironic, coming from you."

A tilt of her head, a huff of breath, one that Kotallo matches even as it sticks in his lungs. "You and I both know you should be the last person to give advice on how to sleep. And besides, you weren't even in your room last night! So where were you, Kotallo?"

It takes a moment for the words to fully register within his mind, before they click. "Were you checking on me?" He asks, his voice turning incredulous.

"That doesn't matter," Ivirra says shortly. "Answer the question."

"Fine," Kotallo says, pushing away from the table and turning away from her, a pulse stitching up his side. "The roof."

"All night?" Ivirra pushes, the beat of her steps falling into the same rhythm as his own as he stalks away from the eating hall.

"I fell asleep up there."

"On the roof," Ivirra echoes again, her voice dry.

The sharpness catches—

"Perhaps I just needed a change, Ivirra." He stops, turning a half step before her to cut the other marshal short in her tracks. "Perhaps I am tired of where I have been, Marshal, and I am trying to make a change."

Kotallo pauses, searching her gaze, the heaviness returning to his lungs, pressing against his ribs, glass and steel under his skin. "Is that really such a bad thing?" He murmurs. "Were you not the one to constantly push your concerns upon me before?"

She opens her mouth, but there is hesitation in her eyes. "Kotallo…"

A sigh digs into his lungs, and he holds it only a moment longer before it is loosed to the air. "Ivirra, I—" Kotallo stops, his machine hand curling into a fist at his side as he turns away from her once more. "You say I have changed, and maybe I have. But is that really such a thing to question me over?"

Ivirra's head dips, and Kotallo knows the exhaustion upon her is not born on her shoulders alone. "No, I'm sorry, it's just…" she steps closer, the weight of her hand falling upon the back of his shoulder. "We just worry about you, Kotallo."

Another breath, his head tilting back, the click of beads in his hair. "I promise, Ivirra, I'm fine."

Her grip upon him tightens, and even though he cannot see her face, he can feel the tension to her words. "You say that every time, Kotallo. Even when you are clearly not fine."

He turns, wearied acceptance in his eyes, the words drawing out slowly from his throat. "I am… doing better. That, I can swear."

Her gaze, deepest lengths of brown and familiar to him as his own, and after so many years fighting at each other's sides, she has to know.

Ivirra blinks. Once, twice, then she steps away. "Alright."

"Alright?" Kotallo echoes, dipping his head.

"I… trust you. And I believe you." She drops her hand, looking away. "Just… know that you have people that care about you, Kotallo. And we want you to be… to be better."

Kotallo's expression softens, and he steps closer, nudging at her with his elbow. "I will," he murmurs. "I'll remember that."

They both turn towards the map room together, and though the smiles that now catch upon their lips are time-worn, they are worn all the same.

Chapter Text

"Alright, Marshal. Your turn."

Kotallo's gaze flicks over to Reikko and Tarreka swapping out on the ballista, the two marshals grinning at one another, before turning his attention back down towards the next squad of trainees making their way onto the platforms at the other side of the Arena.

He and Ivirra had been stationed on their own platform for the past several hours, watching squad after squad take their places and then jump into battle, notes and critiques shared between them as they paired the squads off for the next leg of the training program.

Ivirra looks up from the shared notes compiled on the focus display set between them, a draw of consideration to her brow. "That last team made quick work of those spikesnouts."

Kotallo nods in agreement, watching the arena workers below working to clear the sands of all remaining parts and carcasses. "The kills were clean—there should be plenty of resources within to be used in crafting later."

He leans over slightly to peer at their notes, eyes narrowing in consideration. "They were Lowland clan… so let's pair them off with Lekatto. He can lead them to Scalding Spear, and will be a good show as to how someone from their own clan can adapt to new fields and new battles."

"Careful, High Marshal," Ivirra says, her voice holding a note of teasing. "Someone might accuse you of trying to get rid of all of your lowland marshals."

A chuckle slips past his lips. "Not all of them," he says, turning his attention back towards the arena. "But I may be convinced to send certain annoying ones away from the Grove."

Ivirra punches him in the side, and Kotallo groans from the contact, shoving his arm out to push her away. Ivirra catches a sharp breath, then settles back at his side. "You can't kick me out of here," Ivirra says smoothly, her words matter of fact. "I've already told Hekarro that I don't report to you."

Another half laugh, the growls and scrape of metal filling the air as the next set of machines are readied beneath the arena. "Whatever you say, Ivirra."

The tension crawls along his back as the rattling screech of a clawstrider pulls through the air, and Kotallo looks towards the other marshal with a note of concern. "Clawstriders?"

Ivirra shrugs, pulling up another note on their focus display. "Owl Squad has consistently been settling first in all of the other elements of training, and their leader requested something to challenge them today."

Kotallo scoffs, looking away. "Every fight in the arena is meant to be a challenge. That is why they are called as such."

Still, he cannot deny that they appear as if to be a solid squad, loose yet prepared as they ready their grips upon their weapons and listen to the commands of the squad leader over them, his voice too faint to reach all the way to the platform that he and Ivirra are standing upon now.

Then the first of the machines are loosed from their cages beneath the arena, the metallic roar of their movements as they storm into the open air, the sand whipping beneath their feet, screeches ringing in the air.

Three scrappers. Two clawstriders. Tension knots itself further up Kotallo's back.

"Ivirra," he says, warning turning in his voice.

"They asked for a challenge," Ivirra responds. "So Kalla and I loaded up a real arena challenge to test them. Besides, there's going to be four of them down there together. So long as they work together and keep control of the scrappers, they should be clear."

The call is given. The squad all turn to look at one another, white knuckle grips and tension caught in the set of their feet.

Then they jump.

From the first second their feet hit the ground, Kotallo can see that the shape of their plan—this was not a request made in haste. The first two of the trianees immediately crouch to the ground, hands falling into the the work of crafting and setting traps. The third and fourth sprint for the vantage poles, one giving the other a boost upwards, a moment of straining arms before a white and pink painted face crests above it, and the sky clan cadet hauls himself fully up onto the platform.

"The leader," Ivirra murmurs, and Kotallo appraises him. He's older than many other cadets who had volunteered for the training program—and the flashes of ink dark against his skin whisper of his prior accomplishments, marked while even those of his own squad are not.

His bow is out in an instant, drawn tight as he sets the furthest scrapper into his sights, and Kotallo's attention instead turns towards the two trappers, who have turned their own attention towards the second scrapper, charging towards it with bared teeth and bows.

The alarm is raised, the deafening screech of the clawstriders as their attention is turned towards the cadets. The first cadet rolls, ducking from the plasma blast that singes through the air, and the second follows up with several quick shots from their warrior bow, ripping off the plasma cannon and then turning their attention to the radar.

Those two seem solidly set against this scrapper, and Kotallo's gaze turns, seeking out the first scrapper, which has fully fallen, and then to the first of the clawstriders, which is pursuing the fourth cadet—straight towards the traps that had been set for it.

The sharp smell of electricity and ozone spill into the air, and the clawstrider collapes into a heap of jerking limbs and wires. The second scrapper lets out a grating call before it too falls, the lights within it dimming to the twist of a blade within its chest.

Kotallo lets out a hissing breath. "That would have damaged the heart."

Ivirra nods as well, tapping out a note. "We'll see how it all fares by the end of the test."

The cadet mounted atop the platform whips around, arrows set now against the third scrapper, screaming through the air as they bite into metal—knocking the machine to the ground.

The other three cadets turn the brunt of their attacks to the still standing clawstrider, darting into action and dancing back from its attacks as they trade off lunges and strikes. The leader drops from the vantage, his arrows turned to the still twitching clawstrider set within sparks, his face drawn in concentration.

And with all of their attentions split between the two clawstriders, none of Owl Squad notices the third scrapper slowly rising from where it had fallen behind them.

Its jaws open, sunlight glinting on metal, and alarm punches straight into Kotallo's gut.

The cadets have no time to react. The plasma blasts sear through the air without warning, painting themselves white‐hot against the closest cadet and tearing into his leg. He cries out, his weight dropping to the sands, hands shaking as they claw towards his blistered skin.

The cadet next to him falters, her eyes widening, and the clawstrider before her catches her hesitation before she can take hold of it once more, whipping about in the opening she has left before her, its tail slamming into her stomach and flinging her into one of the wooden walls.

The second clawstrider screeches, shaking off the last of its sparks as it stands.

"Two's not enough to—"

Ivirra's voice is hissed in dread even as Kotallo jerks towards the edge of their platform, adrenaline cutting itself into his veins. "Ballista!" He commands, the word ripping across the noise and crash of sounds around them.

The clawstriders screech in unison, and the two cadets still standing gasp in pain, clamping their hands over their ears as they stagger away, narrowly missing the attacks that come after them next.

The first ballista bolt punches into the scrapper, silencing it for good, and some of the tension in Kotallo's lungs catches itself as the cadets lunge away again.

This battle for dominance has now turned to one of holding the line—all that matters now is surviving.

The ballista swivels, and the two upright cadets duck to scoop up their fellow trainees from the ground, heels digging into the sand as they drag them away and down behind a wall. The next bolt launches through the air, landing straight into the chest of the closest clawstrider and pinning it to the ground. It gives two feeble kicks, before its own lights dim as machine oil seeps out like blood to the thirsty sands.

The other clawstrider approaches, heavy steps jarring to Kotallo's bones, and the next ballista shot is taking too long, too long, and where—

"It's jammed!" Tarreka suddenly calls out, and the fear in her voice slams into Kotallo's chest, matching the expression of distress she wears as she and Reikko both work to reload the weapon, to no avail.

The cadets raise their weapons, and even from up here he can see the shake to their hands.

No time to hesitate.

Kotallo jumps from the platform with a roar, the landing in the sand rattling up his legs as he rolls, grit between his teeth.

The clawstrider turns, his presence enough to change its threat assessment, and Kotallo charges towards it, steps catching on the uneven ground.

A flash of light on metal. The leader of the squad cries out, thrusting his blade into the chest of the machine, the scrape of metal on wire on sparks.

The clawstrider screeches, its claws flashing out in defense, and all of the cadets crumple into one another as the air above them is cut through.

One of the kids scream.

Kotallo's heart kicks against his chest, all of his thoughts narrowing to the sight of them huddled against the wall even as the shattered wood splinters around them.

Time cuts into his chest like the shaft of an arrow, and his senses blur, leaving only the shape of actions taken and the glimpse of fear held in their eyes.

The clawstrider stutter steps, the creak of metal, and Kotallo reaches—

His hands catch upon one of the fins at the edge of its tail, metal and flesh and razor sharp, and dimly he registers the cut of blood within the air.

He knows it is not his alone.

Blood roaring in his ears, Kotallo wraps his hands tighter, and pulls. Something creaks, something roars, and it is only from the scrape in his throat that he knows the sound is his own.

His body strains, trembling limbs and heels digging into the shifting sands, the write of lightning along his bones.

The clawstrider lets out a grating noise, steps stuttering backwards, clawed feet dragging through the sand.

Another step more, and Kotallo turns, throwing all of his force into the motion, heart slamming into his lungs.

The clawstrider screeches again, claws striking uselessly as Kotallo swings it to the side, before its body tips through the air.

Sand plumes up into the air the moment the machine crashes into the earth, a mess of writhing limbs and glowing lights, and Kotallo drags a breath into his screaming lungs before he turns.

"Get out of here!" He snaps, dragging one of the cadets to his feet, and sweat stings into his eyes as he scowls down at them, his vision sparking.

There's blood on the sands, stuck in his throat.

The Owl Squad leader stands as well, his hands wrapped around his bow, but there is fear in his eyes. "I can fight!" he insists, fear shaking all the more in his voice.

The clawstrider roars behind them.

Kotallo's hand darts forward, plucking off the knife from the cadet's shoulder holster, and flips it into his hand as he turns—

His arm flings out, the glint of light on metal as the knife cuts through the air. It slams straight into eye of the machine, splitting through glass and glowing red light, dropping it back to the ground.

Kotallo turns back to the cadets, chest heaving, voice tearing at his throat. "Leave."

He doesn't stop to see how they respond, jolting to the side as the clawstrider gets on its feet again.

He has to get it away from the cadets.

He has to buy them them time.

The machine charges after him, the knife still jutting out from its skull, its steps lumbering and stilted as it pursues him.

Kotallo's attention catches upon the weapon one of the trainees had left behind on the sands, and his thoughts zero in upon it. A slight shift in direction, the sound of the clawstrider winding up behind him.

His hands wrap around the shaft of the blade—

Kotallo drops backwards onto the sands, the flash of teeth snapping through the air just where his chest was only a heartbeat before.

He rolls, pulse pounding as he surges to his feet, and the clawstrider twists towards him, jaws cutting open once more.

The blade gets shoved straight into its throat, sparks catching in the air.

The machine thrusts its head upwards, and the bulk of it slams into Kotallo's chest, throwing him back two stumbling steps. A wheezing gasp catches in his throat, pain like claws sinking into his lungs, and Kotallo grits in another breath, catching his balance once more.

The clawstrider tilts its head at him, sparks spilling out of one eye, and the other glowing a murderous red.

It jumps.

Kotallo ducks again, missing the tail as it slices above his head once more. His machine hand darts upwards, catching the razor tipped edge of the tail before the Clawstrider can step away again.

An electric hum starts up in his bones, darkening in his eyes.

"That's it," he grins.

A jolt along his arm, and the tang of ozone slams into his senses, lightning snapping from his hand and arcing across the metallic surface if the machine.

It screams, writhing under the force of the electricity coursing through wire and steel, body jerking uselessly as Kotallo grunts, holding his ground.

Beneath him, the sands crystallize to glass.

Kotallo lets go of the clawstrider with a sharp breath, letting the blackened husk of it collapse to the ground, the charred taste in the back of his throat as he stumbles backwards.

His vision is still sparking, spots of light and darkness eclipsing through his thoughts as he turns away, pain lancing itself through his side.

Blood on his tongue. Kotallo spits it onto the ground, forcing his movements forward.

He finds the cadets at one of the tunnels to the arena, gathered about by the marshals who had been tasked to the trials and the other tenakth who had found themselves in the stands to watch.

Ivirra meets him at the mouth of the tunnel, her face half obscured by the shadows as she steps forward. "Kotallo—"

He raises one hand to silence her, the drag of adrenaline finally seeping from his bones, the slick of blood running hot down his wrist. "Dont," he says, shaking his head. "Later, Ivirra."

His steps echo strangely in his mind as he advances towards the cluster of marshals and cadets further in, and finds every set of eyes suddenly set upon him.

Kotallo stops, the cool of anger settling like steel in his stomach, the tear of claws along his flesh. "You." He points at the squad leader, his words achingly calm for all of the burning set in his throat. "Your name, soldier."

The cadet stares back at him, blood from his brow mixing pink upon the white paint on his face. "Rh—" a gasping, stuttering breath. "Rhukka, High Marshal."

Kotallo pulls a slow breath in. Takes a step forward. Reaches out and wraps his hand around the front of the boy's armor, pulling him closer.

"Rhukka," he says, his voice deceptively calm, dark and scraping through the air. "Would you like to explain to me what the hell happened out there?"

The Sky Clan trainee swallows—hard. "I—"

"Two of your squad are injured, soldier. You are their leader, and you are responsible for them." Kotallo lets the kid go, turning away. "You're the one who got up on that vantage point. If you're going to put yourself in a place of protecting your squad, then you damn well better do the job properly."

Kotallo crouches before one of the other cadets, the one who had taken the plasma blast to the leg. "It was your carelessness that caused this, Rhukka. You cannot leave any chance for the machines to remain alive. That's what gets people killed."

Kotallo lifts his head, finding the shaking squad leader's gaze once more. "You want leadership? You want responsibility? You want to be able to demand a challenge for you and your men?"

He stands, darkness flickering in his gaze as he pins the cadet beneath the weight of it. "Then you better take responsibility, because these kids put their lives in your hands!"

A hand brushes at his arm, and Kotallo cuts in a sharp breath, turning to Ivirra. She holds him there, an insistence to her gaze, and Kotallo relents, dipping his head. "Report to Setta in the healers ward. And get some rest."

Kotallo steps forward again, turning his attention to the cadet that had been struck by the clawstrider, and tilts his head at Ivirra. "Help me get her up?"

Ivirra nods, and she helps to ease the girl into Kotallo's arms, not even flinching when she lets out ragged gasps from the movements. Kotallo winces at the stretch of blood across her skin, before he realizes that it is his own, smeared from his aching hand.

Tarreka and Reikko take up the cadet with the injured leg, holding him up between them, and they all make their way towards the healers ward together.

Voice echo around them, whispers cast from lips to ear, catching upon stone and sand, and Kotallo sets his jaw against it all.

Shadows settle themselves on his shoulders, catching at the edges of his vision, and Kotallo shoves them all away, grounding himself with the weight of life held within his arms. He can hear each trembling breath of the cadet held against him, and Kotallo steadies himself by the sound of it.

"You're going to be alright, soldier," he murmurs, dipping his head. "You all fought well out there."

"Thank you, High Marshal," she whispers, voice small.

The healers ward is a flurry of motion by the time they get there, no doubt already set into preparation by whatever runner had darted off when the fight first started to go south.

The sounds dim around Kotallo, nothing more than a muffled roar in his ears, the burn of air into his lungs, the drum of his pulse kicking through his veins.

"High Marshal, we can take it from here."

His steps shuffle, slow, and the weight in his arms is taken from him. The healer's face before him blurs, and Kotallo turns, dragging a breath like knives into his lungs, heat blistering under his skin.

Blood bites against the back of his teeth.

A staggered step forward, the ringing in his ears jamming into his senses, the world pitching before him.

"Kotallo?"

Pain digs into his chest, the spots in his vision stretching.

He cant—

"Kotallo!"

His arm juts out, catching against stone and steel and he falls—

Hands—holding him up. Ivirra's voice—shouting in his ear, even as the shape of her words are lost to him.

"I'm fine."

The wall against his back, and Kotallo leans into the pressure from it, panting hard, straining to right his thoughts.

Someone is lifting his hand. Someone is pulling at his armor. Someone is still yelling, and Kotallo lets his head slump backwards, his brow pulling tight as his chest burns, pushing them away.

"I'm fine."

Hands brush across his brow, callouses scuffed against his skin.

"Come on, Kotallo," Aloy soothes, her voice ringing in his ears. "You're going to be ok."

Her name catches in his throat, the shape of it upon his lips.

"You're going to be ok," Aloy whispers, her brow pressed against his own. "Just breathe, Kotallo."

Kotallo opens his mouth, the cool slide of air into his lungs, his body slumping to the ground, Aloy's touch warm against his skin.

Finally, Kotallo gives in to the darkness, letting it wrap against his aching bones, deep and set with peace.

He breathes.

Chapter Text

"Ok now, Talla. Open your eyes."

Aloy's hands squeeze slightly on her daughter's shoulders, a slight grin pulling across her face as she waits for her reaction.

Marshal is crouched before them both, his lights flickering a soft blue, and Aloy's eyes settle on the construction of leather and fur set on the back of it. It hadn't been the easiest thing to figure out how to make a saddle for the machine, but Teb had been patient enough to work with her on most of the construction.

Talla lets out a little, gasping breath, stepping forward to settle her hands on the fur across the machine's back. "You gave Marshal a cape!" She says, her voice pitching higher in excitement as she looks back at her mother. "So he won't be cold!"

Something plucks in Aloy's chest at the sight of her daughter, and Aloy chuckles slightly, shaking her head as she joins Talla at the scrapper's side. "Actually," she says, picking up her daughter. "I made him a saddle."

She sets Talla down across the saddle, directing her to set her hands on the set of reins they had created and hooked to the wiring and cables across the scrapper's neck. "This," Aloy says, ruffling at Talla's hair. "Is so you can ride on Marshal's back. And you can come along adventures with me, but still be able to explore too if you want. And—"

Aloy hesitates, setting her hand atop Talla's head, looking down at the innocence peering back up at her, and sighs. "And because Marshal is a scrapper, he'll be able to keep you safe too."

Talla grins at her, before flopping forward and stretching her arms open wide over the machine's radar component. "Thank you, Mama," Talla murmurs, her words muffled into the fur.

Aloy's smile softens, and she strokes her hand down Talla's back. "Of course, my little scrapper."

A beat of silence, and Aloy holds the moment within her chest, warming in her lungs. Her hand creeps up to her focus almost without thought, her attention shifting only slightly enough to capture the image, framing it into digital immortality.

A breath caught within her lungs, and Aloy glances over it once more, of the smile caught in Talla's eyes—of her father's eyes—the curve of her face barely revealed behind her thick red hair as she peers up to her mother.

She sends the image to Kotallo before she can even tell herself not to.

Aloy closes down her focus and brings her hands together in a sharp clap, jolting herself out of her thoughts. "I have one more thing to say to you, Talla my love."

Talla sits up, twisting slightly so she can look up at Aloy better, her eyes shining with interest. "What, Mama?"

Aloy leans down, the brush of a smile upon her lips. "Go run inside and grab your bags. Today we're going on a little adventure."

-

Aloy lets out a long breath, stretching her arms out in front of herself as she walks along, soaking in the warmth of the sun filtering down upon her skin.

"Thanks again for having this idea, Teb," she says, turning her head slightly to look towards the Nora man, who is walking with his Grazer at his side, hand settled at its shoulder. "It's nice to be out for something calm."

There's a bump against her leg, and Aloy laughs, reaching down to rub her hand against Marshal's head, the scrapper letting out a grinding sound at her touch. Talla had spent the whole walk so far upon the machine's back, alternating between periods of wide-eyed silence and the melody of mumbled songs, songs that Teb had nudged Aloy into singing along with as well, the three of them falling into some sort of halfway harmony.

Zo would be proud if she ever got the chance to hear them.

The scrapper bumps against her leg again before suddenly drawing short, and Aloy pauses, looking back towards Talla as her daughter's attention is caught upon the flit of color moving through the undergrowth.

She turns back towards Aloy, face pulling into a bright grin, even as her hand moves upwards, fingers curling as she signs. Fox!

"That's right," Aloy chuckles, mirroring the sign as she shifts to crouch at Talla's side. "That is a fox running out there."

Talla opens her mouth as if to speak, before pausing and turning back towards her mother, the signs upon her hands almost absentminded as she goes through the motions. Like the story.

Something catches in Aloy's chest, and she forces herself to breathe through it, standing up once more. "Yeah, it is." She pauses, resting her hand upon Talla's shoulder, before looking out towards Teb who had stopped a few paces away. "Ready to keep going, Talla?"

Talla stares out into the now silent stretch of the forest a moment longer before nodding. Aloy hums in response, clicking her tongue and urging Marshal back into movement once more, the Scrapper resuming its ambling gait.

The two go on ahead of her, picking up speed to draw up to Teb's side, and in the moment when he reaches out to brush his hand across her daughter's shoulder—

The image shifts, and for one terribly aching moment, it's Kotallo who is standing there, a smile warm upon his face as he looks down to their daughter, an expression of sheer adoration.

Her breathing hitches, and Aloy swallows down a pained whine, the image blurring through with tears before finally righting itself, and it's just Teb again, his head tipped as he walks, hand still settled on Kealen's side.

It's not Kotallo there. It's never been him. He hasn't—

He's been in the Tenakth lands, doing exactly what she had given to him as her final command. He had returned to Hekarro, and devoted himself to his role as High Marshal.

She had taken enough of his time—enough of his life—and he was where he was meant to be now.

She could hear it in his voice. Hear the pride in his words as he had spoken long over all the new marshals that had joined in the four years of her absence, of their growth as individuals and a family.

A family…

Had he ever really wanted one? Had he ever really wanted more than what Aloy was so certain she could not provide?

What would he have said if she had told him that day? Would he have even believed her? She had hardly believed it herself back then, and had almost dreaded it all the more.

Would he have even wanted it—this sudden responsibility thrust upon her, upon them—when each of their words had still been tinged with anger and guilt? When the last time they had seen each other before had been laced with the bitter chill of every fractured argument they could not escape?

That she could not forget.

She would never forget slick of his blood, hot upon her skin, thick within her throat, burning in her lungs.

She had ordered him to his death—or had he chosen it himself?

Which was the more bitter curse?

Which one had torn them both apart, her inaction or his own action?

Who was the one to blame when they both stood aching, hundreds of miles apart?

And how is she supposed to breathe past the claws now tearing into her heart, the chill of dread down her spine?

The sensation that something has terribly wrong.

-

"I'm sure she had a great day, Teb," Aloy says, shifting Talla's weight from where the girl is draped half across her shoulder, head nestled into the crook of Aloy's neck. "She always has fun when we get to go out like this."

Teb tilts his head, that same small smile he wears drawing slightly as he studies her. "I hope it was a help to you as well, Aloy," he says, patting at his Grazer's side as he speaks. "You've seemed… different, these days."

Aloy huffs out a breath, a tired smile on her lips. "Good different? Or bad different?"

Teb looks at her, low and long, and Aloy nearly looks away from his silent observation, before he finally answers. "A good different. You seem happier. Lighter. Like you aren't carrying as much anymore."

A shrug, a motion slightly hampered by the child leaning upon her now, but Aloy's words are slower to come. "I think… I'm finally realizing that I'm sick of feeling like I'm alone."

Teb's expression falters, her gaze drawing into concern. "Aloy, you've… I hope you know that as long as you have been here, you haven't been alone."

The wearied smile persists, matched by the look in her eyes. "I think I'm coming to realize that too, Teb."

He gives her another, long, considering look, before stepping away. "Well, if you ever need me, Aloy. You know where I am."

Teb turns, and leaves her be, and Aloy leaves towards her cabin once more.

The weight upon her begins to fall as soon as she turns her eyes to the setting sun, the knots in her chest unraveling themselves into anticipation instead, the slow drag of color in the sky met within her eyes.

It wouldnt be long now. It really wouldnt.

Aloy carries Talla back inside the cabin, settling her daughter in the mass of pillows and blankets sprawled upon her bed, a fondness upon her lips as she brushes Talla's bangs away from her face, freeing up her brow for the softest touch of her lips.

"Love you, little scrapper," Aloy murmurs, closing her eyes.

Kotallo had wanted to talk to Talla tonight. Maybe, with enough time, he could learn to love her too.

She stands, then loses herself into the long set, long familiar rhythms.

Rhythms she had long since learned how to do alone.

Draw the water. Set the pot. Stoke the fire. Fieldbird and roots, the slow clunk of a knife, the silence of her own breaths.

Talla, at her side.

Aloy flinches, only the slightest, before looking down to her daughter, and Talla stares back, still a hint of bleary sleep within her eyes. Talla leans against Aloy's leg again, hands already reaching upwards. "What is it?"

Aloy chuckles lightly, breath in her lungs, and sets down the knife. "I'm making fieldbird stew."

A beat of silence, and the words she had already expected fall from Talla's lips in an excited, rising rhythm. "Can I help you?"

Aloy tilts her head out, already moving to find another smaller, duller knife. "Go grab a stool and hop up here. You want to do the roots tonight?"

Talla hums her approval, already flitting off to fulfill her task, leaving her mother's question unanswered.

Aloy shakes her head in amusement, and her gaze catches on the window beyond.

The sun has already set itself low into the horizon, hugging the edge of the trees.

That tension knots itself back up in her chest.

-

Night has settled fully on the sacred lands, and Aloy lets out a slow breath.

It's fine. It's all fine, really. Even though Kotallo had sworn that he would call, that it would be her sunset, not his, and even though the time for both has already passed, its fine. Even though she's never known him to break a promise so long as he was physically able, it's fine.

It has to be fine.

Because if everything is not fine, then that leaves only the acrid tastes of alternatives upon her tongue.

Surely he is just busy. He's the High Marshal, after all, and had already reported that there would be much for him to do. And perhaps more had been added to his duties, and he simply did not have time enough to explain it to her.

Not even a word.

Aloy's pulling up the chat between them before she even really thinks about it, eyes scraping over the last few words they had sent to one another before, and then—

The picture of Talla, the shape of her smile near hidden behind her hair, but those eyes, those eyes—

Her father's child, if only in this way alone.

But still, Kotallo hasn't said a word.

Something sticks within her chest as she realizes—this is the first time he would have ever seen Talla. That from before, all he really knows is the sound of her voice.

That he's never before seen these eyes that look so much like his own.

Aloy bites her lip, gaze skipping down to Talla herself, who had been flopped across the floor before the fire, the slow scratch of charcoal against paper filling the air.

Except, Talla isn't drawing at the moment. She's staring up at Aloy, her gaze piercing even through the innocence in her eyes. "Who are you waiting for, Mama?"

Aloy blinks, slowly, and she is struck again by just how much Talla sees. And something in that scares her, when she has spent her entire life shielding herself from the eyes of others, to show only her strength and never her weakest moments. She's never been able to be weak, not since that day she decided to run the proving, nor in any day since.

Too many eyes upon her now.

Aloy lets out a breath and leans forward, propping her elbow up on her knee to lean upon. "What do you mean, Talla?"

Talla shrugs, picking back up the charcoal stick, darkened smudges of it against her fingertips. "You keep looking out the window and frowning. And then you tap your focus and frown some more."

Talla kicks her feet, once, twice, her own features pulling into a miniature frown, before continuing her work. "So who are you waiting for?"

Aloy drags in a breath—it burns in the back of her lungs, sticking there—and sighs. "A friend, Talla. He promised he would call tonight."

Talla lets out a small sound, a wordless hum, dragging charcoal across the page. "You should call him."

The words—so small, yet something about them catches in Aloy's mind again, jarring against her thoughts. "What?"

Talla moves on, oblivious, as she picks up her paper and moves towards her mother, presenting the smudged forms of trees and a boxy shape that seems reminiscent of a scrapper. "It's Marshal," she murmurs, pushing the paper into Aloy's hands before forcing her own way into Aloy's lap, who shifts to make space for her. "Can I say hi?"

Aloy holds the paper in one hand, the other wrapping around Talla's stomach to keep her balance. "It's very cute," Aloy murmurs, a fondness to her eyes. "I'll put it up later."

Talla nods, satisfied, before tapping at her mother's arm. "Can I say hi?" Talla asks again, craning her head upwards to look at Aloy.

"To who?" Aloy asks, chuckling as she sets the drawing aside.

"To your friend," Talla answers, shifting her weight again. "Is it—is it Uncle Erend? Can I say hi to him?"

"No. No its—" Aloy hesitates, before something solidifies in her chest. What is she doing here, really? Why is she waiting—always waiting—on Kotallo, when she had already found herself sick of it? Was she really going to keep waiting and doing nothing?

She pulls in a breath, raising her hand to her focus. "Yes, Talla, you can absolutely say hi once I call him. In fact, he said that he wanted to talk to you tonight."

Kotallo's name, the digital shape, the image of it burned into her eyes through years of aching nights looking upon it.

She doesn't hesitate this time.

An echoing chirp. Again and again. Always reaching out for him, always stuck waiting for his response. The choke of silence set between them, when Aloy had begged—begged for him to answer her, his blood burning on her skin.

How many times has she faced this silence in despair?

A small click, and Aloy straightens up.

But the words spilling across the display only tear into her chest all the more.

Focus connection unavailable.

Her breath stutters in her lungs, and Aloy's hand curls from where it is set against Talla's stomach.

It's fine. It has to be fine. Kotallo has to have a reason for not picking up the call.

Even though he had promised.

Even though he always kept his promises.

Why would he stop now?

Why would he lie to her?

Aloy stands up abruptly, setting Talla back down on the ground with the motion. "Alright, scrapper, time for bed."

Talla lets out a sound of protest, her hands tugging out at Aloy's legs. "But I wanna say hi, Mama!"

Aloy pauses, pulling in a steadying breath, and strokes her hand across Talla's hair. "I know, my love. But it looks like he can't say hi tonight, and it's already late enough. Off to bed."

Talla huffs, hiding her face up against Aloy's hip, and her mother sighs, fingers toying through her daughter's hair. "Fine. You can sleep on my bed tonight. I'll just be a minute though, ok?"

This seems to be enough to placate Talla, and the girl shuffles off to the larger bed to the side of the cabin, immediately swallowing herself in all of the blankets upon Aloy's bed, nothing visible of her at all but the small lump near the edge where her fingers drum out from underneath.

Aloy moves with quiet purpose, the flickering of it catching in her chest as she moves about the cabin, putting out every candle and making sure all is set for sleep. Then she pauses before the bed, and pats Talla's back through the blankets. "I'll be right back, ok Talla? I have to check something outside."

A moment of silence, before Talla's voice draws outwards, muffled by the blankets. "Can you make sure the machines aren't cold?"

An aching smile, and Aloy nods her head. "I'll make sure, Talla. Try and get cozy and sleep. I'll be in soon."

She steps out to the back, the night air chilling against her skin, and Aloy rolls her shoulders forward, curling into herself. A breath, and she sits down on the step, curling her fingers in and out.

It's fine.

He's probably fine.

Except nothing about this feels fine.

Even as the thought pricks at her mind, Aloy shudders beneath the weight that has been settling itself against the back of her lungs, the pressure that has been straining each breath since sunset had passed them both by.

She had asked him not to forget. He had sworn—not on his life, yet he had sworn—that he would be there.

She will have to take him at his word.

And yet…

Something isn't right. Something she has been ignoring with near desperation, yet everything about it sets itself on edge against her now.

And above anyone else who might hold answers about Kotallo now, there is only one that she can truly turn to.

Aloy gathers up the barest edges of her will, shrugging away the doubts crowding within her mind, and breathes, the burn of it as she pulls up the call.

Certainty rings like steel within her chest—and then, low and rich and bold—the sound of his voice.

"Champion."

Chapter Text

Aloy drags in a shaking breath, and the stillness within her now snaps at the sound of Hekarro's voice.

"Champion."

It's not fine. She can hear it—hear it now within his voice. And it is not from her call alone, it cannot be. There is something else, something deeper, something that whispers in her chest.

Something is wrong.

"Where's Kotallo?"

The word's tear frm her throat before any other thing, and the panic in her voice takes her by surprise, tripping within her lungs and burning on the next inward drag of her breath.

She hates it. Hates it all. Hates how she had spent so many years living just fine without him, how she had learned to pick herself up into some new sort of normal when peace had finally descended upon them all. How she's barely had Kotallo back in her life for a handful of weeks again and all of a sudden it feels as if she cannot breathe without him, as if she cannot live without him, yet hadn't she lived without him for all this time?

She hates that she needs him again.

She hates the part of her that whispers she's needed him all along.

Hekarro's voice is just as she remembers, the low timbre of it only slightly changed by the rough currents of time. "I admit, Aloy, it is a surprise to hear your voice again."

These are not gentle words. There is condemnation in his voice, the rumble of it spread low across them now.

This is not the voice of a friend.

This is the voice of a man who knows the wrongs she carries.

"I know." The words scrape through her, and Aloy lets out another breath, watching it drift like smoke upon the wind. "I know, and I know I should have—" a hitch, a catch, her chest aching from the effort of holding her thoughts together. "Is Kotallo alright?"

A beat, a beat that drums within her mind, a pounding in the back of her skull. Hekarro's voice changes, not heavy but strained, a scrape undercut in each word. "I do not see why that is of any relevance to you now."

"I—" her voice breaks, and Aloy struggles to catch hold of it once more, blinking repeatedly against the burn in her vision, the too familiar sensation of tears, that stick of fear within her lungs. Helpless to fight against a fear she cannot even name.

Hekarro pulls in a breath, as if he might speak, and this is enough to prompt words upon Aloy's own lips. "He promised he was going to call tonight. And we both know him, Hekarro, we both know that he does everything within his power to keep his word."

I swear it on my life.

There is a long draw of silence, and Aloy hides her face in shaking hands, the trembling within her bones from more than just the cold settled against her skin. "Please, Hekarro." Is she begging? Must she beg? Would she beg, to have him once more, to hold him tight within her arms and know that he is safe, that he is held, that he is hers?

What would she give up just for one last chance to love him again? To love him better than she had before?

"You are back in contact."

Hekarro's voice has changed once more, and she is back to hating. Back to hating the distance, to not be able to look into they eyes of a man who had once been counted as one of her greatest allies.

When was the last time she had stood beside her allies—her friends?

"The two of you have been… speaking."

She cannot if his words are a question, a statement, or some quiet admonition, yet Aloy feels wearied by them all the same, the weight of her heart aching in her chest.

"We have been."

That silence once more, and Aloy grits her jaw, not knowing which man is speaking to now. Is he the Chief of the Tenakth, the one to whom Aloy had given command back to—had given Kotallo back to when she realized that the weight of his devotion carried a cost she could never again ask him to pay?

Or is this Hekarro, who had held her with unfaltering arms as she sobbed into his chest, when Kotallo had still lain on that border between life and death? Is this the man who had looked into her eyes and known—that love was a terrible and haunting work that she did not think she could survive?

"Then perhaps your voice would do him well in this time."

A breathe of relief loosed from her lungs, to know that he has not turned her aside as easily as he could. Then the tension writes itself through her bones once more, his words catching upon her thoughts. "What does that mean? Hekarro, did—did something happen?"

"He will be well," Hekarro answers, his voice smoother now. "The healers simply wish to keep him for a time."

"The healers?" The words cut at her throat, the taste of blood on her teeth, the crush of a thousand nights of the same nightmares—or perhaps the variations within. "What the hell happened, Hekarro?"

"His duty, Champion." He has lost all sense of assurance, of comfort. Each cut of breath is meant to match in response to her own challenging words. "He did that which is sworn and expected of every soldier under my command."

A curse catches in her teeth, one that cuts inside her throat, and Aloy chokes upon the shape of it. "Would you expect him to die for you, Hekarro?"

She can hear the sharpness of his breath—the cut of his inhale broken off by her words, and Aloy's hands curl into fists, gripping tightly to the strands of control she has left, desperately held. "We both know what Kotallo expects of his duty, Hekarro. Of what he expects from you as commander."

A dip of her head, the words hollow in the air. "We both know he expects to give his life. I just thought you would take better care of it than I ever had."

"You have no right—"

Hekarro breaks off, before sighing, a heavy sound, wearied and laiden with all that Aloy knows his command has placed upon him. The cost of those who have followed him, the lives of those who have paid for the peace that they all now live within.

"You are right."

Another breath. "Kotallo… has always placed care of others before himself. I thought perhaps time would ease this, yet it seems he has grown to hold little recognition of himself even now."

Aloy chokes out a weary sigh, letting her head tip against the door at her back as Hekarro continues.

"But even still—you hold no right to have care of this matter. You gave that up the day you left."

"I still care." The words are haunted, scraping at her throat. "Even if I have no right to, Hekarro, I will always care."

Aloy curls in tighter to herself, and there is a frailness to the admission she lays before him now. Had she ever truly told another soul these things, in all the years that had torn between them all?

A hitch to her breathing, and Aloy pants, trying to draw air into her lungs even as they burn within her chest. "Nothing can stop me from caring for him," she whispers, closing her eyes.

Not life. Not death. Not years or the distance or all the unspoken words between them.

Not even herself.

Hekarro hums, a low rumbling tone, and Aloy shudders beneath the sound of it.

"You still love him."

She opens her mouth to speak—and the words stick in her throat, jagged and tight, nothing slipping out but a small, pained whine.

Hekarro takes her silence as confirmation enough.

"He will be well, Aloy."

His words are meant to be a comfort. They taste like her own defeat instead.

"I am certain he will contact you as he us able. And… I will ensure that you are contacted, should anything else happen."

Aloy wraps her arms around her stomach, pressing against the churning within her, the pain that flickers there. "Thank you, Hekarro."

The silence settles between them, and there is no expectation from him, and Aloy finds nothing more that she can offer in this moment, the cold air around her thick within her throat. Finally, she sighs, rising to her feet. "I should… my daughter, Talla, she—"

"I understand," Hekarro murmurs. "The hour is late, and the work of a parent never truly ends."

Aloy lets out a breath, a huff of weary amusement. "You would know, wouldnt you."

She hesitates in the silence, raising her hand to her focus, when Hekarro's voice settles upon her once more. "Aloy, for whatever disagreements that may be held—" his words catch, slow consideration. "You still have people who care of you, Aloy. You do not have to shut yourself out from us."

Longing tears within her chest, a sudden surge of wanting, to be in the grove once more, to be surrounded by the comforting sounds of movement and voices, to be at home in a way these Sacred Lands have never claimed of her before.

Then her thoughts flick back, to the shape of Talla nestled within the blankets, to the quietness with which they have been afforded life here.

Here, she is safe. They are both safe.

And she would give anything to keep them as such.

"Thank you, Hekarro," Aloy answers, her voice deceptively smooth. "But I'm exactly where I need to be right now."

A quiet assent. Quieter goodbyes. Aloy leaves with the last of Hekarro's words ringing in her ears, and finds herself walking towards the machines, the blue lights spilling out from them some strange quiet comfort to her now.

She sighs, pressing against the side of her strider, and Marshal whirs at her back, leaning into her hip.

"I can do this," Aloy whispers, closing her eyes. "I've been doing this for four years. I'm—I'm strong enough to keep going."

She has to keep going. Because Kotallo—

He isn't here. And Talla is counting on her.

A life held in her hands.

Again and again and again.

-

The door clunks softly as Aloy pulls it closed, a sigh upon her lips.

Talla's words had echoed in her mind, and Aloy had somehow found herself hunting down a couple blankets from the traveling bags that she kept stationed outside the house, even after all these years and how little traveling had been done.

The machines had been curious about the fabric being draped across them, but had offered no protests, and Aloy had turned back to the cabin, the machines behind her kept warm just as Talla had requested.

Now, Aloy crosses the cabin towards her bed, rubbing her hands against one another to warm them, reddened knuckles telling of the cold air outside.

She's only half pulled up the blanket when Talla suddenly attaches herself to Aloy's side, hands gripping desperately at Aloy's shirt as her face presses into her waist.

Aloy hesitates, her hands hovering in the air, uncertain, before she finally settles one upon Talla's back, brushing down her spine. "Talla? You ok there?"

Talla mumbles out something, the words muffled and garbled as they are pressed through cloth, and Aloy sighs, stroking down Talla's back again. "Ok. We can just… sit like this until you're feeling ready. It's alright."

Aloy shifts, pulling her legs fully onto the bed, and Talla moves with the change in position as well, crawling into Aloy's lap even as she keeps herself pressed tight against her stomach. Aloy fingers move slowly, rising to stroke gently through Talla's hair, and some of her daughter's grip loosens, her body sagging as she moves instead to curl upon herself.

A breath, and Aloy wraps her arms around Talla, shifting her up to lean against her chest, and Talla nestles into her mother's arms.

"Little scrapper," Aloy murmurs, brushing the words into the bangs across Talla's forehead. "Can you say what's wrong?"

A pause, before Talla's voice, shaking and small. "You were gone too long. And—and you've been crying."

Aloy blinks in surprise, one hand reaching up to brush her fingertips across her cheeks, no doubt coming back with a smear of paint, and Talla looks up at her, her brows tight in confusion and concern. "Mama, you ok?"

"Oh, love, I'm fine." Aloy pulls her close, her knees folding upwards and holding Talla tighter, even as her own voice trembles at the edges. "I just… wanted to hear about a friend. And the news I got wasn't very good."

Talla closes her eyes, head listing to the side. "Was it Kotallo? He makes… makes you upset a lot."

A breath catches in her lungs, an echo of the panic she had felt before, and Aloy swallows it back down. "I'm not upset with him," Aloy murmurs. "Not really, Talla. I just… I worry about him."

She sighs, tilting her head back as she strokes at Talla's hair once more, her gaze drifting over to the slow crackle of the fire. "When you really care about someone, Talla, you… you want them to be safe. And you want them to be happy."

A slight tug, and Aloy looks down to find Talla playing with the end of her braid, little fingers picking at the tie binding it together. "Is kot—is Kotallo not safe?"

Aloy huffs, half amusement and half exhasperation. "He should be. He really should be. But he's also stubborn, and doesn't listen, and does things that make him be not safe. So I worry about him."

Talla unfolds herself, looking up to find Aloy's gaze, and those warm brown eyes are searching, always searching. "Do you worry about me, Mama?"

There's so much concern in her eyes, Aloy feels an almost-laugh build within her from the sight of it, from the childish innocence she has worked so hard to protect. Instead, Aloy reaches up to cup her hand against Talla's face, thumb stroking across her cheek. "Of course I worry about you, Talla. I always worry about the people I love, and I love you more than anything else."

A beat of silence. Talla seems to be holding these words, considering them, before she deems them acceptable and settles herself against Aloy once more, wiggling slightly as she nestles down to get comfortable. Aloy huffs out a breath from the weight pressed against her now, before curling her arm around Talla once more.

"Does that mean we can finally go to sleep now?" Aloy asks, her free hand fishing out for the blankets that had been shoved to the side through all of this.

Talla nods against her, and Aloy rolls them both to be laying on their sides, Talla resting against her chest and Aloy curled around them, kicking the blankets over her legs in order to cover them both fully. Aloy breathes out slowly, letting the warmth of the matter seep into her, of Talla's presence offer comfort, her eyes slowly drawing closed.

A tug at her braid.

Aloy cranes her head downwards to look at Talla, who has both hands cradled in front of her chest, not meeting her eye. "Mama," she whispers, her voice small once more. "Does that mean you love Kotallo? Cause you worry about him so much?"

Aloy pulls in a sharp breath, the words catching in her lungs, an echo of what Hekarro had asked only aching minutes before. Her hand tightens around Talla's back, before she forces out a breath, burying her face into her daughter's hair.

"Yeah," Aloy croaks, blinking hard against the burn now set within her eyes. "Yeah, I love him."

Talla goes quiet again, and Aloy steadies out her breathing, slowly unwrapping herself from how she had curled tighter around her daughter, her pulse pounding in her ears. "Let's just go to sleep," Aloy whispers, hands shaking. "You've been awake long enough."

Talla huffs out a breath, hot against her chest, but does not protest, nestling her head to rest against Aloy's collarbone, and Aloy sighs, sinking in quiet relief, her body trembling and loosening all at once.

Fingers tapping at her side. "Does Kotallo love you too?"

Aloy chokes down a strangled sob, crushing her lips to Talla's hair in a desperate, aching kiss, silencing the pain tearing at her heart.

"No more questions, Talla."

Chapter Text

Kotallo wakes to a dull roar of pain and the weight of Hekarro's gaze set upon him.

He shifts, and a groan catches itself against his lungs, teeth and metal and tearing at his breath. Hekarro leans forward, his attention sharpening. "You're awake," the man murmurs, and Kotallo blinks wearily towards him. "That's good."

Kotallo dips his chin, slowly taking stock of his own body, of the ache written across the side and the long familiar burn within his lungs. Of the bitter taste of smoke across the back of his throat, sparks in his vision. "Chief," he croaks, the word scraping at his throat.

Hekarro reaches out, his hand setling by Kotallo's side. There's a darkness to his eyes, studying him, before Hekarro looses a breath, heavy and worn. "You've been keeping things from me."

A breath catches in his lungs, and Kotallo coughs, flickers of pain as he works to clear air into himself, thorns scratching within him now. "Hekarro—"

"The healers spoke with me," Helarro continues, completely speaking over him, his voice solemn. "Kotallo, how long have you been in pain?"

Kotallo looks away, swallowing hard even as the action tastes like sand and grit within him. "It is manageable."

"That is not what I asked," Hekarro presses, his gaze darkening further. "How long, Kotallo?"

He drags another breath in—and holds it. Holds it until the burn of it shifts from that of ache to that of his lungs simply crying out for oxygen, crying for relief from the taste of smoke written across his senses even now. "I don't know." These words, even, soaked through with blood and the sting of smoke within his eyes, the echo of inhuman screams and snarls caught against metal walls. "Months. Years. It does not matter."

He does not say that which is caught within his throat, written on his bones.

He cannot remember a day in which there was not pain.

Hekarro's hand finds Kotallo's shoulder, fingers curling tighter. "Why did you never tell me?"

"I am fine," Kotallo murmurs, his hand shifting at his side. "I will not let it affect my duties."

Hekarro shifts at this, anger snapping into his gaze. "Forget duty, son, this is your life!" he snaps, his voice slamming into Kotallo's lungs, the bloom of bruises written deep beneath the skin.

Another moment, a shaking breath drawn in, and Hekarro's voice softens. "Your life."

His hand moves, settling at Kotallo's face now, and he sighs, leaning into Hekarro's touch, weariness settling upon him, the weight of too many unspoken years digging into his thoughts. "Kotallo," Hekarro says slowly, holding his gaze. "Do you not think your life is worth more than your duty?"

The words taste foul against his teeth, yet Kotallo finds himself saying them all the same. "We are tenakth. My duty is my life."

There is dissapointment there in Hekarro's eyes, and Kotallo hates it. Still, he does nothing more than remove his hand, looking away. The chief remains quiet for a long time, and Kotallo turns his focus inwards, steadying each breath even as it strains against him. The fabric of the thin sheet pulled across his body scratches at his skin, and behind him—the press of padding and then the wall.

Another breath in, rattling in his lungs so that even he might hear, and Kotallo coughs, his body pitching forward from the force of it. Hekarro flinches before his hands settle at Kotallo's shoulders, gently pressing him back down.

Still, he does not meet Kotallo's gaze.

The words are slow upon his lips. "The Champion contacted me."

"Aloy?" Alarm catches in his chest, and Kotallo strains to lean forwward once more. "Is she alrigh—" the words cut themselves upon his breath, and Kotallo chokes down another cough, near enough matching the burn of panic threading itself through his bones.

"She is fine," Hekarro reassures him, pressing a hand to his chest now, and the outward pressure soothes some of the inward ache. "Aloy is fine, Kotallo."

Kotallo relents, sinking back against the wall, and sighs, the sound of it echoing strangely to his own ears. Hekarro's gaze shifts, appearing almost mournful as he looks upon him now. "She was worried about you."

A breath of a laugh, and Kotallo closes his eyes. "Of course she was," he mumbles, the words drifting on his lips.

"I'm worried about you."

Another caught, half chuckle. "Of course you are."

Kotallo counts his breaths, counts the seconds between each one, and his mind fllickers back to that of what he remembers before. Of Aloy, her voice crooned into his ears as he sank to the ground.

Even when she is not here, his mind holds her closer still.

"How did she—" the words catch, and Kotallo opens his eyes, lifting his head. "How did she know something had happened?"

A sigh upon Hekarro's lips. "She didn't. Or at least, not fully. She only knew that you had made a promise to her, and her concern had grown when it had not been kept."

The call.

Kotallo lets out a groan, his head sinking backwards. Sunset has no doubt long since passed both of them by. In fact, if the glimpse of the moon he can see from beyond this healer's room is anything to go by, it is an unreasonably early hour of the morning to be awake by, closer to the dead of night than anything else.

"I should… in the morning, I'll…" Kotallo drifts off, the ache building itself within him once more. "I had promised her, Hekarro."

The chief remains silent, and Kotallo turns his head to find the full weight of his consideration set upon him.

"The love set between the two of you—it is not something that comes in every lifetime, Kotallo. There are many soldiers who will live and die without knowing even the barest sense of connection that you hold with her even still."

Kotallo sighs, a scoff stuck in his lungs, and he looks away. "Who said anything of love?" The words ache, tearing at his chest, ringing in his ears. "Aloy took great cares in the act of severing those connections, Hekarro. She was the one who turned away—who broke whatever had been set between us."

There is a sudden flash of anger in his chest, one that catches Kotallo by surprise. The anger was an older ache, from before the hollowness had settled itself into his lungs, yet here it is again, stoked back to life by Hekarro's words.

And why? Why should he be angered by what Hekarro has said, when they both know that it is true?

"She did not act alone." Hekarro's voice is sharper now, losing the comforting tone that had been held to it before. "A relationship cannot be broken by one side alone. The other side must relent—or fight, as they see fit."

"She doesn't want—"

"Kotallo." Hekarro's voice cuts across his words, and the other man leans in close, his eyes boring into Kotallo's own. "Do you want this? Do you want her?"

Kotallo opens his mouth to speak, and the words catch upon the sudden crash of it against his lungs, this same desperation he has been holding for years, now set a thousandfold and all at once. He wants—

"We are Tenakth. We fight for what we want. So fight for her, Kotallo."

Kotallo swallows hard. Looks away. Closes his eyes against the sudden rush of sensation and emotion rippling in his chest, catching through his thoughts.

Fight for her.

"She's tired of fighting."

The words are tired as they fall from him, and Kotallo sighs. "We are both—" the memory of Aloy, her voice shot through with tears, shaking as he strains to hold her close, despite the distance, despite the years. "Tired of fighting, Hekarro."

His head sinks back, exhaustion pressing upon him. "She has let me remain in her life even now. It is more than I could ever dare to ask again."

Tears that press against his closing eyes. "I cannot lose her again by fighting for more than I deserve."

"Kotallo." Hekarro's voice is solemn once more. Wearied. Perhaps the years have worn just as heavily upon him as they hang upon Kotallo now. Perhaps they have not. Perhaps this is exhaustion of a different name, one that he cannot know. "Perhaps you should speak with her first before you decide what you are and are not deserving of."

That hand again, gripping at his shoulder, the pressure doing little to soothe the ache. "Call her, Kotallo. She has been waiting for you."

Hekarro leaves him then, his words echoing through Kotallo's mind, the sound of a single voice shouted against the mountain tall.

And Kotallo must relent.

-

Day is sending its first streaks of light across his skin when Kotallo finally gathers the last of his courage together, edges of it caught tight within his fist, matching the aching pulse within his chest.

He ignores the way his hand shakes when he finally raises it to his focus, finding her name.

Aloy's voice snaps through the line only a heartbeat later.

"Kotallo, what the hell!"

He winces from the sound of it, even as an almost laugh catches in the back of his lungs, a tired smile upon his lips. "Good morning, Aloy. I apologize for—"

"How could you be so stupid?" Aloy charges on regardless, and he can near picture the irritation on her face now. "Seriously, what the hell were you thinking in jumping down there like that?"

"I was thinking," Kotallo sighs, adjusting his position against the wall. "That someone needed to go save those kids."

"And no one else could have done it?"

"No one else did do it."

A beat of silence, a huff of her breath. "I hate it when you say things that are obviously right."

Another chuckle, warming through his chest, and Kotallo smiles. "Let's try all of this again." A tilt of his head, even though she cannot see him. "Good morning, Aloy. How are you?"

"Stressed," she replies flatly. Another breath, another sigh. "But doing better now. You—I'm glad you called."

Kotallo tilts his head back, fingers curling against the sheet still pulled across him. "I'm sorry I never called you last night. I know I promised and I would have—"

"It's ok," Aloy murmurs. "It's not like you meant to miss it or anything." A rough sound, scraped through her throat, and Kotallo winces again. "You're still in trouble though."

"I'm in trouble?" Kotallo huffs, shaking his head.

"Yes!" Aloy snaps. "Kotallo, you jumped down into the arena to fight a clawstrider without any weapons! I dont care how strong of a back you have, you cant just be fighting machines with your bare hands! That's how you get hurt, obviously!"

"I had weapons," Kotallo counters, yet he cannot shake the flood of amusement within him to be scolded in a way, so familiar to how they had lectured one another countless times after one or the other would return to base, banged up and grinning through the afterglow of victory.

"Yeah, the knife you took off the kid and the blade, I know. But that still doesnt—"

"Aloy." His words soften, as if his voice could slip across space and light and sooth itself across her skin, as if word alone could be enough to calm her now. "I'm fine, really."

A cut-off breath, an exhasperated sigh. "Kotallo, I'm literally looking at your vitals and charts right now. Don't lie to me and say that you're fine."

Something about her words catches in the back of his mind, and Kotallo raises his head. "Wait, my… Aloy, how did you get those?"

Aloy suddenly goes very quiet.

Suspiciously quiet.

"Aloy."

Another beat of silence. "Mmhm."

Kotallo leans forward, grunting against the way in which the motion pulls at his chest. "Aloy, how did you get my—"

"I hacked your focus."

Kotallo blinks, the air kicking out of his lungs, and he sinks back down. "What."

Aloy sighs, and he can nearly see her scrubbing hands across her face in the way she always used to before. "You can yell at me later, or whatever you want. I just… I had to know that you were ok. And Hekarro had said you were, but Kotallo, I had to know."

Her breathing catches, and Kotallo cannot help the shiver that trails its way along his spine, trembling under his skin. "I had to make sure that you were alright. That—that I wouldn't lose you again."

"Aloy."

If only she were here—if only he could pull her close, could rest her head against his chest like they had spent those first desperate nights after Nemesis, when she had refused to leave his side. As if he would disappear if she looked away for even moment, as if she would lose him if she let go.

And then she was the one to walk away after everything.

"Aloy," Kotallo says again, his voice steadier now, even as the words catch within him. "I'm not going anywhere. I swear it to you."

A huff of breath, the shape of words he cannot catch, and Aloy's sigh brushes within his ears, echoing through memory and false sensation. "I wish you took better care of yourself," Aloy murmurs, and Kotallo closes his eyes, letting her words slowly drape over him.

"I take well enough care," he mumbles in turn, even though they both know the words ring false, falling flat between them. "I did what I had to, Aloy."

"You have people who care about you," she whispers, and Kotallo shudders, the ghost of repition tracing down his arm. "You have people who worry about you. People who—people who you matter to."

Kotallo opens his mouth to speak, yet the weight of it all hangs upon him, too heavy a burden to be carried, too deep to be set upon any shoulders other than his own. "I know," is all that he can manage, the words drawing slowly from the hollowness inside his chest.

When he opens his eyes, she is there, flickering in light, sitting at his side, hand settled on his chest, her eyes peering insistently into his own, and under the care of her gaze—Kotallo breathes.

Aloy's hand reaches up, tracing across his skin, nothing but the air of the grove settled where her touch should be, where her warmth is ingrained into his very being. "You told me countless times," she whispers, and Kotallo would almost swear that tears are caught there in the corners of her eyes. Perhaps they burn also within his own eyes now. "That I was worth more than just the mission. That I had value and life outside of it."

She leans down, her forehead pressing against his, and Kotallo's breath catches within his lungs, an impossibility of sensation and desire and desperation crashing through him all at once.

"I believe the same about you too, Kotallo."

Kotallo closes his eyes, and lets himself believe—just for one perfect moment—that nothing had ever fallen apart between them before.

That they are who they used to be.

Even as he knows they can never go back.

Chapter Text

Aloy doesn't hold the holocall long between the two of them, but Kotallo cannot complain.

It is more than he dares to cling to, more than he could have even hope to have held even a few short months ago, when they might as well have been lifetimes apart from one another.

And now he has her held close, the hum of her voice as she moves about the cabin, as she steps into the fenced in area behind her home, a space which she describes in detail to him as she works.

All those years set in a desperate pace of endless working, and even now she does not allow herself the time to simply breathe.

"Remind me again what you're working on now?" Kotallo asks, his attention drifting away from the marshal schedule Ivirra had sent him at the sound of another muttered curse from Aloy's side of the line.

She huffs, exhasperation in her voice, and Kotallo can hear the clunk of something heavy being set down. "One of the hunters screwed up a tripcaster he traded in from Meridian, and I told him I would take a look at it for him." Another sigh, and Kotallo's lips turn up in amusement from the sound of it. "I just didn't realize he had messed it up this badly. What did he do—let a trampler walk all over it?"

He cannot help it—the sheer absudity of her statement paired with the tone of her voice draws him over the edge, and Kotallo laughs.

Even as the action pricks within his chest and he cannot breathe, even as he drags in a gasping breath into his lungs and he hears Aloy at his side, her own laughter ringing true within his heart, even as everything burns he cannot help but think if he must go—to go with a smile and Aloy's laugh, it would surely be worth it all.

Kotallo groans, his body finally laying out its final protest, and he sinks back once more, his breathing catching fully, jagged rips within his lungs.

"Kotallo?" Her voice shifts into concern, and Kotallo sighs against the scrape within him now, grieving the loss of light that had seemed to be settled between them now through so much of the morning. "Kotallo, are you alright?"

"Don't make me laugh," he croaks, even as the edge it tumbles into a rasping chuckle. "You might just be the death of me."

Aloy goes dead silent, and it takes a moment for the weight of his words to punch into him, but when they do his eyes snap back open. "Oh, goddess, Aloy I'm sorry—"

Aloy lets out a long, strained wheeze, her voice pitching higher as she gasps for air, before the sounds suddenly muffle, no doubt trapped behind her hand.

"No more laughing," she manages to scrape out, her own voice tinged through with muffled laughter. "And no more joke telling for you, either."

Kotallo lets out his own matching wheeze of breath, conceding. "You're probably right," he huffs, craning his head back. "Probably right."

Aloy sighs, the sound so close, so familiar, and Kotallo matches it, his scheduling completely forgotten in favor of this moment.

She seems to resume her own work, though, and Kotallo takes comfort in the sounds of it, the soft hums and lilting tones of voice as she works, the occasional muttered complaint when the tripcaster proves particularly difficult against her.

He turns back to the data once more, the map blurring slightly in his vision as it hangs before him. His hand moves slowly, almost lazily, but there's a sense of peace in this all. If it were not for the kick to his chest that each breath serves, he would simply think himself back in that time before Nemesis, when he and Aloy would sit for hours in companionship as they worked.

Perhaps this is not so different after all.

The pattern of Aloy's breathing shifts, and Kotallo tenses, his shoulders rolling forward in reaction—

"Talla! Ah—hi love."

Aloy lets out a warm sound, and something catches in Kotallo's chest as he listens.

As if he should not be there.

He ignores the part of him that wants to be there.

That ache presses deeper in his chest the longer he listens, the sound of Aloy's voice crashing over him like a stream upon stones, the shape of Talla's responses lost to focus system.

"Did you have fun out with Uncle Teb this morning?"

That scratch in the back of his mind again.

"Yeah—yeah, we can go inside and fix up lunch."

A grunt of breath, and Kotallo dips his head, his hand shaking as he sets it in his lap.

"Hey, Kotallo—" his head jerks upwards at his name, and the desperation in this moment sticks in his lungs. "I'm going to be doing other things now—you don't have to stay on here if you dont want."

"I do." He coughs slightly, the words falling too quickly from his lips. "I would not mind if you stayed on here, Aloy. I… am enjoying your company."

Another breath, and he steels the shifting thoughts within himself. "I just… I have something I would like to ask."

"Something to ask?" Aloy hums, her voice light, almost distracted. "Yeah, go ahead."

Kotallo steadies a breath.

"It's about Teb."

-

Aloy pauses.

Theres a shift to Kotallo's voice now. One that is different from the forced lightness he's been carrying this whole time.

She knows what he sounds like when he's in pain. She knows what he sounds like when he's trying to hide that from her—from everyone. But in these words, Aloy hears something different.

Hesitancy.

But why would he—

Aloy shifts her weight to the side, turning from Talla at her hip even as her brow furrows, a breath catching in her lungs. "Yeah, Kotallo. Go ahead."

Her palms feel too hot. She feels too hot. Like she isn't sitting out in the middle of the cold air, but instead she's wrapped tight in leathers and set before a fire. That heat, lurching in her stomach and crawling beneath her skin, suffocating her.

"I simply… that is… you and Talla both—you refer to him as Uncle Teb."

Aloy lets out a breath—she hadn't realized she had been holding it at all, yet her lungs ache now from the release of it. "Oh." A shake of her head. "Yeah. Yeah, I know he… I know he isn't really family or anything, but he's… he's the closest thing we've got."

She swings back around towards the work bench, holding Talla closer even as she works to toss a couple tools back into their baskets—promising herself to actually clean up properly later. "And he's… hes good for Talla. She needs someone, especially since—"

Since her father hasn't been here.

Since you haven't been here, Kotallo.

The words taste bitter within her mind, and sting within her throat, and she bites them back. He doesn't need a lecture. Not right now. Not with everything else that he's dealing with.

Not when it feels like one wrong word and she could loose him all over again.

Still, she can't help the sting that slips into her voice, or the words that escape from her now. "He's definitely made it easier, so I don't have to do this all alone."

Kotallo makes a sound—and maybe it's just that, maybe it's that lack of response, no reply of apology from him that gets anger burning up in her chest, twisting her stomach into knots.

Four years of silence and she's admitting to him that she needed him all along, and all he has to offer her is hng?

Talla pulls at her shirt.

Aloy looks down at Talla, and finds concern looking back up at her. Talla holds her gaze for one beat more, before raising her hands up. Worried?

Aloy's lips twist into a mirthless smile. Mad, she signs back, shaking her head. Yes. Worried.

Talla's brow creases again. Friend?

Aloy sighs, tipping her forehead down to press it against Talla's, and tilts her head to brush the words near her daughter's ear. "Its Kotallo."

Talla gasps, her face brightening as Aloy pulls away. "Story Man!" She whispers, her hands tapping at Aloy's shoulder. "Can I say hi, mama? Can I say hi?"

A smile upon her lips, the ghost of a laugh within her lungs. "Let me ask, little scrapper. I'm sure he'd love to say hi."

Kotallo makes an inquiring sound in her ear, and Aloy's smile slips, only the slightest. "Still alive, High Marshal?" She asks, resuming her path back towards the cabin.

"And breathing, I believe," Kotallo confirms, his voice warm.

Something sticks in the back of her throat, and Aloy steps past it. No time to try and dig her way through whatever she might be feeling in this moment. It doesn't really matter, anyways.

"I've got a certain little scrapper here who seems to be very excited to say hi to you." Aloy pulls the door open, the faint warmth of the sun lost from her skin as she steps inside. "Would you be opposed to maybe… talking with her? Just for a bit?"

"Aloy." Kotallo's voice is soft and low, a strange depth held to it that rolls through her. "I would be honored."

Heat swoops in her stomach, a low draw through her thoughts, his words echoed, murmured against her throat, a flush building across her face.

A blink.

The distance is back, and it's nothing more than Kotallo's voice scraping through her focus.

"Y-yeah," she stammers, setting Talla down. "Um. Just—just one second, Kotallo."

She draws in a short breath, crouching down to reach Talla's level. "Love you, little scrap," she murmurs, reaching out to brush away some of Talla's hair from her temple, freeing up space for the focus she sets there only a moment later. "You know that, right?"

Talla nods, tapping at Aloy's arm, fingers drumming a short rhythm. "Love you, Mama." And then she turns away, and that is all.

Aloy watches after her for a moment, that stirring low within her stomach as thoughts drift slowly through the back of her mind.

Would it have been like this, had she stayed? How differently would life had unfolded, if Kotallo was truly within reach? If he had been there, in every moment, in every way?

If she had not left… if he had not cut ties… if either of them had tried to reach out again over the years…

Where would they be then?

Where would they be now?

A sigh loosed from her lungs, and Aloy turns away. Whatever the case may be, their choice is now settled within Kotallo's hand. He knows exactly where they are—where his daughter has been raised these four years.

She lets the sound of Talla's chatter flow over her as she turns towards the cooking area, pulling out the remainder of dinner from the night before from the chilled storage, making a mental note to either trade or hunt for more chillwater.

It's almost soothing to hear her daughter speak, the words unspooling themselves easily from her. So unlike the silence that settles upon them both at other times, when Aloy cannot work the words from her throat, and Talla meets her there.

Or the days when Talla's own voice is small, and her face speaks far louder than she dares to herself, and Aloy can do nothing more than adapt to the moment.

She's no stranger to the silence. She grew up in it, after all, those longs days and nights set at Rost's side, when words may have poured unfettered from her, yet his own responses would come short and few. Years later, looking back upon him now, upon this press of memory, she almost cannot help but recognize herself within him all the more.

How many times had he looked upon her with exhaustion in his eyes, tasked with the care of a child he was not prepared for, yet found within his life all the same? How many times had he looked upon her and seen an echo of thing he had loved before, the things he had lost?

How many times has she seen in Talla all that she has loved and lost?

When Aloy looks back, she can almost see it. Her daughter there, sprawled out across the ground, her legs kicking idly through the air while her charcoal smudged hands press against paper, her words spilling into the air, chatter of the woods, of flower picking, of her life. And Aloy cannot help but see Kotallo there, sitting at her side, his expression fond as his hand traces through her hair.

Another blink, and the image is gone.

Aloy pulls in a heavy breath, turning her attention to the now warned and almost bubbling stew, ladling it into the two bowls she had set aside. Her fingers curl against the counter, and Aloy closes her eyes, a slow tremble writing itself upwards, trailing and weaving into her breath, settling itself into her lungs.

She can't keep doing this. She can't keep sitting here on this edge, not really holding him, not really having him, yet wanting him all the same.

She can't keep waiting until she loses him again.

Aloy picks up the two bowls and crosses towards where Talla is laying, setting them down on the floor as she settles herself to sit at her daughter's side. Talla does not break from her conversation, simply leaning her head against Aloy's knee, and Aloy huffs out a smile as she strokes Talla's hair.

"How is our favorite Marshal doing?" Aloy murmurs, brushing away Talla's bangs from her face, prompting her daughter to puff a breath upwards.

Talla taps her hands twice at the ground, echoing the question. "Mama wants to know how you're doing," she says, leaning into her mother's touch.

A long moment of silence, before Talla nods slowly, tilting her head back to look up to Aloy. "He says his chest hurts, but he's ok, Mama."

Aloy's lips twist into a tired smile, even as her own chest pangs. "Thats good, Talla."

Talla carries on, oblivious to the strained expression upon her mother's face. "I hope you feel better soon. Being hurt isnt any fun—Mama told me she used to get hurt all the time and thats why we have to be careful." She nods her head sagely, as if imparting the most crucial of information, and Aloy cannot help the laugh that catches within her lungs.

"Mama always gives me kisses to make me feel better when I'm hurt." Talla's voice brightens, and Aloy can all but hear her eyes shining. "Maybe Mama needs to give you kisses too, Kotallo! Then that'll fix you."

Something kicks in Aloy's chest, and she's thinking less than she's moving as she lurches forward, one hand plucking off the focus from her daughter's temple even as the other pulls Talla into her lap.

"Talla!" She hisses, the word scraping in her throat. "You can't just say things like that."

Talla turns widened, startled eyes towards her, and Aloy can hear her breathing hitch. "Mama, I—"

"No." Her lungs are burning. She can't. She can't—

"No, Talla."

Aloy sighs, tilting her head down to press her forhead against Talla's own, her hold softening even as she pulls her closer. "The kisses I give you, Talla, are very different from the ones that adults might give to each other. And—and Kotallo wouldn't want me giving him any like those. Or even like the ones I give you."

"I don't get it," Talla mumbles, her hands gripping at Aloy's shirt.

"I know," Aloy sighs, shifting to press her lips upon Talla's hair, breathing her in. "I know, scrapper. But it's just… just, don't say that again, ok Talla?"

Talla nods wordlessly, and Aloy pulls in a shaking breath, tilting her head back even as she presses the focus back to her own temple. "Kotallo, I'm sorry, I—"

"Peace, Aloy." His voice is so warm, so achingly soft, so understanding.

Always so damn understanding, when she doesn't even understand herself.

"It is alright, Aloy. She's little. Children say many things that they do not fully comprehend." A smile to his voice, an upward tilt. "It is part of what makes them so endearing."

Aloy exhales, whispering her lips across Talla's hair once more. "Still, Kotallo. I… I don't—"

I dont want you to know how badly I want that.

His lips upon hers, insistent and hot, his hand cradled at her jaw as she tips her head back, melting into his touch.

Its been years since she's known any semblance of his touch.

"I think this was a mistake."

"Aloy, wait—"

Aloy closes the call. Takes her focus off and sets it aside, her hand shaking as it parts from the metallic shape. Then she pulls Talla closer, sweeping her head down as she curls her daughter against her chest.

She cannot bear the weight of the confusion in her daughter's eyes.

Her father's eyes.

Aloy closes her eyes, and whispers wordless apologies against her daughter's hair.

She loves him.

But she's not ready to hear him say that he doesn't love her back.

-

Kotallo cuts a curse between his teeth, swiping up Aloy's name once more.

The call doesn't connect. Three set one after another, and none of them connect. And something is tugging at his gut, this terrible yawning pit of realization that he's done this to her before as well.

Years ago. Weeks ago. How many times has he suddenly cut the line?

How many times has he left her before?

"Damnit, Aloy," he mutters, pulling up the chat between them. "Pick up the call, Aloy."

And then he stops. Because right before his very eyes, flickering in the slightest tone of purple and blue, is a girl, her red hair settled across many of her features, and yet still the resemblance is undeniable.

Talla.

And there, beneath her bangs, above her eye, Kotallo swears that he can see the brush of paints upon her skin.

Talla.

Maybe Mama needs to give you kisses too, Kotallo! Then that'll fix you.

Kotallo sighs, his head tipping back, his hand rubbing across the back of his scalp. "If only things were so easy, Little Scrapper," he mutters to the silence, staring up at the image display that had matched his own movements. "If only."

If only Aloy was here, that he might feel the softness of her lips upon his skin.

Kotallo tilts his head, studying the image, and something sticks within his chest the longer her dwells upon it, crushing against his lungs, pricking into his heart. Something about those eyes…

Aloy, please. I'm not leaving you this time.

He's promised her this. But hadn't he promised her this before?

Hasn't he left her before?

Haven't they always been caught in a state of hiding from one another, even as they used to lay caught within the embrace of the other? Hasn't she always been the one person he could be truthful with, yet found he wanted to give her so much more than what his truth could offer her?

How long have they been running from each other, running to each other?

"Please, Aloy," he whispers, his head tipping back, the words like a prayer upon his lips. "I'm right here."

Right here. A lifetime away from her, stuck within this bed with an ache in his chest and an impossible sensation catching itself upon his lungs. Right here, right here where she told him to go back to, where she said he belonged, where she said he was wanted, when she didnt want him.

Except… she must want him. Even if only in the smallest way. Even if all she wants is simply what they have now. Why else would she have asked him to stay before? Why else would he still feel as if he needs her now?

Perhaps he's always needed her.

Perhaps he always will.

Kotallo sighs, his hands moving slowly as he taps out a message to Aloy, steadying a breath within his lungs. Aloy. I understand if you might need time in this moment. Just know, I am still here. Whenever you might have need or want of me, Aloy, and I am here.

He can only hope that she might see his words, and hold them as truth.

Chapter Text

Aloy doesn't put her focus back on that day.

Or the next day.

Or even the next, even when she can see it glowing and chirping from the messages and calls stacking up.

She leaves it on the shelf next to her bed, and gets on with her life.

Someone brings in a pair of watchers later on, and it's good. She can lose herself to this task, forget about any of her other problems that exist beyond the weight of the tools in her hands—and work.

Talla sits in her lap, quiet once more.

It's fine. Aloy doesn't feel much like speaking anyways.

They go through all the motions of their life before—before Kotallo. Before he came back and disrupted everything. Before she started to let herself hope again, hope for something different, for something more.

Every night, Talla hears the same familiar stories, now told in her mother's voice instead. Not her father's. Just Aloy's own, the words hollow within her throat as her hand strokes other her daughter's hair.

Her daughter.

Because she's never really been his.

And every night, Aloy holds the focus cupped within her hands, staring down at the gentle glow of it cast across her skin.

Its always placed back on the shelf—unworn, unheard.

It isn't until the night of the fifth day that finally—

Aloy breaks.

The fire crackles beyond her, casting the white of the focus into a warmed yellow, held like flame within her hands. She would almost say it burns against her skin, if she did not already know the metal was usually cool to the touch.

She stares down at it, hands shaking as they hold it even now, and she knows.

For five days, she acted as if life was normal again.

For five days, she went through all the same steps, all the same motions.

For five days—

She lived just how she used to live before. Empty and searching for something she knew she could never find in these lands.

For five days, the choice was within her own hands.

Aloy pulls in a breath, even as it tastes like ash upon her tongue, burns like smoke within her lungs. That same weight upon her now that she had carried for years, that had woven itself into her very bones.

She lets her gaze wander, over towards the bed closer to the fire, to the now sleeping form of Talla bundled up within her blankets, the sound of her breathing nearly lost to the space between them, yet Aloy takes comfort in it all the same.

The focus is placed back on her temple.

The lights are near blinding through the darkness after such time spent without them, and Aloy blinks against the brightnes of them, waiting for the image to clear.

Two alerts take up the largest frame of her focus, and something catches within her throat.

3 Missed Calls

7 New Messages

Hadn't she done this before? Hadn't she done this before? Hadn't she been the one on the other side of the line, calling out and desperately hoping for an echo? For any sort of response or refrain?

She lets out a shaking breath, curling tight into herself, her head sinking against the wall as she accesses her chat with Kotallo.

Aloy, please. I'm not leaving you this time.

Her heart catches within her chest.

Six more messages. They are small things, really, but the presence of them alone rings through her even still. Wishing her a good morning. Checking on Talla.

Such simple words, yet each one pulls at her heart.

She only has two that she can offer him.

I'm sorry.

He's calling her barely a breath later, and Aloy accepts the call with shaking hands. Her ears catch upon the ever present crackle of the fire beyond her, readying herself for the burn and flame of anger in Kotallo's own voice, readying herself for the inevitable heat in his words.

Nothing could prepare her for the gentleness that now floods through upon his voice. "Aloy, are you alright?"

Her breath catches in her lungs, the taste of smoke leaving her with nothing more than the faintest bitterence on the wind, and Aloy swallows back the cry of relief that had crawled halfway up her throat, the shape of it burning within her so much softer than her fear had ever held her. "Fine."

The word is slick upon her tongue, the barest hint of blood, the silence ringing in her ears, and Aloy knows they both taste the lies hanging between them now. "I'm… better. I think."

"That's good," Kotallo rumbles, and Aloy sinks into the sound of his voice, thinking to herself that nothing on this earth could be as sweet to her as the sound of it is to her now.

"Because we need to have a talk."

That something hitches in her throat again. That terrible, dark something that has been clinging to her lungs these past days, that has round itself tight about her, claws sinking beneath the flesh, and now it is back, teeth flashing cruelly in the moonlight.

But Kotallo must not feel the silence as she does, because he charges through it, his own words pouring into this space between them and cutting through the shadows set about her now. "You can't keep running, Aloy."

"I'm not running."

The words are automatic, and they taste like bile, burning in her throat.

"Like hell you aren't." Kotallo's voice sharpens, cutting at her lungs. "You may not want to admit it, and some people may never see it, but I know you, Aloy. And I have seen you through countless highs and lows, and I know you. And I know when you are running."

"I'm not—" her voice breaks, shattering in the air around her, the crack of ribs and the glint of blood upon glass.

"Every time," Kotallo's voice softens, almost mournful now, and Aloy blinks against the prick of tears, their heat insistent upon her skin. "Every time you are faced with a problem that you cannot fight, or one you cannot stand alone against, you run. Every time your will alone is not will enough to change things, you lose yourself, Aloy, and you run. But not this time. Not again."

"Alright," she whispers, and the words feel like breaking frigid waters into the gasp of air and light once more, surfacing through the sheen of ice she did not know she had been held beneath. "No more running."

"Do you promise?"

Kotallo's voice is held, charged with the spark of every sharpened edge between them, the border of a cliff beneath her feet, and one wrong move might mean a fall. And yet through it all—if she fell, she knows. He would catch her even still.

"I promise."

"Alright." Kotallo sighs, the sound heavy upon her now, but there is also a freedom within it, a release to the pressure caught within her lungs. "Then let's talk."

Aloy pulls in a breath, and this time it does not burn, does not snag like thorns with every inward drag, and nestles her head against her knees, her gaze wandering to the fire, watching the blaze of with detached observance.

"Did you mean it?" She murmurs, her voice hollow and low, matching each beat and dance of the shadows before her now. "What you said before?"

"Which part?"

The words, slowly curving down her spine, aching beneath her skin, like tendrils of ivy around her ribs. "When you said you aren't leaving this time. Do you mean it?"

"Aloy." Kotallo's voice deepens, sending chills flush across her, her hair raising on the back of her neck even as she leans into the words. "Even if you do run again, I will be at your side. I swore as much once before, and my word holds true, even now." His tone softens, gentles, the weight of his touch achingly familiar to her memories. "This time, and every time. I am here for you, Aloy."

Then why aren't you here?

The words are near screamed within her mind, and Aloy flinches from the force of them, biting them back before they can ever reach her mouth, a half-choked sob in her throat. Guilt flares in her stomach instead, washing over the desperation in this terrible, dark ache. She knows exactly what he has been through—she has seen the exact pains he is forced to endure in this time.

And she would dare to make such a selfish plea, to have him at her side? With all the days of travel and injury and unspoken words still between them?

Kotallo doesn't need her making such requests of him now.

Even if that is everything she wants.

She wants to be selfish. She wants to steal him away, to take them all away from the responsibilities of the world she had been forced to carry for so long, to disappear until all that is left of them is the memory of their deeds drifting on the wind.

Until she is just as unknown as she once was, growing safely under her father's watchful gaze. When she was nothing more than the nameless outcast seen amongst the woods, and those around her held no care of her at all.

If she could escape it all, every weight and expectation, she would.

And if he would have her, she would take Kotallo with her, until all that lasted was the warmth of their embrace, to see him, to hold him, to have him hold their child tight and know that they are safe.

"Why did you run this time?"

The sound of Kotallo's voice jars her back to life.

"I—"

The words catch in her throat, and Aloy scowls unto herself, tension caught tight within her lungs.

She should be able to tell him. She had told him everything before. He had been as much a part of her as she had been herself, years ago. He had known her more than she had known herself, at times.

Maybe he still knows her better than she knows herself.

"I got scared. I—I didn't… I don't want to mess this up." Aloy fights a breath down into her lungs, and she can't recall when the air had started tasting of fear once more. "I'm still scared. Of losing… whatever we are right now."

A long break of silence, and all at once, she cannot help but hate and be grateful for the distance now. That she cannot see the disgust that might be upon his expression. Or, that she cannot see the relief in his eyes. In this moment, with nothing but silence and the slamming of her heart against her chest, something aches that does not know which Kotallo might be holding now.

"What even are we now, Aloy?"

She flinches from the words. He does not say them accusingly, yet they taste of blame all the same, ringing in the guilt still settled low in her stomach. The barest edge of a rejection within his voice, one she cannot hope to truly face.

Her voice is barely more than the breath of an exhale as she drags the words out from her lungs, shaking as they are in this space between them now. "Friends, I hope?"

She cannot dare to ask for more. Not when every breath still feels as if the edge between loss and life. Not when she wants to cling to him more than anything, but to hold him too tightly might just mean to lose him again.

When the last time she had held him to her, it had been her own decision to walk away.

What reason would he have now of accepting anything more from her? When she had had to fight just to even have him back in her life at all, when her throat had scraped raw in desperation as she pleaded with him to stay?

He has promised it now. But hadn't he promised it to her before?

Hadn't they both broken their promises, along the way?

Kotallo's voice is rough as he speaks, scraping over this space between them, and despite the words he lays out now, Aloy can find no comfort within them.

"If my friendship is that which you desire of me, Aloy, then that is what you will have."

Aloy smiles, the action shaky and for no one but her and her alone, even as it does nothing against the pit now clawing itself into her lungs, burning through her like fire through the darkest night, twisting like smoke unto the wind.

He has said exactly as she has asked of him—all she had dared to want of him—and yet still, the words taste of loss.

As if he is further away then she has ever held him before.

"Ok," Aloy whispers, brushing away the tears settled now upon her cheeks. She can't recall them burning within her eyes, yet they roll hot and slow against her skin regardless. "Thank you, Kotallo."

She has nothing more to grieve. Kotallo has promised his presence—

It will have to be enough.

-

Friends.

The word feels foul even within Kotallo's own mind.

It is not enough.

It has never been enough for him. Not when she was first his commander alone, and he had held no hope that she might see him as anything more, before, Ten be blessed, she had. It hadn't been enough in the aftermath, when she had stripped herself from his life. When he had lost her in every way, all in one day. No longer his commander, no longer his lover, and Kotallo had been faced with the ache that he could not be satisfied with friendship alone.

Yet he had persisted. He had held to her in that small way before, to have her presence in this echoing way, the sound of her voice split across time and technology. A focus, such as small thing, really, yet it had been the only thing to bind them together.

Then he had learned that for all his defense of her, all of his trust in her, all the persistence of his love, his own aching heart had not been returned.

She had Talla.

And Kotallo realized that he could not know her and not love her.

Even now, the years set between them, a sharp and twisted blade, and she did not ask of him the only thing that he ached to give.

Friends.

But he had promised her. He would not leave her.

He had resigned himself to silence once before. He should be well versed in such quiet devotion even now.

"I hope that Talla…" the words catch within him, and Kotallo grits out a breath, his brow drawing in tight frustration. "Aloy, what she said—you don't have to be distressed over it. I promise you."

He can only be glad that Aloy had not been sitting before him, that she had not seen she sheer wanting that had crashed through him at such simple words.

But if only it could be so simple. If only every ache between them could be solved by Kotallo pulling her close, sweeping Aloy into his arm, holding her against his chest, and pouring every affection and unspoken word against her lips. If only—that he might hold Aloy until she loses all desire to run, that she might know as certainly as the bones within them both—he would never leave her again.

If only he might hold her, and she would give her own love in return.

No.

Friendship is what she has requested. It is all she desires of him. And it is all he can dare to ask of her.

It is all that he can trust of himself to give in this moment.

"I know," Aloy sighs, her voice low within his ear. "And I shouldn't have… reacted, the way I did. This has just all been—" her voice breaks, catching within his lungs. "It's all a lot, Kotallo."

She sniffs, and that jagged edge inside Kotallo's chest burns all the more, rasping in his throat. "Which is stupid. And I shouldn't—I don't even have a reason to complain. Not compared to you—goddess, what am I even saying right now—"

"Aloy."

Kotallo lays the word gently between them, his gaze moving towards the small patch of sky visible from his bed—this bed they had once shared, and the moon that they had spent countless nights beneath, hands and lives intertwined.

"This is not a matter of having more or less reason to complain, Aloy. Our struggles may be different in this time, but that does not make them less a struggle unto us." Another breath, and he dips his head. "Aloy, whatever your burdens may be in this time, you do not have to hold them alone. I have told you as such before."

The silence returns between them, low and drawn out, yet when Aloy speaks—some of the exhaustion he had hear before now bleeds fully through into her voice, strikes of it laced into her words. "I feel like I can't breathe at times, Kotallo. Like everything is—like I'm the one that's out of place. And sometimes I wish that I—"

She laughs, a dry and mirthless thing, a desperation within the sound. "Sometimes I wish I could get away from it all. From everything."

"Then do it."

Kotallo sits up, swinging his legs to the side to rest his feet against the ground. "Aloy, you dwelt among us here in the Tenakth lands for years—I am certain you already know what I am about to say. Even the strongest soldiers require leave at times. The battle cannot be fought on the daily without rest—or else you suffer losses. And Aloy, I think that is what you are feeling now."

Aloy scoffs, her voice scraping. "I'm not fighting anything, Kotallo. Theres a distinct lack of fighting here. It's the whole reason why I—"

"Parenthood can still be a battle at times," Kotallo responds, his voice low. "I have seen the young ones at the settlements. We were both there when Vala was at her smallest. Even with the best of children, it is not a role without strain."

He sighs, his hand curling tight, fingernails digging at the wrapping bound against his palm. "Allow yourself rest, Aloy."

"And leave Talla with who?" Her voice has sharpened now, near bitter, the bite within it catching him by surprise. "It's not like her father is here to share the burden."

Metalbite and flame set upon her tongue, and Kotallo flinches, even as his own anger cuts beneath his skin.

Aloy has not stated who Talla's father may be—yet even still his absence is evident—the shadow now marked in each of her words and drawn out breath.

All because she was left to struggle through this alone.

"I'm sorry."

The words ache within him, echoing in his mind, rattling in his chest.

"I'm sorry that—"

"Don't."

Kotallo swallows down his next words, broken off by the sharpness in Aloy's voice. Her next breath is audible, ragged and catching in his thoughts, and Kotallo pulls in another breath to ready himself to speak once more—

"Just—let's talk about something else."

That exhaustion is back in her voice. That same hesitation that had nearly lost her to him again.

There is something there. Something unspoken, something that tears at her.

But he cannot push the matter now. He canot lose her again.

Aloy clears her throat, even as her voice is faint. "How have you—I mean, are you healing well?"

That ache within him softens, and Kotallo sinks back down to his bed. "Near out of my mind," he mutters, some faint amusement in his voice. "Though I've finally gotten out of the healer's ward and back to my own quarters."

"That's good," Aloy murmurs.

That beat. That break of silence—the one that had been so comfortable between them before, but now feels drawn out in all the wrong ways.

"Have you been sleeping any?"

The words sound almost of desperation.

Kotallo swallows through the thickness in his throat, the words feeling raw. "In truth?" A sigh, falling from his lungs. "Hardly at all."

Another breath, more hesitant now. "Would you… would you like to?"

The invitation is like light blooming within his chest, and Kotallo pulls the fullness of it in, soaking in the warmth. "Aloy, I…"

"You don't have to say yes. I shouldn't hav—"

"Yes." Kotallo breathes the word out, a catch within his lungs, his body aching as he sinks into his bed—sinks into her words. "Please, Aloy, let's just… let go. Let's sleep."

"Ok." He can almost see her now, curling onto her side, the splay of her hair across her shoulders, the slow rise and fall to her body as she breathes.

It is this image now that Kotallo holds tight within him, allowing thought to mix with memory, melding in shape and shadow.

Kotallo drifts, the sound of Aloy's breathing slowing within his ear, his own matching to the rhythm set between them.

Not for the first time, Kotallo fades into sleep, his body curved around the empty space that Aloy had once held at his side—endless into the night.

Chapter Text

Aloy takes the shards and machine lenses given to her, offering what could almost pass as a smile to the Nora before her, even as the action crumples as they turn away.

The two watchers amble comfortably at the Nora's side, and Aloy sighs as she turns back towards her own fenced space, to the pair of machines waiting within—her own companions through it all.

Talla follows in her tracks, the sound of her steps crunching across the few deadened patches of grass that are still remaining in the area. She hasn't spoken a word at all today, simply staring back at Aloy with those eyes of hers, sullen now and almost detached through it all.

Aloy stops, looking back to her little ghost, and Talla bumps into her leg before stepping back. She doesn't even look up to Aloy now, just ducks her head again and tilts her gaze away.

"Talla."

Her shoulders curl, yet still she doesn't move.

Aloy huffs out a breath, the warmth of it catching like smoke within the air, and crouches before her daughter, her hand settling on the girl's shoulder. "Talla, is something wrong?"

Guilt pinches in her stomach again, but Aloy ignores it. Its been three days since she finally contacted Kotallo again, and even now they barely speak. She's not running, she had promised him that, but she's not moving either. He knows where they are—if he wants anything more, he'll have to make the first step.

And she's not risking Talla to be caught in whatever this is between them now.

So she hasn't told Talla. There's been no word from the story man for her—but it's better this way.

Until Kotallo chooses his way out of this half involvement, he doesn't need to be involved at all.

Talla shakes her head, but at least she follows this up by tilting her head, pressing her cheek against her mother's hand, and Aloy lets out the smallest breath of relief.

When Aloy's other arm opens up, beckoning her in, Talla steps towards her without protest, nestling her chin on Aloy's shoulder and leaning in towards her neck as her mother curls around her, arms wrapping tight.

"I love you," Aloy whispers, brushing the words softly against her now. "I'll always love you, Talla."

Talla doesn't respond, but she sniffs, something trembling in the sound, and Aloy pulls back to study the girl. She stares back with reddened eyes, but there's something determined upon her face now. Something that rings fiercely of refusal—though refusal of what, Aloy cannot say.

Talla nudges herself in close this time, tucking herself against her mother's chest, and Aloy pulls her in wordlessly, whispering her lips in quiet comfort across her skin.

She does not know how long they sit there, held against one another. She cannot say when her own breaths become ragged from the edge of tears that refuse to fall, nor when they smooth themselves away. She cannot say when their hold upon one another changes from the shake of unsteady limbs to that of the bitter chill of winter settling upon their skin.

All Aloy knows is that when they finally pull away once more, their cheeks are reddened from more than just the cold, and some of the distance within Talla's eyes have faded now.

Talla raises her hands, crossing both arms across her chest, before reaching out to press her hands to Aloy.

That ache within her softens, and Aloy smiles, the faintest upward curve to her lips. "And I love you too, Talla."

She leans forward, a kiss to her brow, before pushing herself up to stand. "I think we should do rabbit for dinner tonight. Do you feel like going out hunting with me?"

Talla nods again, tugging at the edges of her winter sleeves, and Aloy tilts her head towards the cabin. "Let's go get something warmer to wear. And then we can head on out."

Talla bows her head, turning towards the wooden building, and that ache in Aloy's chest pulls at her again as she watches her daughter walk away.

Her gaze flicks upwards the the overcast sky, and she huffs, watching the plume of her breath against the lowered plane of the clouds, before shaking her head.

It's fine. She just needs a good hunt to clear her head.

It always worked for her before.

-

The overcast sky does not hold long enough for them to get home.

They're halfway back—three rabbits hanging from Aloy's belt and thumping heavily upon her thigh with every step—when the sky finally breaks, thin cuts of rain freezing through the air to land like ice upon their skin.

Aloy flinches from the sudden onslaught of it, her attention immediately twisting backwards to Talla curling up tighter into her cloak and against Marshal's back.

"Talla!" The word snaps from her throat, and she pivots fully, her hands settling upon her daughter and pulling her from the machine. The scrapper is a calm enough machine for her to ride when its calm—but she's not risking her daughter running on that mount in this moment.

The chill of it all cuts at Aloy's skin and is already soaking into her hair, the roar of it pounding in her ears. Aloy scoops Talla up closer to her chest, pulling her cloak ever tighter around her small form, attempting to shield her from the freezing rain.

The ground is frost-hardened and doesn't take the downpour easily, her steps beginning to scrabble against slickened stones, and Aloy pants as she lifts her head towards the shape of Mother's Heart in the distance.

They can't stay out in this rain and cold for long.

Marshal lets out a low, warbling tone behind her, heavy steps beating in tandem to her own, and when the wind cuts through the leathers and cloth upon her now, all she can feel is that of Talla shivering against her.

The closer they get towards the settlement, the more Nora reveal themselves, all in a similar rush to get out of the sudden downpour.

The paths inside Mother's Heart are a strange mix of empty and full at the same exact time, huddled forms sheltering at the border of buildings not truly meant to protect from the rain, and others still rushing toeards their own homes and cabins.

Aloy darts in through their back fence, only pausing long enough to throw the latch to the gate and make sure that Marshal is roughly secured before finally reaching the dry safety of their cabin, shaking what water she can off of her as soon as the door is closed.

She drops Talla down to stand and begins shucking off what outer pieces she can, throwing her rain-soaked braid back over her shoulder, the weight of it thumping across her back, damp tendrils of hair sticking to her face.

Talla pulls her cloak ever tigher around her, but that is already waterlogged too, leaving her standing in a slowly growing puddle, a miserable expression on her face.

"One minute, love," Aloy murmurs, cutting towards the fireplace at the other edge of the cabin, already reaching for the metal spike she keeps handy for prodding the embers back into life, the texture of the wood rough against her palms as she feeds it into the waking hint of a fire. "Start pulling off some of your wet stuff, alright?"

There's water dripping down her neck, but tongues of flame are already licking up and catching upon the smaller tinder she's placed in there, and Aloy sets in another stripped length before turning back towards her daughter.

Talla is still standing by the door, her expression pulled in distress as her whole body shakes, her hands clumsy as they paw at and attempt to peel back the wet layers that have stuck to her skin.

"Oh, Talla—" Aloy rushes forward, crouching before her daughter and reaching to help her.

It isnt until she has the girl in dry clothes, wrapped about in a blanket and set before the fire that Aloy finally turns her attention back towards herself, and the trembling to her hands that she cannot deny any longer. Her leathers are heavy upon her now, and dimly she realizes that she still has the trio of rabbits handing from the side of her hip, their own furs waterlogged as well.

The fire has bitten back some of the chill in the air, and Aloy shakes her hands out as she pulls off the last of her gear, leaving them as a sodden piles over towards the door.

She'll deal with those later.

The rabbits are the next priority.

Her mind begins to haze and cloud through the work, losing her thoughts to the familiar repetitions set before her, the vague heat of the fire at her back, the slow drip of her hair down her back.

The pot. The meat. The stew.

Aloy finally sinks down to the ground dressed in dry clothes, nudging Talla into her lap, and the girl accepts quietly.

"Sorry we got rained on coming home, scrapper," she mumbles, pressing a faint kiss to her daughter's still damp hair. "Not a very fun hunting trip, I know."

Talla hums wordlessly, but there is still quiet distress low within the sound, pulling tight within Aloy's lungs.

Aloy sighs, tilting her head to peer down at her daughter, studying the girl as she nestles closer against her chest, her weight warm and familiar. Talla's eyes have drifted closed now, but there is still a tension to her brow, the line of it accentuated by the now-streaky marks of her paint smeared across her skin.

A thought pulls slowly through Aloy's mind, and she reaches up to brush Talla's hair away from her face. "Little Scrapper, why don't we go get our paints fixed up, ok?"

Talla's head lifts, and there's finally a spark within her eyes, however faint it might be now, and Aloy smiles, the faintest upward draw to her lips.

They unfold themselves slowly, and Aloy steps away to go fetch their pot of paint and a rag, a small catch within her thoughts—the knowledge that she'll have to get more soon. When she turns back, Talla has already pulled out a stool and settled herself upon it, her legs swinging faintly as she stares down at her hands.

That catch within her throat again, and Aloy steps forwards, crouching before her daughter once more, setting the paint upon the ground at her side while her hand settles on Talla's knee. "Talla."

She looks up, slowly, those golden-brown eyes of her darkened and low. She blinks at Aloy twice, obviously waiting for her to continue, and Aloy lets out a sharp breath. "I know hunting didn't go well today. And I know that… things have different for the past few days. For the past while, really. But I'm… I'm trying, love."

Talla's gaze dips again, and Aloy swallows harshly, her own head lowering as she takes up the damp cloth she had brought with her as well. She reaches up towards her own face, pulling the cloth across her jawline, swiping at the marks of color that are no doubt already marred by the rain as well.

Her voice is low as she speaks, rough and raw and echoing within her mind. "Do you know why I wear paints, Talla?"

Her gaze lifts, finding the girl staring intently towards her, but all Talla does is slowly shake her head. Aloy purses her lips, looking down to the rich shades of blue now upon the fabric. "I don't wear it because the Nora do. I know—I know that they do. That we do. But I don't wear it for that reason."

She sighs, shifting her weight back, and Aloy lifts the cloth to her jaw once more, swiping away the last of the teeth settled there. "I do it because someone I loved taught me to. And he—he told me that paint was a symbol of trust. That you trust the person who puts it on you." She finds Talla's gaze again, then presses the cloth into her hands. "That you trust the person who takes it off of you."

Aloy dips her chin towards the cloth, curling the girl's fingers around it. "I trust you, Talla. And I love you. And I want you to love and trust me too. To—to be able to talk to me if something is bothering you. Alright?"

Talla slowly takes the cloth, holding it up close against her chest, and nods.

"Ok." Aloy shifts her weight again, raising her hands now to sign in tandem with her words. "Angry?"

Talla shakes her head, fingers pinching no.

"Worried?"

No.

"Sad?"

No.

"Then what's wrong, Talla?"

Fine.

Talla stops, her brow drawing tight as she looks down at her other hand, and the cloth still clutched tightly within it. She blinks at it, before her raised hand taps to her chest once more. Fine. Another long pause, then she lifts her hand higher. Sleepy.

"Alright." Aloy rests her hand on Talla's knee again, her knuckles brushing against the cloth. "Do you want me to fix your paints before you sleep?"

Talla shakes her head immediately, and Aloy cannot help the faintest chuckle that brushes now upon her lips. "After, then."

Yes.

Aloy taps her fingers fully upon the cloth now. "At least let me wash off the last of your paint right now. That way you don't leave any on your blankets."

Talla keeps her eyes closed as Aloy pulls the cloth gently across her skin, her eyelids fluttering with each motion, the smallest drop of water still caught upon her eyelash, the light of fire glinting within it.

Something pulls within Aloy's chest, something fierce and undeniable and adoring and wanting in every way, striking at her all at once.

This is her daughter.

Who she loves more than anything. Than anyone.

She brushes her thumb across Talla's cheek, and lets out a shaking breath. "All good now, love. Let's get you settled to sleep then."

And when Talla reaches out to wind her arms around Aloy's neck, resting her head upon her shoulder, Aloy holds her tight.

That ache in her chest doesn't fade even as she tucks her daughter in to sleep.

-

Kotallo doesn't speak when Aloy opens the focus line, and neither does she.

They haven't been talking much these days, but she can still hear the rise and fall of his breathing on the other side of the line, and Aloy takes that as comfort enough.

It's strange, how much she hates the silence now, when she had been so used to it before. When it had been all she had known, all she had lived by for years. Yet now it feels suffocating, drowning within it even as she pulls it tighter around her.

The silence had always been her last line of defense. The armor behind which she tore through every tangled emotion and thought, searching for a way to make things right.

But now, she's not really sure whose fault the silence is.

She doesn't even know if there's anyone to blame at all.

But he's there when she falls asleep, the faint sound of his snoring wrapping around her, warmer and of more comfort than any blanket or pelt could hope to be. And he is there when she wakes, that snuffling, grunting sound as he stirs out of sleep, and Aloy waits in silence until she hears that first broken yawn slip from his lips.

"Morning K'tallo," she mumbles, the words sticking in her throat, and Aloy yawns as well, stretching her arms out.

"Mmm… morning lo—" Another yawn, cutting off his words. "Aloy."

They haven't been talking to one another. But for the past five days, she and Kotallo have settled into the sound of one another's breathing to drift off to sleep.

They haven't been talking, but Aloy still wakes every morning with some impossible dream that Kotallo is settled at her back, his arm wrapped tight around her waist, and the soft huffing she hears within her ear is matched with the warmth of his every breath brushed upon her skin.

She would rather these impossible dreams than the nightmares, though.

Aloy pulls her hair back over her shoulder, already chasing her fingers through the braid and pulling it loose, slowly working out any tangles there to braid it all back together.

"Have a good day today." The request is quiet. Talla is still sleeping, having made no attempt in over a week to crawl into her mother's bed as she would have so regularly attempted to do before.

Maybe she's just growing up.

"To you as well, Aloy."

They don't say goodbye; those words serve as departure enough. Aloy simply sighs, resting her head upon her knees after the line has been closed, taking what barest warmth she can from the echo of his voice within her mind.

She can't keep going like this.

But the brush of the sun across her skin is insistent, and Aloy drags out another breath before finally parting from her bed.

The wooden floor is both cold and rough against her feet, and she treads lightly towards the fire, taking up the ever present task to keep it ever glowing, stirring it back to life.

It's there, staring at the embers that the thought comes to her, the flickering reflection back and back to those many years before.

She had told Kotallo that here—she feels as if she cannot breathe.

Perhaps all she needs to do is get out of the village, get somewhere where she feels like herself again.

Somewhere to breathe.

The idea spills further through her thoughts, slowly taking form within her now, and Aloy steps away from the fire, her hands and eyes searching.

Just a few days, really. A few days all alone, no expectations, no eyes set upon them. She could talk to Talla—explain everything. Or at least try to. And maybe—

Maybe ask her if she even wants her father at all.

All this time, and she's been caught up in her own thoughts about these things. About her own anger, her own desperation, her own loss. But Talla… she doesn't know. She doesn't know what it is that she's lost, that she's lived all these years without.

But… even in those few times that Aloy has seen them speak… Talla had seemed lighter, in a way.

In some small way that Aloy herself has never been able to provide.

Perhaps she hadn't even seen what was missing in her daughter until she lost it again.

And now, she'll do anything to get it back.

Aloy passes through the supplies they already have within the cabin, a small list compiling on the side. They wouldn't need much, really. Not for the few days of escape that Aloy now has planned. Just some time away from it all, just the two of them.

And by the end of it… she'll talk to Kotallo.

No more hesitation.

Aloy crosses towards Talla's bed once again, and finds her already awake, yet motionless. Opened eyes staring blankly towards the wooden beams of the roof above them, her breaths slow and even, and that pain within Aloy's chest catches once again.

She crouches at her side, reaching for her daughter before her hand hesitates, hanging only a breath above the girl's hands, before settling down on the blankets to the side. "Talla," she whispers, and the only sign of Talla's caught attention is that of a slight shuddering to her breath.

Aloy sighs, her thumb brushing against Tall's smaller hand. "Talla," she says again, brightening her voice as much as she is able in this moment. "How would you like to go up the mountain?"

Her daughter's eyes widen, and Talla jolts upright, shaking her hair away from her face. "Really?" Suprise catches in Aloy's lungs, dizzying and bright, before Talla breaks into a small cough, her face screwing up as the girl shakes her head again. Really? She signs, her eyes still shining as they hold Aloy's gaze.

Aloy nods her head, brushing Talla's hair away from her face, and that something is catching in her chest once more as she fixes Talla's bangs. "Really really. But not today. Tomorrow, maybe. I want to pick up a couple more things and get ready before we leave."

Talla reaches out, playing with the tail end of Aloy's braid, biting at her lower lip. Tomorrow?

"Tomorrow," Aloy answers, grabbing her braid to tickle it across Talla's face, causing the girl to scrunch her nose and puff out a breath. "I'm thinking for a couple days, even? We can make an adventure out of it."

Yes, Talla signs, wriggling out of her blankets. Yes!

Aloy smiles again, broader now, and leans in to press her lips up against Talla's brow. Then she pauses, her brow drawing in slight concern, brushing her hand back across Talla's forehead.

Talla blinks up at her, her gaze half hidden by Aloy's own hand, expectation clear within her eyes. Ok?

Aloy swallows back her hesitation, pulling back that faint smile upon her lips as she drops her hands. "Yes, I'm ok." She settles Talla's bangs back down, some small thougth within her that the hair is getting long once more. "Just thinking about how much I love you, is all."

Talla taps her hands on Aloy's arm, already looking away, already set back into motion and that flame of light that she had always been before, and Aloy lets out a breath of quiet relief as her daughter passses her by.

It's ok.

It's going to be more than ok.

Because she's going to set all this right, no matter what it takes.

Chapter Text

The day emerges quietly and draped in ice, the chill of it set in a translucent sheen upon every surface beyond the warmth of their cabin, broken only by the heated huffs and whirring of gears emanating from the few machines nestled amidst the chill.

Aloy pulls the first of the packs over her shoulder, tilting her head back to swing her braid out of the way, her breath puffing into the frozen air. "The cold really snuck up on us here," she huffs, her boots scuffing slightly against the slick packed dirt beneath them, frost glinting in the rising light of the sun. "Almost makes me miss the lowlands."

Kotallo hums in her ear, the faintest curl of amusement. "I would trade with you in an instant, Aloy," he sighs, the sound followed by a slight grunt. "I haven't been on assignment up to the Sky Clan in quite some time—and I believe the heat may be making me restless."

Aloy's foot skids across a patch of ice and she bites off a curse, quickly leaning into the sudden movement, forcing her momentum forward so that she finally makes it to Blue's side largely unscathed. "Feel free to come over here and take in this weather any time you want," she mutters, tossing the leather strap across the machine's hindquarters. "We've got cold to spare."

A laugh, one that both warms within Aloy's chest and steals her breath away. "I may just have to take you up on that."

The day had started as they often did, the two of them waking in slow, tandem rhythms. And while Kotallo had gone through the motions of checking on armor and gear, Aloy had begun packing up their own supplies to prepare for her and Talla's trip up the mountain.

One glance at her daughter had convinced Aloy to let the girl sleep a few hours more—it was not so long of a journey and they would not lose anything of true worth by allowing her the rest. Especially after all that they had done the day before.

Talla had actually insisted on walking through and picking goods in the market area with Aloy that day, instead of lingering in the quiet of Teb's stall as she so often did. Talla didn't speak any more through the rest of the day—though Aloy could not blame her, not with the crush of sound and voices and bodies pulled tight around them in every direction. But she had still helped Aloy pick out the meals for their upcoming journey, selecting what supplies that couldn't be hunted in a single afternoon.

They even stopped by the tanners together, and Talla had run her hands down the different lengths of furs and pelts until her mind was made up, and Aloy traded off the last of her glinthawk lenses as payment for several cuts of rabbit fur.

It would be good for Talla to have her own cloak now, so Aloy wouldn't have to worry about the girl stealing hers all the time.

But it was a day far busier than Talla typically took part in, and even Aloy was grateful for the silence of the back of Teb's stall, where he had packed up his side project to work on crafting the brown furred cloak, lined with the last of his yellow fabric from the summer dying season.

Talla had fallen asleep on Aloy's lap with the cloak already pulled across her as her mother ran threads of marshal blue along the edge, stitched lines and curving Nora strikes.

So a few more hours of sleep was a simple thing to afford her on this morning.

Aloy pulls the strap tighter at Blue's haunch, pulling in a frost-cut breath. "Kotallo," she says quietly, affixing the packs onto the strap. "I wanted to… let you know something."

She can almost hear the energy shifting between them, quieting and crackling into something fragile, just like the crisp of ice settled around them, broken upon a touch. "Yes, Aloy?"

She swallows, steadying her palm across the machine's flank. "I wanted to let you know that I'm going to be… unavailable, for the next few days." A quick inhale—frost in her lungs. "But I'm not running, or disappearing, or anything like that. First, because I… I promised you that I wouldn't. I'm just… Talla and I are going to Rost's cabin for a couple days. Three or four, really, and we're going to… talk. And figure things out."

Kotallo remains silent for a period that seems near eternity—or perhaps it is only the span between one breath and another, before his voice falls upon her ear once more. "Alright," he answers, his tone even. "I hope you enjoy yourself, Aloy. And that whatever it is you are trying to fix, you find the answer to it."

Aloy lets out a weak laugh, her head sinking down to rest her chin against her chest. How exactly does she even say that the thing she's looking to fix is herself? And how does she tell him that she's not even sure there is an answer into putting her back together?

Still, she takes his words for what she can, letting the faint warmth within them soak into her chest. "When we get back, I'll call you. And we'll have a talk, if we can." A steadying breath, and she closes her eyes. "A real one."

"As opposed to a fake one?" Kotallo hums, and the lightness in his voice somehow breaks through the tension knotting itself up between them, even as she knows he is not being dismissive of her own words in any way.

Aloy cannot help the smile pulling across her lips, shaking her head. "Yes, Kotallo. As opposed to a fake one."

The second pack gets strapped up to Blue's side as well, and Aloy brushes the few strands of hair that had managed to stray from her braid away from her face, the slightest damp of sweat beading upon her temples. "But enough about me. How has our favorite High Marshal been doing?"

"Your only High Marshal," Kotallo notes, and she can hear the smile within his voice.

"Still my favorite," Aloy murmurs, the words barely more than a breath into the air, spoken to her alone. Some part of her wonders if Kotallo had even heard them. Some part of her wants him to. Still, her voice raises all the same with her next statement. "So how are you, High Marshal?"

"Sore," Kotallo says, the word paired with another grunt. "Breathing." A huff of breath. "The healers said that if I make any attempt at combat training they're letting Ivirra go after me with a rope caster."

Aloy presses a hand to her mouth to swallow down the laugh that threatens to trip out of her, but a wheezing breath still escapes her. "Kotallo, I would pay good shards to see that."

One of those gravely sounds she always loved hearing catches in the back of his throat. "As would many among the Grove, I am certain. But I am less inclined to risk the healers' wrath—or be confined within that ward any longer than is strictly needed. So I will have to be taking it easy, as they have commanded."

Aloy nods, rolling her shoulders up to brush the furs across them by her ears, pushing away some of the chill within the air. "Wouldn't want you to break yourself any further, Marshal," she mumbles, turning back towards the cabin.

She tugs the outer sole of her boots off just outside the door, frowning down at the ice settled in the grooves there. They'll have to walk slowly on their way to the cabin, maybe even take some of it by foot if the rocks get too slick to get a balance on.

It's the kind of weather that Rost would have said would keep them from leaving the mountain for a few days—but she's already made this promise to Talla, and the last thing she wants to do now is break it. Not when things are almost feeling normal between them again, not when this distance yawning at her feet is finally fading, like she's somehow at the edge of everything she had been searching for.

"Aloy?" Kotallo's voice dips, and it is only then that she realizes that he had continued speaking, and she had remained oblivious to his words.

A shake of her head, a shake of her hands, the door pushed shut behind her as she soaks in the warmth within the cabin. "Yeah, sorry Kotallo. I'm still here, I was just… in my own head for a moment."

"It is fine," Kotallo reassures her. "I was not saying anything of great importance. Only speaking of how the current trainees will be heading out on their traveling assignments soon. They've paired up several squads to each marshal here, and they'll be heading out before the day is over."

"Every marshal but you?" Aloy says, almost distractedly as she fastens off another bag.

"Someone has to recieve the incoming marshals," Kotallo answers. "And it will not be every Marshal, just the ones slotted for the training. Also—" Kotallo's voice cuts into something of half wry amusement, half tired acceptance. "I believe Hekarro himself would tie me up if I tried to leave the Grove now."

Aloy bites back a chuckle, her lips twisting. "Like I said with Ivirra—I would pay good shards to see that."

His voice is softer when he speaks—charged with the hum of everything unsaid between them, the echo of her words words set to his distant tone. "Then feel free to come over and watch."

She swallows thickly, and through these spoken words she hears the unspoken ones all the more, ringing in her head. Come home.

He had said that to her once, years before.

He had told her to come home—and she had said that the Grove was his home alone.

Kotallo had been her home, and she had no right left to claim him as her own.

So no, the Grove was not her home.

Yet he was calling her all the same.

"Hey," Aloy breaks through the silence with an uncertain breath. "I'm going to go wake Talla now. so we can finish getting ready. If you'd like—" no hesitation. No more waiting. "If you'd like to say hello?"

Kotallo's silence stretches within her lungs—an unknown space that she has come to know too well, the tension written within the back of her thoughts. . But when his words come out, they smooth through her thoughts, far too soft and bright like flames within her. "I would like that, Aloy."

It tastes too much like hope, and the sound of such simply words nearly steal her breath away.

A growing smile, one near dizzying upon her lips, and Aloy turns towards Talla's bed. "One moment, then." That smile persists as she sees Talla's hair strewn across her face, fondness spilling through her bones and weaving through her thoughts as she reaches out. "Talla—"

That hope in her lungs freezes the moment her fingers brush against Talla's skin.

"Kotallo." Her voice falls from her in a hoarse whisper, scraping through her throat. "I'll call you back later."

If he answers, she doesn't hear it. All she can hear is the shallow huffs of Talla's breaaths, the barest edge of a rattling caught within her lungs.

"Talla." Aloy pushes away the blankets surrounding her, muttering a quiet curse at the burning heat stifled within them, even as the girl lets out a half drawn cry, curling into herself. "Talla!"

Her eyes drag open, blankly starting upwards. "Mama?"

Aloy lets out a choked out sound, turning Talla's head towards her, trying to catch her gaze. "Talla, what—"

"M'fine," Talla mumbles, the words blurring into one another as her body trembles, her eyes fluttering closed.

"You're burning up," Aloy hisses, coaxing the girl into sitting up even as she whimpers in dismay, her body shaking all the more. "You're not fine, Talla."

Talla coughs, the sound twisting like a knife within Aloy's lungs. "I'm ok," she huffs again, her voice faint. "Don't worry, Mama."

Aloy brushes Talla's hair back from her sweat-soaked face, the heat leeching into her as she curls Talla against her chest. "You're not—" the words catch inside her throat. She's not fine. She hasn't been fine.

Hadn't she noticed even the day before that Talla had felt warm? And she's been so much quieter, so much slower, so much more tired than she had ever seemed before.

How did she miss it? Or did she simply see it and look away? Had she been too caught within herself to even realize that Talla needed her—

"I'm sorry Mama," Talla whispers, voice cracked through with tears. "I'm sorry I'm a burden."

A cry breaks within Aloy, horror slick like oil down her throat as Talla buries herself into Aloy's chest, body heaving and whimpering sobs.

"No, Talla," Aloy gasps, curling her arms tightly around the girl, something in her fracturing as she listens. "No, Talla, you aren't a burden. Why would you—"

"I'm sorry you're so tired. I'm sorry I'm a burden. I'm sorry I made—" Talla's voice breaks, trembling on slick of tears. "I'm sorry I made Kotallo upset! I'm sorry Mama."

"You didn't—" Aloy begins to say, then stops, the words and realization choking in her throat.

She didn't make Kotallo upset. But hadn't Aloy—

Talla hiccups, the sound cutting off into a racking cough, and Aloy swallows back another harsh cry, the pulse of tears pounding through her head. "It hurts," Talla whimpers, fingers curling tight against Aloy's clothes.

"It's going to be ok," Aloy croaks, gathering Talla up tighter, lifting her fully into her lap. "It's gonna be alright, ok scrapper? It's gonna be ok."

She presses a shaking kiss to Talla's hair, her own head spinning as she forces herself into standing, cradling Talla close as her head falls listlessly against Aloy's shoulder.

"You're going to be ok."

-

Aloy steadies a breath within her lungs, holding Talla closer to her chest even as the girl shivers against her, body trembling despite the blankets she had set as a guard against the sharpest edges of the cold.

Rost had always done this when she got sick when she was younger—wrapped her up in blankets and then sat outside with her in the chilled air, his hand set soothingly at the back of her neck, a warm presence of silent reassurance.

Even when she got older—and he had come back with a cough that he had tried to wave off—Aloy had tossed a blanket at him and shoved him right back out the door, meeting him minutes later with a fresh brewed mug of tea and her own cloak pulled over her shoulders, the two of them sitting in comfortable silence until Rost would finally lean his shoulder into hers, signaling his readiness to finally go back inside.

She'd dragged Kotallo out to the mountainside before too, leaning blearily against his chest as she muttered over the utter outrage of having fallen sick, and he had just chuckled to himself and stroked his hand comfortingly against her arm, holding her close.

Of anyone—Kotallo had always been the one to know her best, in ways that she would have fought against in any other circumstances, but he had approached it all with this startling mix of warmth and practical realism, an acknowledgement to his words that she could not avoid this, yet none of the stifling sensation that often crawled across Aloy's skin when others tried to set their care upon her.

But it had worked then. So it has to work now.

Aloy pulls another breath in, quieting her wandering thoughts, and settles her gaze back down upon Talla once more, a twinge within her lungs.

Even through the blankets set between them, she can still feel the heat radiating from the little girl, and every time she coughs—

That knife in her chest twists all the more.

Talla pulls in a ragged breath, letting out a quiet whimpering sound, and Aloy's hands curl tighter around her.

"Alright," Aloy whispers, tensing her body as she shifts Talla's weight enough to stand. "That's enough outside for us now." She strokes her hand through Talla's hair, a low and wordless tone humming through her throat. "Let's get some tea for you, hmm?"

She swallows back the part of her that wants nothing more than to hold her close and cry.

—

Aloy lets her head fall exhaustedly upon the edge of Talla's bed, watching her daughter with tired eyes.

She had already done as much as she could to bring her temperature down—the cold air, the bath, the teas. She had already run through every remedy Rost had ever used upon her when she was young, and even referred to the medical database as best she could.

Not that it seemed like anything had helped much. Talla's fever still remained, stubborn and high, and at times all Aloy could do was helplessly hold her girl as she coughed and wheezed. Only minutes before had she finally drifted off into some vague semblance of sleep, whimpering slightly as Aloy tucked her into her blankets, her face still flushed and sweat marked.

Morning itself had come and gone, taking with it the highest peak and even the barest edges of the afternoon that had begun to seep into evening. The sun is stationed far closer to the opposite horizon than it had ever been to the east when all of this had begun, catching upon the peaks of the snow-capped mountains.

They were going to be there.

She was supposed to be fixing this. All of this. And instead, everything feels as if it is slipping from her control all the more—no matter her efforts, that prickle of thorns in the back of her throat.

And still, this damn fever won't break.

Aloy sighs, curving into herself to hide her face within her hands, the flush across her skin burning ever deeper, frustration and desperation set like a wildfire within her chest, smoke catching in her lungs. She doesn't have time to be sitting here and doing nothing, no matter how the thought of standing seems enough to set her own head spinning.

She has to do something.

A breath cracks its way across chapped lips, and Aloy stifles the groan within her as she forces herself to stand, her gaze lingering still upon Talla, to the tension in her brow as she curls tighter against the pillows Aloy had set her upon.

That tension pulls itself through Aloy's lungs once more, and she bows, ignoring the way her senses shift unsteady within her as she presses a kiss to Talla's brow, brushing her hair out of the way. "It's going to be ok," Aloy whispers.

She doesn't even know who she is trying to reassure more in this moment.

Her body is a wash of numb sensation as she sets to work once more, the blur of broken holos within her mind, static over a radio line, snow falling in a dull roar upon the face of a mountain.

Aloy loses herself slowly to the silence around her, her own gaze unseeing as her hands work over the fletching of arrows—arrows that she has not had need of in many years, since before her life had fallen into silence and peace.

She would almost rather the battle rush of blood pounding in her ears than this dull ache of waiting, threatening to swallow her whole.

Talla wakes with tears upon her face, hitching breaths and reddened eyes. Aloy is at her side in only a breath, holding her trembling frame close, holding her through each rattle and cough.

Soup is coaxed litle by littel into the girl, even as her eyes hardly remain open long enough to eat half the bowl. A cup of water next, soothing words spilling endlessly from Aloy's lips, though she hears not a breath of them, her ears ringing from the sound of Talla's broken breathing alone.

Talla falls asleep draped upon Aloy's lap, and night has settled fully over the Embrace now, though the dim surroundings of the cabin have not changed in all this time, the flickering of the fire insistent and certain, casting a warmth to Aloy's already burning skin.

She buries down the tremor set to her own limbs, instead scooping Talla up and carrying her back to her bed, adjusting the pillows once more to lean the child near upright upon them, even as she mumbles unconscious complaints against the cold.

The cabin is far from cold—yet Aloy settles another blanket upon her lap all the same, tucking the edges about the girl's shoulders until some of the tension written there finally eases itself away.

A wearied sigh, a breath that bites against the back of her teeth, and Aloy retreats away to her own bed, her body trembling as she presses her back against the wall, dragging air into her burning lungs even as the action cuts within her, foul in the back of her throat.

Her head sinks down to rest upon her knees, her gaze falling loosely upon the fire, and something within her screams in the echo of repetition, burning in the back of her thoughts, the catch of wind while caught amidst the air, the final length of rope falling from her grasp.

I'm sorry I'm a burden.

How long?

How long had Talla felt in such a way, and yet left it unspoken?

Her shoulders shake, a breathless sound, the cut of tears hot across her skin.

Why would she have ever thought to hide if she was feeling unwell?

A churning in her stomach, the wash of an ocean over her, cold and bitter and burning in her lungs.

What reason could Talla ever have—

It's not like her father is here to share the burden.

Aloy finds herself on her knees outside in the snow, the retch of bile in her throat, the sting of it in her eyes, realization cutting through her bones.

Her hands shake as they part from the frost bitten ground, reddened palms stained like blood.

The first of the sobs chokes its way through her now, unbidden, unfettered, clawing within her chest.

All she's ever done is hurt those around her. Because all she can do is hurt—the drip of blood down her fingertips. Because she was made—not to love, but to raze. She was never meant to heal, but destroy.

Why had she ever thought her own life would end in anything but ruin and loss once more?

If the focus ever connects, she does not hear it. Each threaded nerve and sensation is pulling tight, only to snap within her with the vicious taste of blood.

Why should she be surprised that Talla—her own daughter—had not seen someone who could hold her, to heal? When her own words had been the knife, cutting now within her mind?

Her body screams—a desperate plea to move, to face whatever threat might be upon her, yet even through the racking sobs and blistering thoughts—broken bones and the scream of unspoken words—she knows that the danger now is hers alone.

How could she have ever said—

How could she even think—

"Aloy?"

Kotallo's voice crashes into her with all the force of a stormbird's wings, knocking her off balance even as she knows all he has done is speak to her in the lowest of tones, the gentlest of pleas.

She cannot breathe—ice solidified in place of lungs—crystals spanning across her skin.

She has lost everything that she has ever cared about before.

But if Talla—

"Kotallo—" His name breaks within her, hands curling in desperation to hold what she knows she cannot have. "I think I messed things up. And I can't—"

A tearing breath, her body trembling, heaving, panic burning through her throat and ripping into her lungs.

"Kotallo, I need you."

Her ears ring through with silence on the line.

Chapter Text

Kotallo is caught within that halfway space between waking and dreaming when the chime of his focus jerks him out of it.

His eyes stare blearily up towards the darkness above him, broken only by what little light of the moon can make it through the canopy of trees and into the structure of the Grove. A low, half drawn groan through the back of his throat, and Kotallo rouses from the faded sensations upon him, drawing his hand up towards the focus still chirping at his ear.

The sound of desperate, choking sobs come breaking out of it only a heartbeat later.

His own breathing stutters within his lungs, the sound all too familiar and tearing through his thoughts as Aloy drags in another ragged breath, the trembling to it scraping through his mind as Kotallo finds himself standing, his arm pressed to the wall to balance himself.

"Aloy?"

The breathing hitches—the edge of a blade caught at his throat, and when Aloy's voice comes through the line, it is an echo of distress that he has not heard in many aching years. "Kotallo—" A gasping cry, and tension knots itself up within Kotallo's lungs. "I think I messed things up. And I can't—"

His head is pounding, a desperate urge within him to go. Go to her. To hold her close and hold her together, just as he had any other time Aloy had found herself fracturing before him. Just as she had held him together so many times before.

Her words break through what little reservations that may have ever been held within him.

"Kotallo, I need you."

There is no hesitation. He has lost her before—he will not risk such a thing ever again. Not when she is calling him to her side in this very moment.

He takes little care of the empty packs in the corner of his quarters—it would take far too long for him to fill them, and urgency has set itself like fire within his blood as Kotallo turns.

There is only enough thought left to grab the pieces of his armor hanging to the side—before finds himself in relentless movement, his gaze dark as he storms through the hallways of the Grove.

"Aloy, I need you to breathe." Kotallo's teeth catch upon the strap at his vambrace, biting into the leather and pulling back with a sharp jerk of his head. "In for four, right?"

"I need—" Another shuddering gasp, but the words break into a slow inhale, and Kotallo matches his own breath to the sound of Aloy's exhale. "I need—"

"I know." Kotallo turns the corner, the stairs to the upper level of the Arena at the end of the hall—and beyond that, his own sunwing roosting atop the Grove. "I'm right here, alright? You have me."

The weight of her panic ripples between them, and Kotallo grits his teeth, a tension clamping within his jaw as Aloy continues as if she had not heard him at all. "I've done everything I can, Kotallo and I can't do it anymore—I can't do this alone and I keep trying to fix this and—"

Kotallo's mouth opens, the word taking form upon his lips, yet Aloy's words fall short all she same, as if she could feel the command before it was ever spoken into being. Another long drawn breath, a choking exhale.

One of the Chief's Guards step towards him, alarm written upon his face.

"High Marshal? It's the middle of the night."

Kotallo's gaze snaps upon him, and even for all his training and deeds marked against his skin, his eyes still widen, the barest shift backwards of his weight, the subtle lurching to his chest as his breathing quickens.

"If Hekarro asks," Kotallo says sharply, voice scraping through his throat, and dimly he can still hear Aloy, the shape of her words lost to him through this interruption. "Tell him I will return when able."

The guard blinks at him, and Kotallo wastes no further time upon their hesitation. The whole of his attention is brought to Aloy one more, to the outward spill of her words like the crash of a waterfall, course and frozen through with ice. "And her fever won't go down and I know some things take time and they take waiting, but Kotallo I can't just watch her and wait and do nothing and—"

"High Marshal!" The guard calls after him, finally knocked from his stupor.

Kotallo pays no care of any further utterance behind him.

A sharp whistle tosssed to the air, and Kotallo turns his gaze to the cloud darkened sky as wingbeats break through the otherwise silent night, his sunwing landing upon the Chief's vantage over the Arena with a scraping cry. "Good," Kotallo murmurs, his hand falling briefly upon the machine's beak, meeting the glow within its gaze, before pushing himself onto the metal beast's back and twisting towards the straps behind him—and within them, the machine arm that he and Aloy had worked together to create all those years ago.

He hisses a breath of annoyance as the sunwing shifts beneath him, having to catch his balance upon its back as he pulls the straps into place, that faint electrical hum tingling from the base of his arm all the way to his spine, and Kotallo rolls out his shoulders as he curls both hands around the cables running from his sunwing's neck.

"Ra, go."

The sunwing lurches upwards, the ground beneath him and the air within him falling from him in one sharp jolt, Aloy's words wavering in his ear.

"I can't lose her Kotallo. I can't—I can't lose her."

"You're not going to lose her." The firmness in Kotallo's voice takes even him by surprise, a surge of protectiveness washing over him as he leans further into the neck of his sunwing, urging it ever higher. "She's going to be fine, Aloy. I promise you."

"You can't promise that." Aloy's voice is hollow, the words too small and falling into this emptiness between them. "No one can promise that."

"I promise." He cannot even say that he has caught the fullness of the situation—something of fever, of Talla, and of Aloy's obvious distress, and though he know his words may have little weight in this moment—he cannot help it. "Aloy, I swear by all the Ten themselves that she will be fine. That you won't go through this alone. We're going to figure this out."

The sunwing's body jolts sharply, catching a western wind, and Kotallo pulls in a breath, letting the machine rest itself upon the airborne current. "Take a breath Aloy, slowly." He waits for the audible sound of her following his command, and finds the tension within him slowly loosening as well. "Ok. Now talk me through everything—from the beginning."

Kotallo turns his gaze to the East—and with it, the threads drawn between them slowly weave together once more.

-

He's barely left for any length of time when the first message from Hekarro comes.

H: Kotallo, report.

Kotallo swipes the message off to the side and shifts his grip upon the sunwing. "When did you last do a cold compress?"

"An hour? Before she fell asleep."

Another alert from his focus.

H: High Marshal, report.

Kotallo's gaze slips downwards, to the cut of the desert sands now beneath him. Miles and miles still to go, hours to days that he cannot waste.

She's waiting for him. She needs him.

Kotallo dismisses the message without a second thought.

"You said you already tried all of Rost's old remedies?"

"And I consulted Beta's medical module. Her fever isn't climbing, but it isn't going down either."

"Breathe, Aloy." The command hangs awkardly upon his lips, a strange sense of irony, in that his own lungs remain as tight and strained as the moment that Aloy had first called him, yet the two of them steady themselves, steadying their breaths in slow and aching tandem. "But she is resting now? And does not seem to be in pain?"

H: High Marshal.

"Yes." Aloy's voice is softened now, the sound of a door becoming nothing more than a dull thud that matches the drum of his heart within his chest. "She's…"

"Aloy—" Kotallo sighs, lifting his gaze to the moon high above him, and and all at once Kotallo can feel the late hours pressing upon them both, the depth of the night settled against their skin, inky and dark and washing over them like the crash of water across stones. "Have you slept any?"

A long draw of silence, one that Kotallo leans further into, towards the mountain ranges before him. "No."

"Do you want to?" An offer held, the weight of it catching within him, as if the words taste of so much more than what is said. As if there are a thousand questions within his mind, a thousand desperate pleas, a thousand unspoken words, and yet to it all—

Do you want to?

Do you want me? Do you want this? Do you want to try again?

"I don't—" Her voice shakes, and Kotallo swallows back his regret, forcing his own thoughts to scatter on the wind, to leave them and their uselessness behind. "I don't know if I can."

It is not a yes.

But it is not a full denial, not to the spoken, or the unsaid.

"Then I will stay with you." The words come without thought—as certain as his blood, written through flesh and etched to his bones, his voice catching into a husky tone low in his throat. "No matter what, I am with you, Aloy."

He can almost taste the salt of her own tears when she speaks.

"Thank you, Kotallo."

These words, too, feel as if more than what is said, a tangible weigh set between them, pulling them ever closer. As if this line, this draw between them that he had long sought to deny, to forget, to cut from his own bleeding chest—it has become the very breath that holds them now. This warmth that he had once known, that he had sworn he had lost—

That he had sworn he had lost her.

And yet… she has called him to her.

She wants him?

H: Kotallo, if you do not respond now I will assume that you have been taken captive, and I will deploy the marshals to go after you. Report.

Kotallo huffs out a breath, half amusement, half annoyance, the tearing of this fragile moment set between Aloy and himself. "Aloy." A sigh, a breath, regret upon his lips. "I know I have just sworn, but Hekarro—I must report to him."

Her sound of own amusement, baffled and sharp and yet the light of her laugh catches within his lungs. "Report? But it's the middle of the night."

Kotallo's lips turn, an upward curve that he can only hope she might match, even as many miles apart as they are. "And yet here we are, awake."

"Then go." Aloy's voice holds no darkness, no bitteness, no condemnation or regret, and Kotallo's own thoughts ring through with quiet relief. "I'll be right here."

"And I will be back," Kotallo whispers, the sound of his voice near lost to the wind. "I swear it."

One line is closed, the other opening with a metallic chirp.

"Don't send the Marshals."

A scrape of breath, and Kotallo finds himself sitting straighter upon the sunwing's back, near defensive, though nothing has been said. "High Marshal. How good to hear your voice."

"My Chief—"

"Yes." Hekarro cuts him off, his voice brittled and dark. "Your Chief. So would you care to explain why your chief had a member of his own guard charge in shouting about how the High Marshal has disappeared?"

Kotallo lets out a strained sound, shaking his head. "There was no need for him to wake you," he says, a sharper cut of breath loosed from his lungs.

Hekarro's voice catches, the barest edge of his indignation slipping. "You're panting. Kotallo—should you even be flying?"

"The air is just thin," Kotallo counters, even as tension crawls itself against his shoulders, heavy and tight. He had not even been aware—yet Hekarro had noticed. And it was not enough that he would notice, but that he might question—

"Kotallo, what do you think you are doing? The healers said—"

"The healers are overly cautious," Kotallo snaps, pulling his sunwing up sharply, the pounding of its rings matching the beat of his pulse within his chest. "It is their jobs to be as such. I am fine, Hekarro. Do you not trust me?"

A silence, laden with disappointment. "I trust you," Hekarro answers, his voice low. "But I also know you, son. And I know the risks you often take."

Kotallo sighs, urging his mount forward once more, losing himself to the freedom of wind brushing across his skin. "Then this is a risk I will regret if I do not take it."

"Then…"

"I'm going to her. I'm fighting for her." The words are fiercely held, the rush of light and blaze though his veins. "She called me. She needs me, Hekarro. And I… I need her too. I am through with living as if I do not."

The admission feels like freedom and weakness all at once, his greatest strength, his breaking point. But if anyone might know—if anyone—it would be Hekarro. This man, who had seen him as an angered and grieved soldier—a boy who had lost his place, his home—and directed him to lift his head once more. This firm and guiding hand, who had never once let him go, until he had known that to go was all that Kotallo had truly needed.

He had found himself, somehow, on those years spent at Aloy's side, even before their lives had ever crashed so irrevocably together. He had found himself, when everything else had seemed to be lost to him. And in the end, he had found Aloy herself, a shining gaze he had never known he needed until he found it meeting his own.

Had Hekarro known how all of this would go? Had he held even the smallest suspicion, when he sent Aloy after him at Stone Crest—that Kotallo's anger would not chase her away as he has so set to have done? Had Hekarro known that Kotallo might return, only to send him on his way with his new Commander?

Had he known for all these years, and yet spent this time waiting for Kotallo to realize what must have been so clearly shown all along?

"Then take the risk, Kotallo. And give the Champion my regards when you see her once more."

"Of course." The words catch within Kotallo's throat, the sting of the wind against his eyes.

The words ring of dismissal, and Kotallo's hand edges upwards to his focus, when Hekarro's voice cuts the action short.

"And Kotallo?"

A harsh swallow, and Kotallo blinks against the burn now eclipsing through his vision. "Yes, my Chief?"

A silence. If they had been standing at one another's sides, would Hekarro place his hand upon Kotallo's shoulder as he was so apt to do before?

"Indulge the worries of a weary man. Let me know when you arrive?"

Kotallo smiles, the warmth within him softening, deepening, a breath of relief. "Of course, Hekarro."

Their goodbyes are said quietly, and Kotallo takes a moment to hold himself in the silence that remains, his thoughts spiraling slowly within himself.

I'm fighting for her.

I am with you, Aloy.

He knows what he wants. What he has always wanted, even when he had fought to say that he did not.

All he can hope is that Aloy might know what she wants too.

Kotallo finds her name on the focus system once more, and opens the call.

Her voice is like breath within his lungs.

-

The day does not so much dawn as it does slowly smudge itself into existence, charcoal grey catching upon the faintest sense of light at the eastern horizon.

Aloy stands outside her cabin, gathering the cold air like threads within her curling hands, her gaze fixed resolutely upon that cast of light, and promises to herself that this day will spell change for them. That it will be different.

It is only once the wind-chill begins to crawl uncomfortably across her skin and bite into her lungs that she finally turns away, away from the quieted solemness of the village beyond her, and focuses her attention back upon her cabin, and the world held within it. Her whole world, truly.

Talla had woken twice amidst the night, wearied limbs and over-tired eyes. But there had been that one moment—that one spot of light that had brushed through Talla's gaze when she first heard Kotallo's voice.

It had been his voice, quietly ambling over the story of one spring many years ago when he was still young and had gotten himself dunked into a pile of snowmelt, caught unawares and soaked to the bone. It had been his voice, spelling soft strokes of how his squad had laughed, then hauled him out to get him warm, and of the cold he had nursed for days afterwards.

It had been his voice, and the tears set quietly upon Aloy's cheeks as she ran her fingers through Talla's hair, until the girl finally drifted off to sleep.

Kotallo had tried urging her into sleep in that time—though she knew she had held little hope of fully drifting off. But he had remained at her side through the long hours of the night, the huffs of his breath warming in her lungs, and though Aloy never did sleep, he was still there when she finally rose.

And he is still there, even now.

"She's slept for longer this time," Aloy murmurs, drifting her hand across Talla's brow. "I don't want to wake her up, but… if she needs the water—"

"The rest will do her good as well." Kotallo coughs, the barest edge of a thing, that low hum in the back of his throat. "She can always have water whenever she wakes."

A beat a breath, and Aloy massages her fingers against the pounding in her temples.

"And you, Aloy."

Her gaze flicks open, almost expecting to see him, even though she knows that he is still miles away, caught within the grove and the responsibilities upon him.

"Have you had enough water as well? I know you did not sleep."

Aloy huffs out a breath, slight indignation catching in her chest even as she seeks out a half full canteen of water. "And how do you know whether I slept or not?"

A beat of silence—an almost hesitation. "You were too quiet," Kotallo answers finally, his own voice achingly soft. "When you're asleep, your breathing gets heavier. Looser. Like you've finally let go. But when you're awake, you're still holding everything in."

Aloy swallows hard, the canteen in her hand lowering, and she stares out across the cabin, her eyes unseeing as her thoughts remain caught upon Kotallo's words, the shape of them slowly settling inside her chest.

How much has she been holding for all these years? How long has she been forced—forced to hold the weight of the world, forced to carry a responsibility that she was created for, yet had never known? How long has it been since she truly let go?

Has she ever let go long enough to be free?

She shakes her head, setting the canteen down as she crosses back towards Talla's bed. "You too, High Marshal," she mumbles, adjusting the blankets draped across Talla's sleeping form. "Take care of yourself too."

A breathless sigh. That slow noise that he pulls from the back of his throat, one that sends shivers spiraling down her spine, memories of the drift of his breath across her skin. "As you say, Aloy."

Morning carries on. Time loses its form, its meaning, written only in the repetition of actions, movements taken again and again and again.

Through it all, Kotallo remains.

If not the sound of his voice, then the soft of his breathing, yet still he remains.

At her side and yet a lifetime away.

It's sometime past midday as Aloy watches Talla eat, the girl's movements slow, and yet that spark from before is back, lightening through her eyes, ans the soup that had been all but refused in the morning is accepted and eaten this time.

The focus is now perched upon Talla's own temple, the glow of it casting across her still flushed skin as she nods quietly to whatever Kotallo may be saying to her now.

Her father seems to ask her some question, and Talla hums in the affirmative, lowering the bowl within her hands.

Aloy swallows back a click of dismay—she shouldn't be suprised that Talla's appetite has waned, and so long as she is eating some… it is better than nothing at all.

"My throat hurts."

Aloy's attention whips upwards at once, only for a thread of understanding to be pulled through her, a realization that she is not the one being spoken to at all, but rather, Kotallo himself.

Talla looks down at her hands curling tight around the blanket pulled across her lap. "An—and my chest hurts. And breathing. It feels… sticky."

Her head tilts, a beat of silence falling between them now, and Aloy pulls in her own breath, shaking off the catch within her throat.

Talla sniffs, pulling the blankets closer. "And I'm really cold."

Aloy winces, reaching out, and Talla presses her forehead into her mother's touch, the heat of her breaths puffing out against Aloy's wrist as she scoots closer. Talla nods her head a few times, the movement ruffling her bangs against Aloy's palm, before her voice drifts out once more. "I'm alway good," she huffs, the faintest of smile within the woods.

She nods again, before leaning back and raising her hand up to the focus still on her temple. "Bye Kotallo."

The focus gets pressed into Aloy's still open hand, and the device is barely upon Aloy's own skin when Talla is tapping at her arm again, quiet urgency within her eyes.

"Hi, Kotallo—" her voice feels entirely too breathless, but even still she cannot help the relief that floods through even just to hear his own voice smoothing over her senses.

"Aloy." That warmth that he had always offered before, and now the sound of it alone seems near enough to draw her to tears. "And you?"

"I'm fine." Aloy shakes her head, Talla's hands tapping at her arm once more. "One moment." She bends slightly, brushing away Talla's hair. "What's up, Scrapper?"

"Paints," Talla says quietly. "We have to fix them."

Aloy's lips pull upwards, the barest edge of a smile that she can only hope that Talla might match, even as she does not. "Alright, Scrapper," Aloy says, leaning down to press a kiss to Talla's brow. "I can go get our paints."

"Aloy?" She pauses from the sound of Kotallo's voice once more, and that shifting sound that has accompanied him through these many hours. "I—I have to make another call. Will you be…?"

"I'll be alright," Aloy reassures him, even as the thought of losing his presence leaves something within her weightless and falling. "I'll still be right here, Kotallo."

He murmurs a soft goodbye, and then he is gone, leaving Aloy to the dull silence, until one of Talla's coughs breaks her from her stillness.

"Alright," she murmurs to herself, stepping away. "Paints."

It takes only a minute to find their jar of paints and a cloth, and she carries them back to Talla's side, who has buried herself under the blankets in the short length of time. Aloy hums in amusement, tapping gently at the moving lump upon the bed. "Little scrapper, are you coming out?"

The lump does not move.

Aloy sighs, settling herself at the edge of the bed and drawing her hand slowly down the blanket lump. "Talla, love. You were the one who wanted the paints."

"Are you still mad at Kotallo?"

Aloy pauses, everything within her stilling, her hand half in the air as her thoughts finally catch up with a shake of her head. "I wasn't mad at Kotallo."

The blankets shove back suddenly, and Talla sets upon her mother what can only be called a glare, yet the image of her frustration is slightly ruined by the rumpled hair caught around her face, and Aloy cannot help the smile that teases across her lips.

"Ok," Aloy says, raising her free hand in defeat. "Maybe I was mad at him. For a while." The words catch inside her throat, and Aloy swallows around them, thorns and fire and the taste of smoke and blaze. "Maybe for more than a while. But—" she reaches out, and Talla settles her cheek to rest inside Aloy's cupped palm, her eyes fluttering closed. "But I was also angry with myself. And being angry makes you tired, Talla. And it's harder to do everything when you're always tired."

Talla presses closer, and Aloy takes this moment to draw the damp cloth up to her face, wiping gently at her skin. "What did Kotallo do?"

Aloy hesitates, pulse thundering in her ears. "It's not—" a breath, sticking in her lungs. "We both… did things wrong. And we had an argument. But neither of us… we never said sorry. And then we didn't talk for a long time. And there were a lot—a lot of things I wanted him to do. Wanted both of us to do. And we never got to do it."

Talla's brow draws close, her gaze going distant as she considers, and something turns sickly and hot within Aloy's gut.

How would she even begin to explain that Kotallo had left them both when Talla had been born—and he had left her without any time left to explain?

But this answer seems enough to satisfy Talla, and she nodds her head again, one of her small hands reaching out to the paint pot, spurring her mother back into movemnt.

The paint has those same familiar floral notes to it, and though she has used this color countless times throughout the years, each time she is still struck by the faintest sense of nostalgia, a longing for a time that she has long since left behind to her past.

That she had thought was long since lost.

But maybe—

Aloy dips her fingers into the paints and draws them back out, the rich blue of it cold and yet smooth against her skin. "Chin up," she says to Talla, lifting her own chin towards the girl as her paint tipped hand reaches out.

Talla holds remarkably still throughout it all, her brow beginning to crease in concentration as her sudden emergence from the blankets finally begins to catch up to her, her body trembling slightly as she holds her head raised and motionless.

Aloy's fingertips let off from the jagged marks of teeth along Talla's jaw and chin, and frees up her other hand to pull the blankets up towards Talla once more. "I'll be fast," she murmurs, intending the words as a comfort, even as some small part of her wonders if there is truly any comfort to be found within those words.

She dips her fingers back into the pot once more, and focuses her attention to the half-marked seeker lines that strike above Talla's brow.

"Did you say sorry?"

Aloy blinks, her gaze shifting slightly to catch Talla's own gaze, her eyes serious and searching. "What?"

Talla's brow begins to wrinkle, before she suddenly stops and flattens her expression once more, her gaze going slightly distant as it skips over Aloy's shoulder. "You said you and—and Kotallo didn't get to say sorry. Before. Did you say sorry now?"

"I—"

Aloy hesitates, the words bitten back by the crashing of her thoughts.

She had. Hadn't she?

In all that had been said between them in this rush of the past few months, it seemed as if every other breath between her lips was some form of apology. But even still… they had never spoke of that moment.

Like the buzzing snap of an armed tripwire, their conversations had dodged around it, carefully placed words all to avoid the root of the issue set between them, even as they never once spoke of it.

Kotallo had disappeared, leaving her alone with Talla.

But hadn't she left him before that?

Aloy shakes her head, choosing instead to offer Talla what little explanation she can. "We… haven't yet. Not about that. But we will, Scrapper. Sometimes adults are just… things get hard, and talking about things get harder."

Talla nods slowly, and once she stills Aloy goes back to applying the last marks of her paint. "Feels like a rock," Talla mumbles, her voice quiet. "Stuck and heavy."

Aloy sighs even as Talla's words stir within her chest. "Stuck and heavy," Aloy echoes, cleaning off her hands and placing the stopper back in the paint. "You're pretty smart, Scrapper."

Talla shrugs, pulling the blankets closer before pausing and pushing them away from her still damp face. "M'tired," she says softly, staring blankly out once more.

Aloy strokes across the top of her head before moving to adjust the pillows once more. "If you stay very still, you can lean back to fall asleep."

Talla follows easily, her eyes closing almost immediately, and Aloy feels a tired smile settling across her lips as Talla hums to herself, shifting the blanket closest to her arms.

She's up and moving towards the shelf where they keep the paint when Talla's voice drifts out once more. "Mama?"

Aloy pauses, turning towards her daughter. "Yeah, Talla?"

"Love you."

Her smile deepens, warmth brightening in her chest. "I love you too, Talla."

Another moment of silence, and Talla shifts upon her place in the bed, her voice small and uncertain. "Is it alright if I love Kotallo too?"

Something catches in her throat, sharp like glass and tearing in her lungs. "Yeah," Aloy croaks, the words trembling within her. "Yeah, Talla. That's alright."

She manages to turn away before the first of the tears burn down her cheeks.

Chapter Text

Kotallo steadies himself after the call is closed, some dark churning feeling tugging hot and insistent within his stomach. Everything within his body aches—too long spent in the air with too few breaks between.

Dimly, he knows he cannot keep doing this. Hekarro's mention of his breathing even the night before remains stuck within his mind, each breath scraping at his throat, forcing him to keep his sunwing lower and closer to the ground, too far down from the westerlies that would propel him further on his way.

And he cannot afford any more lost time.

Too much of it had been taken when Ra had suddenly squalled halfway through the morning, faltering in the air and lights dimming sharply—the sudden load and distance called it catching the machine all at once. And he could not waste the hours it would take for the sunwing to fully recharge once more.

It had been through sheer luck that he had a few sparkers buried in the bottom of a resource bag, and though he had been able to replace the power cells on the sunwing, he could feel the time chipping away beyond him with every scraping second.

The wind against his skin. The sun upon his back.

The dull ache that settles in the space between his lungs.

Kotallo lifts his gaze, finding the horizon, and breathes.

He is going to her.

There is little else that matters.

Kotallo steadies himself upon the sunwing, before lifting his hand to the focus once more. It takes a moment more to find her name—amidst all the other communications he has held in recent time, hers has fallen to the distance—before finally, her name appears to him once more.

Something almost familiar flickers back to him in this moment, something that aches and twists and yet feels as if he has done all of this before. Before, when he was desperately searching for his two marshals and turned to her for help. And now, when he cannot see any other soul to seek.

He can only help that Beta will truly be able to answer this time.

It takes a moment for her to accept the call, and that length of time tightens within his lungs, scoring deeply into each breath until it feels as if he is drawing smoke itself within him, until finally—

"Kotallo?"

"Beta." Her name feels like relief, and Kotallo looses the breath that had become caught within him. "Praise the Ten. Look—are you still up to the north with the Oseram?"

"What? Oh—no, no it's just Kotallo. Yeah, I know." Her voice softens slightly on these words, before her attention draws back towards him. "Yeah, on the edge of their territory. Why?"

Kotallo pulls up the list of Talla's symptoms that he had been typing out as she listed them, only half distracted as he adds the information Aloy had given to him. "How quickly can you get to the Sacred Lands? Can you leave today?"

"What?" Beta's voice pitches higher, shock and concern and the barest edge of alarm. "Kotallo, what in Gaia's name are you talking about?"

He sends off the data packet to their chat, a small chime within his focus. "Talla is sick. Aloy is trying her best but she cannot do this alone—Beta, can you go?"

Beta's breathing shifts—a hesitation so similar to the one her sister would carry, a break in the silence. "I—Talla's sick? Is she alright? No—that's a stupid question I—oh." Beta goes quiet, a soft humming in the back of her throat, surely as she reads, before a hissing breath. "Ok. Yeah, I—I can grab my bags."

"Thank you." Kotallo swallows back the sound of relief halfway up his throat, his head tipping down for his chin to brush against the edge of his armor.

"Wait—" Her voice sharpens, and Kotallo can all but hear Beta's narrowing eyes. "How do you know Talla's sick? And why are you calling me instead of Aloy?"

Kotallo shifts, peering over the side of the sunwing down to the distant shape of the ground far below him, tension pulling itself through his gut once more. "Aloy is busy with Talla. Someone had to call you."

"You didn't answer me, Kotallo. Why would Aloy have even told—" Beta cuts off, her voice going near breathless. "You're talking again?"

Kotallo bites back a groan, regret crashing into him all at once even as the sensation is mixed with faint amusement. "Beta."

"How long have you been talking? Was it the Tallneck? Why didn't either of you say anything? How di—"

"Beta!" The bluntness to his tone almost takes Kotallo by surprise, but he shrugs it off to the side. "That doesn't matter now. You can ask me any question you want—after. But Talla needs you now."

"Right," Beta mutters, her voice going faint. "Bags. Packing now." Another breath dragged in. "Kotallo—it's still going to be a few days. A charger can only—"

"I know," Kotallo mutters, angling his sunwing higher up. "Just try your best. And…" a lump within his throat. "And thank you, Beta."

She takes those words as dismissal enough, whether Kotallo had been intending them as such or not. In truth, even within himself he does not know.

It is not as if his relationship with Aloy is meant to be some secret thing, hidden from the world. He has not gone out of his way in any manner to lie or hold it close. And yet… there is something now that feels as if it is meant to be theirs alone in this moment. That to open this now to the eyes of others would set it fracturing between them.

And deeper still—he does not want to be known. In those hours caught in the middle of the night, resting at Aloy's side… he is not High Marshal, or any of the other responsibilities added to him. He is simply Kotallo, and she is simply Aloy, and together they just… are.

Even when their conversations turn towards his own duties, it had always felt almost as if he was removed from them. As if they were a concern for another time.

Another life, perhaps.

And yet, the concerns of this life call to him once more.

The life that—long ago—he had vowed all that remained into Aloy's hands.

Perhaps his vow has been met. Perhaps it has not.

Regardless—his place is now at her side once more.

-
Afternoon has fallen away to cut long shadows across the earth.

Aloy sits outside once more, settled upon the ground with Talla curled against her chest, and there—nestled at her side, Marshal hums and clicks with heat radiating against the cold air around them.

Talla whuffs soft breaths against her collarbone, the sound less labored than it had been even hours before, and Aloy strokes her hand through Talla's hair, Marshal butting its head against her leg.

She doesn't even think about it before she is singing, the words light and airy, near sticking in her throat and yet falling from her all the same.

"Can you tell me about the man on the mountain—mountain." Aloy's head tips back, lifting her gaze to the west—and to the mountain upon the edge. "They say the man doesn't have a name."

How strange, that so many years spent there can feel as if it was a lifetime ago. "Can you speak about the cabin on the mountain—mountain. They say it's been there older than age."

Talla stirs, only the slightest, before her head falls back upon Aloy's shoulder once more.

"They say he's made of snow and of the windspill—of the trees rustling in the night." Tears brush upon her lashes, and Aloy closes her eyes. "They say the man is now one with the mountain—they say the mountain now is the man's life."

Aloy sighs, exhaustion pressing heavy upon her limbs. Dimly, she knows the world beyond her is cold, but all that she can feel now is that heat settled in her chest, thrumming beneath her skin.

"I never knew you could sing."

Kotallo's voice hangs in her ear, and Aloy almost startles from the sound of it, her whole body tensing before going slack once more. A tired exhale, a half cut chuckle drawn awkwardly from her lips. "Never knew I could either," Aloy mumbles, her hand drifting upon Talla's form. "But Talla likes it, so I guess I just… I figured out I could."

"You love her deeply." There's something almost aching to Kotallo's words now, the grief torn and bittered between them.

"Of course I do," Aloy mumbles, her head lowering now to look down upon her daughter. "She's my whole world."

Before, she had carried the weight of the world entirely upon her own aching shoulders, near suffocated beneath the expectations and risks set upon her. But now—her responsibilities feel altogether smaller and broader all at once.

That this task of caring for and loving Talla has become so much more than any other goal that she had ever been called to before.

She turns her gaze towards the sky once more, and finds the sun on its daily march towards its death upon the mountains, when its dying light would fall like blood upon the snow-capped peaks.

"If you're going to keep sleeping, scrapper," she mumbles, tracing her thumb across Talla's cheek. "Might as well tuck you into bed, hmm?"

Talla shifts, only the slightest, and Aloy smiles down at her, the warmth within her blooming into something deeper, something softer.

The cabin is warmer, the heat of it seeping into her bones, and Aloy lets out another heavy breath as she nestles Talla into bed once more. Then she lifts her head, and her balance swings, and Aloy's hand falls tightly upon the wall as she waits for the pulse of creeping black to rid itself from her vision.

"Aloy?" Kotallo's voice, colored through with concern and drawing her back into herself. Aloy turns away from Talla's bed, faltering steps and her body slowly sinking down to the floor, back pressing against the wall. "How are you feeling?"

Like she's got a damn scorcher set beneath her skin. Like the world is shifting even as she does nothing at all. Like there's smoke drifting through her lungs every time she closes her eyes.

"Tired," is the only word to fall from her, the sound of it scraping in her throat.

"Just hold on," Kotallo murmurs, his voice insistent and low. "Just a little while longer, Aloy. Just hold on."

A dry laugh parting through dry lips. Her head sinks back, hair scuffing against the wall. Just hold on. She's been holding on for too long. Some desperate part of her only wants to let go—to let herself fall and drift, waves upon the shore. To let herself fall fully apart, every chipped and broken part of herself falling through her bleeding hands.

Just hold on. Hold it together. Keep yourself sane for the sake of the mission—you can let go when it's finally over.

A cough that blisters and burns upon her tongue.

This isn't the kind of mission that ever ends.

"I'm trying," Aloy says weakly, that heat within her pressing slow and insistent upon her thoughts, dragging them down.

Kotallo muffles a curse, and the sound of it almost drifts a smile across her lips.

She hangs there—drifting through this halfway haze, even as everything within her insists that she cannot let go. That she must hold on. That Talla—her daughter—needs her. That she has to be perfect, to care for her.

And every breath that drags through her lungs twists and burns within her.

Perhaps time passes. Perhaps it does not. The pounding in her head slows, dulling out to nothing more than the echo of her heartbeat, and yet all the same it all feels so incredibly loud.

Kotallo is with her. Each panted breath she matches, each inward draw her own, each sharpening exhale biting in her throat, yet she clings to it, as if through only through the sound of him—she might not be alone.

She's sick of being alone.

Another ragged sigh, and Aloy pushes herself upright, pulling her braid over her shoulder even as loose strands of hair stick to the back of her neck, damp with sweat and clinging to her skin. Her body aches as she directs herself towards their little table, and the half empty canteen of water that she has been nursing most of the day.

The taste of it is blank upon her lips, and she stares down at her hands upon wood, waiting for the dull roar in her ears to dissipate.

Kotallo's voice crackles in her ear.

"Aloy! Which cabin is yours?"

Her head raises, and the word echo dimly through her mind, the shape of the words falling upon her lips as her brow furrows, struggling to make sense of what he has said. What cabin? What—

Her body jolts, a spark through her mind. "Kotallo? What are you—"

"I see the Sunwing. Just hold on, Aloy."

The sunwing? Her sunwing? Is he really—

Aloy lurches away from the table, the stool she had been upon clattering to the ground and the sound of it rings like thunder even as she leaves it behind.

Her vision swims, dark spots that she blinks frantically away, throwing the door open before her and her gaze lifting, heart within her throat.

She catches upon the outer post to the porch of their cabin, and the ice-laden wind rips across her skin, biting down into her breathless lungs.

And there—right there—Kotallo astride his sunwing, settled in the open paths between the cabins around her own, and his gaze lifts to find hers, dark and deep and everything she has ever known and lost for all these years.

Aloy crashes a hand to her mouth, holding back the cry that wells up in her throat and eyes, and shakes her head, disbelief slick upon her skin.

"Tell me I'm not dreaming."

Kotallo—is he really here?—slides off his sunwing and takes one step towards her, and the sound of his voice catches within her. It is not just here, filtered in from the focus perched just before her ear, but he is there—right there, his voice carried and faded upon the wind, torn across this distance between them that seems to disappear as he takes another step forward.

"You're not dreaming."

He keeps coming. He keeps coming and he's really here and he must be here and—

"I told you I was here for you, Aloy. That all you had to do was call."

His gaze holds hers even still, and all at once her longing crashes into her, stealing away her breath and every other thought remaining.

One step. That is all it takes to trust that her legs might carry her even now, and then Aloy runs.

-

Aloy crashes into his chest, and Kotallo can scarcely breathe.

His arms wrap around her, more instinct than thought—seeing as the whole of his thoughts have now been consumed by her, the weight of her body flush against his own. Aloy drags in a shuddering breath, and Kotallo matches it, his right hand burrowing through her hair to cup against the back of her head, holding her closer.

Five years apart, and he holds her now within his arms, warm and real and breaking.

"You're really here," Aloy gasps, the words hitching into a sob, and the sound of them catches within Kotallo's own lungs. "I didn't think you would—"

"I'm here." Kotallo silences her cry with his own murmured words. his head dipping to press to her own, breathing her in. Every ache had had written itself through his muscles and bones in the past hours suddenly fall away, unimportant in the light of the sensations pressing upon him now—of her touch against his skin, of the sound of each breath, of her scent washing over him, somehow new and yet achingly familiar. "I promised you, Aloy."

She crushes another broken cry against him, her fingers digging at his flesh as they curl tighter at his back—but Kotallo would rather an endless lifetime of these pains than another second spent without her.

Aloy shakes against him, body trembling and her voice breaking, and those must be tears—he can feel them falling hot upon his skin. And while everything in him longs to brush those tears from her skin, to press his lips faint and warm upon the reddened tracks they have left on her cheeks, the very thought of letting her go for even a second digs cuts within his throat and has him curling his arms tighter around her.

It is not until her gasping breaths quiet themselves slowly before turning into a ragged cough that alarm flickers through Kotallo's own lungs, and he draws her away, even as the expression upon her face now stick like a knife between the ribs. "Aloy." His right hand moves, shifting around to cradle against her face, and Aloy lets out an exhausted breath as her she presses into his palm. The flush across her skin is not from the tracks of tears alone, but radiates sharply from her skin, heat upon his own. "You're burning up."

Aloy shakes her head, some breathless smile crumpled across her lips as she peers up at him, her expression grieved and relieved all at once, her paints smudged across her skin by sweat and tears. "I'm fine," she croaks, one hand coming up to hold against his arm.

"You're not," Kotallo refutes, stroking away the edge of a growing tear with the pad of his thumb, shaking his head. Everything in him longs to tilt her head, to press his lips to hers and hold her until all of her grief has fallen away—as if he might breathe it into his own lungs and hold it forever, so long as she would never have to carry this burden in such a way ever again. "You're not fine."

Her eyes close, her grip upon him shifting, and even without sight her thumb traces along the long-set lines of his tattoos. The thought of it all catches within Kotallo's lungs—that even after all these aching years, his skin is still so familiar to her, the shape of him memorized to her touch.

"I'm better now," she whispers, even as her weight shifts, pressing back into the span of his metal arm holding her back, her body sagging even if only in the slightest. "You're here."

"I'm here," Kotallo echoes, swallowing down the thick of emotion within his throat, the burn of tears eclipsing through his own eyes. "I am here, and I say you need to be back inside, Aloy."

"Don't let go." The words are small, faded just as the sun that blurs upon the mountain to the west, and yet such three words are enough to steal his breath away. "I don't want to wake up."

Her body trembles once more, and Kotallo cannot stop himself. He bows his head, and presses his lips upon the edge of her hairline, brushing the words upon her skin. "You're not asleep," Kotallo breathes, his fingers curling across her cheek once more. "But I think you should be."

Aloy sighs, yet she does not protest again as Kotallo turns them both towards her cabin, their hands falling to intertwine, the shape of it a warmth he had almost thought had been lost to time itself—and yet here she is. Here they are. Their hands woven together as if that is how they have always been meant to be.

The inside of the cabin is dimmer than the darkening sky of sunset they had left behind, thought not by much. Kotallo blinks against the darkness, before the shadows and shapes take form against the light of the fire cast upon them.

They have barely stepped inside before Aloy is folding herself against his side once more, and Kotallo cannot keep himself from wrapping tightly around her, nestling his head atop hers as it presses to the armor across his chest.

He holds her, heart thudding within his chest, a roar of every longing thought crashing through him all at once, every impossibility, every sleepless night and ragged thought, all falling through him in each slow breath.

Then Aloy shifts, even as her weight presses closer against him. "Your armor is stabbing me," she huffs, the words plaintive and muffled against his chestplate.

Kotallo looses a breath—what could almost be called as if a laugh—and tips his head backwards to steady himself, some impossible smile stretching across his lips. When he slowly coaxes her backwards, he finds Aloy's hands wrapped around the spikes protruding from his tassets, her fingers brushing across his skin in a way that sends sparks stuttering into his lungs.

Aloy pulls at his tassets, a crease falling upon her brow. "These are not made for… non-combat contact."

This time, a laugh does fall fully from his lips, and Kotallo settles his hand atop hers, his thumb brushing across her knuckles. "Then I guess I could take them off."

Aloy moves to reach for the ties upon them, and Kotallo stays her hand. "After," he insists, his other hand pressing her towards the bed at the far wall. "After you get to sleep."

Aloy shakes her head, her grip insistent upon him now. "Not after," she says, her gaze lifting—and some of the haze within her eyes fades away. "Now." A breath, her gaze traveling across his face. "I want to feel you."

Ten above, the words strike within his chest, and he bites back every desire to crush his lips against hers now, to curve her body against his and feel, to feel everything that he has missed.

But not like this.

Not when her thoughts are still fever hazed and her body shakes beneath his touch even now.

Taking his silence for acceptance, Aloy pulls sharply at his tassets, apparently having no such reservations. It is all that he can do to catch them from falling completely to the ground and drape them upon the table off to the side as Aloy turns her grasp towards the latches to his armor, her attention single-minded and without hesitation.

She moves towards his other side, then stops, her body swaying and Kotallo catches her arm within his hand. "Aloy," he says, an admonition creeping into his voice, yet even still she shakes her head, insistent.

"Let me do this," Aloy whispers, her gaze flicking up to find his, and Kotallo finds he must relent.

He can only breathe her in, his hand hovering upon her skin, holding to her as she moves around in old set rhythms. The brush of her breath upon his shoulder, the trace of her fingers across his ribs as she pulls the pieces of his armor apart. The way she always bites at the corner of her lip as she undoes the latches on his vambraces.

Her hands light upon his shoulder, and Kotallo pulls in a half-cut breath as they stop there, resting upon the straps to his prosthetic.

A thickly held swallow, and Kotallo meets her gaze and finds himself wanting, always wanting. "Please," he rasps, and finds that same wanting within her eyes.

Aloy shivers, and the sight of his words affecting her in such a way strikes within his chest, pulling through his bones, drawing him to her.

He can feel the heat of her breath even through the fabric of hid undershirt, can feel the skim of her touch until it is gone, and the weight upon his shoulder has been removed as well. Kotallo rolls them both out, an aching release within him now. He has not worn for such an extended period for a long time, months, perhaps years, and to have it lifted feels as if countless other burdens have been taken from him now.

Aloy's hands press against his sides, before she is stepping back in, nestling her head against his chest, gathering tight fistfuls of the cloth before her breathing smooths out once more. Kotallo's hand hangs above her back—strangely hesitant, unsure.

A sigh from her lips, the press of her ear upon the beat of his heart, and Kotallo's hand falls upon the small of her back.

"I missed you."

Kotallo hardens his gaze towards the distance, burning away the damp within his eyes. There will be time enough for such a thing later—when Aloy is not in this state. When Talla is well.

When they have finally found a moment to talk.

But for now…

"I took off my armor," Kotallo murmurs, stroking down her back, the texture of her clothes dampened by the slightest of sweat. "Now you keep up the end of the deal. Sleep, Aloy."

She sighs, shifting to press her forehead heavily upon the hollow of his sternum, her fingers loosing from his clothes to drift to his skin once more. "Promise you'll stay," she mumbles, even as the words fade upon her tongue.

Kotallo swallows down the knot building itself within his throat, stepping them both towards Aloy's bed. "I've already promised once before—" she draws away, her touch still upon him even as she stands to his side. "So I will promise you now."

She does not resist again until she is perched upon the edge of the bed, and her body suddenly teases, her head snapping upwards, fevered eyes sparking and bright. "Talla—"

Kotallo catches her movement against his shoulder, his arm winding around her and holding her still. "Aloy—you must rest. You're sick too."

Aloy shakes her head, pushing against him with surprising strength for all that he had needed to support her even minutes before. "She needs me," Aloy hisses, her breaths shortening. "I have to be there for her. I have to—"

"And what good would you do for her if you can hardly stand?" The words snap from Kotallo's lungs, a distant echo of older irritations, of habits long drawn through the past, evidently still in practice even now. "Go ahead, Aloy. Stand up and go to her—and I won't argue against you."

Aloy pins a harsh glare upon him, her body tensing and she rises—

Only to catch his arm as her face goes blank, widened eyes and an intake of breath.

"Sleep," Kotallo commands, pressing her back down. "Rest, Aloy. I'll… I'll stay with Talla. Just until you're feeling better."

At his words, she seems to soften, sinking down to the stretch of pelts across the wooden frame, the fight loosing from her all at once. Kotallo sighs, brushing away the damp strands of hair that have clung to her face, before grabbing the edge of one blanket to draw it over her form, tucking it around her curled in shoulders.

"Just rest, Aloy." Kotallo's thumb traces the line of her brow, of the paints placed upon her skin. "I told you to hold on, and you did. But you can let go now. I've got you."

Her expression crumples, her hands digging through the blanket to twine with his own, fingers curling tightly through his. "Promise me—" Aloy whispers, her voice hoarse and barely lingering through the air. "Promise me you'll still be here. I'm sick of—" a breath that catches within her, her eyes falling closed. "I'm sick of waking up to the same old fears. I'm sick of losing you all the time."

Kotallo takes her hands, turning them, pulling towards himself, and presses his lips in the faintest trace upon her knuckles. "I promise." The words as a vow, drifted on her skin. "I'll be here, Aloy. For you. And for—and I'm here for Talla too. For whatever you need."

"I'm glad you're here." Her hands squeeze tighter, even as her expression softens, and he can already feel her fading into sleep. "I want you here."

Such small words—and yet they bring him to his knees, kneeling at her side as Aloy nestles his hand closer, resting her cheek upon it. "I need you here."

Kotallo leans into her touch, no longer denying the part of him that fully craves it. "You have me."

"Talla needs—" Aloy's breathing hitches, her fingers curling tighter, the words brushed against his open palm. "She needs her father."

The words tear into his chest, catching in his lungs.

Her brow furrows once more, the damp of tears caught upon closed lashes. "She needs you, Kotallo. Dont leave us again."

The world stops around him, and Kotallo stares down at Aloy in wide eyed disbelief, the words slowly catching through his mind.

"Don't…" Another breath, and her hands loose their grip upon him, a final nuzzle against his palm before she shifts, pressing herself into the comforts of sleep.

And Kotallo cannot breathe.

He sinks back sharply, his thoughts sparking and dragging within his mind, impossibility after impossibility that must be true. His vision blurs, each breath catching in his lungs, the action near impossible against the pain flaring within his chest, digging in like knives.

Or teeth.

Or claws.

Or broken ribs and lungs filling with blood.

Another breath dragged in—the taste of smoke—but this smoke is different, the taste of hearth and home.

Talla needs her father.

Her father.

Her—

Kotallo gets up roughly, dragging his hand down his face, staring down at Aloy in disbelief once more even as everything within him believes her.

What reason would she have to lie?

Why else would she have called him here?

A shake of his head, grounding himself as he stands.

Talla needs him now.

He had promised Aloy he would take care of her. That he had this. That he would stay with her daughter. That he would stay with—

Their?

His?

It cannot be and yet it cannot be anything else, as his feet carry him towards the cot set up near the fire, and Kotallo's hand shakes as he looks down at the little form all wrapped about in blankets and pelts.

Talla, with her mother's hair and that same fever flush, nothing more than the rise of her lungs as Kotallo sinks to her side.

She stirs as he traces his thumb along the curve of her face—and there, though smudged from sweat and time, are matching paints to the ones Aloy wears.

The teeth set about her jaw, just as Kotallo wears—

Her eyes crack open, and Talla stares up at him with a honeyed gaze, catching the flickering light of the fire. She lets out a wheezing sound, her brow drawing close, her form shrinking into the blankets.

Something pulls within his chest, and Kotallo shifts at her side, soft sounds of comfort spilling from him. "Shh. It's ok, it's ok, Talla. You know me. I'm—"

"K'tallo." Her voice drifts up, dazed through with fever and sleep, a smile stretching across her little face.

"I—" the word catches in his throat again, and Kotallo looks down at her, unable to breathe, and yet some indescribable hope is burning within him, warm and full and it cannot be and yet it must—

Talla nestles into his hand, the size of it nearly dwarfing her, and Kotallo blinks back against the sudden press of tears. "Tell me a story," she mumbles, her eyes closing once more. "Please?"

Kotallo draws in a breath, then releases it, smiling down at Aloy's daughter.

At his daughter.

"This is a story," he begins, his voice shaking and low, the beat of his heart as if a drum as he traces his thumb across Talla's cheek once more. "Of a father who loved his little girl very much."

Chapter Text

Nemesis on the horizon.

Snow haze, white as bone.

Aloy opens her lips to the taste of smoke, and breathes. Kotallo is at her side, his expression set and firm, the shift of the blade within his hand.

The crowd of metal around them now, stifling and catching in her lungs, and she knows what comes next. What always comes next. What she cannot escape.

Aloy finds Kotallo's gaze and holds him, heartbeat thundering through her skull.

"Promise me you'll be here when I come back."

She does not have to wonder which promise will stick—the words now written upon his lips, or the vow that he had set that she would succeed in this.

Sometimes she wonders if there were ever a chance that she might hold them both—or if the choice had been hers all along, even as he took it from her.

Kotallo's life, or the lives of all in the world?

How many times must she choose?

How many more times does he take this burden from her shoulders, with a vow she knows he does not intend to keep?

The brush of tears along her cheeks, the door closing between them, cutting through his words.

"I promise."

He always promises.

He always dies.

The door slams closed, and her heart slams within her chest, pounding in her skull.

One ragged breath, and he has returned, his body marred and stained red with blood.

"It was a nightmare," Aloy croaks, the words falling unbidden from her lips, as if they have drawn from a thousand lifetimes before.

"Was it about me?" Kotallo's head tilts, his eyes fading and blank, that light and warmth she has so long lost and loved far from his gaze now.

Smoke within her lungs, tears burning in her gaze.

"They always are."

He nods slowly, his expression falling, before he is falling as well, his body cut and slack and crumpling to the ground. A cry tears itself from her lungs, and Aloy lunges forward, her hands shaking as they catch Kotallo, pulling him into her arms. "Please," she whispers, the tracks of tears burning hot upon her cheeks. "Stay with me, Kotallo. You promised me—stay with me!"

"I'm right here." His hand, slicked with blood and tracing along the curve of her face, the track of it painted upon her skin in thick and wretched lines.

His blood, hot upon her lips and the metallic tang of it flooding through to the back of her throat. Aloy presses her lips to his, as if she might somehow breathe her own life into his own lungs.

Without him, she has no need of it anyways.

"Stay with me!" She pleads, her body trembling, his own slowly growing cold. "Don't leave me!"

Another choked out cry, and the weight of him is gone, ripped from her arms and leaving her with nothing but the slick of blood cooling against her skin.

She cannot stand to see her red-soaked hands again.

And yet—as she always does—Aloy looks down to them, and sobs.

She curls into herself, her arms pulling tight and fingers digging into her flesh, as if the pain might remind her of her own life. This is the part where she wakes up. It always is. This is the moment in which she knows—that he is still alive, but she has lost him all the same.

This is the part where she wakes—

Yet when Aloy opens her eyes, Kotallo is there, cast in digital light. His eyes are darkened now, bittered through with the roll of thunder set between them, lightning crashing in her own lungs as her thoughts rush around her.

Dread pools itself through her body, hands wrapped tight around her throat and digging. "No," she whispers, realization striking through her bones, red-hot and blaze tipped against her skin, and Aloy raises her hands to cover her ears, as if that might stop the words that will ring through her mind regardless.

Kotallo shakes his head, the digital space flickering and glitching beneath her feet, great swathes of color and punched out code. "I don't think we should contact each other anymore."

"Please," Aloy gasps, the storm building around them, wind tearing at her skin and tugging at her hair and stealing the breath from within her lungs. "Don't."

"I'm sorry." Kotallo turns away—his vision torn, scraps of code breaking off and whipped away into the wind, cutting at her skin as it passes her by.

"Don't leave me!" She stumbles forward, even as the image of him fades away, lights and color and glitched out form dissolving in the air, yet nothing can stop her hands from wrapping desperately to what once was. "Kotallo, you promised!"

The storm stops, the words ringing through her mind, and suddenly—Aloy is held.

Her body, tucked against something safe and warm, an arm curling around her back, the edge of calloused fingertips brushing across the nape of her neck.

"I promised," the warmth says, the words rumbling straight from his chest into her own, the matching beats of their hearts as Aloy sighs, sinking into his hold. "And I'll promise you again, Aloy."

The sob that catches in her throat remains there, breaking into something softer in its stead, something in her trembling now in relief, rather than the aching exhaustion that followed in her every step.

"You have me. I promise you this, Aloy. And I'm not letting you go."

"Don't let go," Aloy echoes, her arms pulling tight around this warmth—this echo of a memory that has been all she has been able to cling to in all these years.

"Don't let me wake up." A hushed and shattered plea, even as she knows it will go unanswered. "Please don't let me leave."

The ghost of lips upon her skin, an ancient memory now made flesh. "You have to wake up now, Aloy."

A shake of her head, her body curling tight.

She cannot bear to lose him again.

She finds his name upon her lips, and says it like the desperate prayer that it is.

"Kotallo—"

"I'm here."

The warmth skims further across her skin, before something is pressed, cold and clear against her lips, wordlessly parted and mindlessly compliant, the slow soak of water down her throat.

A sound draws from her, aching and wanting and a deep-set need that pulls itself like roots from her lungs, and the warmth stokes across her forehead, brushing away damp strands of hair.

"I'm here."

Aloy sighs, her head tipping back, and lets the warmth take her whole, the haze washing over her in blinding, fading light.

This is not as it always is.

But she does not want this to end.

-

Aloy wakes slowly, an ache settled in her bones, a ringing through her mind and thoughts, and hangs, waiting for the wash of sensation upon her to slowly right itself, for her body to filter through the dizzying crush of heat and wind-bitten chill upon her now.

Her eyes drag open, shadows set across her gaze that she waits to dispel, for the scattering of them across her vision into nothing more than sparks and stars and darkened marks—and then she will stand. She will force her limbs back into compliance, no matter the edge of knives that write themselves against her bones, no matter the cut of them in the back of her lungs, digging into every breath. No matter the part of her that remembers—that faintest sense of warmth, and wonders if there is any way she might hold it forever, so long as she could only be held by him once more.

Aloy wakes, and his name is carried upon her every breath.

"Hnng—tallo?"

He isn't there. It is a fruitless cry, one she has long since become used to, and yet it is said all the same, her heart desperately searching for what she knows she will never find.

"I'm still here."

Her body stiffens, before lurching upright, a tangle of blankets holding her tight even as her attention whips around, each thought within her mind screeching to a sharp and terrible halt, and it cannot be—but yet at the sound of his voice—what else can it be?

Aloy twists, disbelief binding itself into every beat of her pulse, and stares breathlessly out at the image of Kotallo—sitting at her table with exhaustion in his eyes and her name upon his lips.

"I promised you, Aloy. I promised I would be here when you wake."

One hand goes to cover her mouth, the other pushing her onto uncertain legs, and yet still he remains before her, and everything in him must be real. There is no hum of her focus pressed against her ear, no digital echo to his voice, no whisper in the back of her mind that she has left and lost him—he is simply there, even as his gaze drops and does not meet her own.

The first of her thoughts begin to catch up, breaking through the fog of the past day to fall into startling clarity, the sound of his voice and the sense of his touch. "You flew here. You—"

Aloy turns, looking back towards the bed and the rumpled pelts upon it. "How long was I asleep?"

"Not long enough." Kotallo rises, and something within her begins to soar as well, that he might step towards her and take her within his arm as he had done before, the weight of his presence grounded against her, the sound of his heartbeat flush against her own aching pulse. "But a few hours. Maybe three."

Then he turns, away from her, away from her hopes, and that gently soaring thing begins to crumble and fall, plummeting through the air as his voice drags from him now, darkened through and the bite of every bittered and broken thing. "Take a seat, Aloy."

He's back. He's here. She called him here. Because—

"Talla."

Her body turns, that panic lurching back into her chest, crawling up her spine and settling into the place of her heart, pulling itself tight within her now.

"Talla is well." Kotallo's voice rings through, but the shape of it is hollow, a silhouette set against her memories, rather than the light and warmth she swears as if she has just known. "Her temperature has gone down. Let her sleep."

He turns, his hand filled now with one of her wooden cups, and dimly Aloy registers the tea that waits upon the table for him even now. "Now sit, Aloy. We need to talk."

Numbly, she obeys.

What else is she to do, when he is here in front of her in all the ways she had been too afraid to hope for years before, and yet now that he is here, it feels as if things have gone out of place? As if there is a chasm set between them—yet one she cannot find, only that she knows.

One that yawns too far and wide, and she cannot fully see him on the other side.

Her vision swims, the world spotting, and Aloy finds the cup pressed into her open hands, the scuff of wood softened by time, the warmth of it seeming into trembling palms, and Aloy raises her head, finding Kotallo's gaze pinned resolutely upon her now.

He looks at her as if all he sees is a stranger once more, and the sight of it fractures in Aloy's chest.

Kotallo sets his own cup down, the words that draw from him slow and edged through with some brittle-edged blade, as if to speak them too swiftly would set them splintering between them both. "Talla is my daughter."

Aloy's gaze flicks to the side, to the bed pulled closer to the fire, to the little girl upon it who reminds her too much of herself—who grew to learn her flaws and yet, for all her better traits—they have come from the father that she has never known.

As if his love and care could be inherited through blood alone, strong enough to break even the bonds of distance and time.

Far stronger than Aloy could ever hope to be again.

"In every way."

Kotallo draws a sound through his throat, some scrape of breath that sets alarm sparking in Aloy's lungs, a crawl of uncertainty flashing hot against the back of her neck as she looks to him once more.

He stares back at her with darkened eyes. "So tell me." His voice rings, the roll of distant thunder, and the unsettledness digs deeper into Aloy's skin, metalbite and the lick of flames upon her now. "Why I have not seen my daughter—" his voice breaks, the snap of emotion that is the only betrayal of a man who might otherwise be carved of stone. "In all of these years?"

Tell me yourself!

The words flare through her mind, arrows and knives and the cut of blood upon her tongue, but anger is brutal and she cannot hold it now, not when it tears within her lungs and all she can see is that night, when she had woken with memories that seemed too real and yet—

They cannot be unmade now.

Hadn't they been healing, in some small way? Hadn't they been drawing into one another once again, as if the only thing that kept them apart now was the distance, and not the arguments that they had left in their wake—that she had tried so desperately to dispel?

Anger is hot, the burn of flames and of fever, a wildfire that rips through her aching lungs and rings within the back of her mind.

Aloy settles for the cold steel of a knife instead.

"You've always known exactly where we were." Each word, a bladed point. "You could have come at any time."

Kotallo scoffs, the ring of metal upon steel. "We hadn't spoken in years, Aloy. How unwanted would I have been to come here—"

"You were always wanted!" Aloy snaps, the words rattling in her lungs. "I have always wanted you here, Kotallo." A fractured breath—all the countless times she had waited to nothing but silence, the days to weeks to months to these aching and twisted years, bitterness dripping into her voice. "Maybe you were the one who didn't want to be here."

Kotallo pulls in a breath, his eyes widening, sparks against the dark, the click of blastsling set to be thrown, and he stands up abruptly, shoving away from the table. "Don't."

She has long since grown tired of being told what she cannot do. Anger is a blaze—and Aloy falls into it with clenched hands and a bleeding heart.

"I don't get it," she hisses, her voice ringing through this silence set between them now—silent but for the sound of her own heaving breaths. "You knew exactly where we were. You knew where we were for years—and you stayed quiet. You stayed out of my life—our lives—until suddenly you needed me." Aloy stands, a pulse behind her eyes that rings through with the slow pull of a tide that cannot be held back, and every cut of frustration that she had tried to cast aside is flooding through her—tears slicked hot upon her cheeks.

"And you used me. And you were going to leave. And since then, I have been trying—" Her vision blurs once more, and Aloy's steps falter as she breaks the distance. "To hold us together."

"Aloy, stop." A warning to his voice—but she never got as far as she has by heeding warnings, not when she's always had to pry answers free from blood and bone alike with her own hands.

"I gave you every opportunity, Kotallo!" Every unspoken thought, all crashing to the surface, all cracking beneath her, her own body frozen as she watches him walk away, again and again and again.

"So why the hell didn't you come? Tell me why your own daughter had to grow up without you!"

"I didn't know that she was MINE."

The words strike into Aloy all at once, and she freezes, her own retort dying on her tongue. "You didn't…"

"You've spent all this time furious, Aloy, but did you ever—"

"What do you mean—" Aloy whispers, her voice going thick with horror, widened eyes and that dark pit in her stomach, sending her weightless and reeling all at once. "You didn't know?"

"Of course I didn't know!" Kotallo snaps back, his voice clipped, a roar of blood within her ears drowning out every other sense.

Aloy covers her mouth with her hand, bile and guilt rising up her throat, acid in the back of her mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick."

She stumbles back, but Kotallo is turning from her even now, and the control upon his voice is falling away, the thin curtain of emotion no longer veiled. "Hell, Aloy—you really thought I knew, and that I just left anyways?"

He turns now, and there is both anger and horror burning in his eyes now. Anger, horror, and terrible, breathless desperation. "Could you really think so little of me?" That anger is catching, burning fiercer now within his gaze, great blazes of fire searing in his words. "That I would leave you?"

"You did!" Aloy scrapes out, barely swallowing back the heat within her own throat, burning through her lungs and stinging in her eyes. "I called you every day, Kotallo! For weeks. You didn't give me a say in the matter, no time to explain—you were just gone!"

"I was trying to—" Kotallo bites the words off with a ragged breath, his hand trembling before him. Aloy watches him with her own trembling limbs as Kotallo drags several breaths in and then out, his voice strained when he finally speaks once more. "I thought she was Teb's."

His softness does nothing to temper against the roil of emotion within her now, a tempest set in place of her lungs. "So what if she was!" Aloy flinches from the sharp of her own words, achingly loud against the quietness that Kotallo's own lowered tone had brought between them, but in this moment she cannot find any care at all. "Did you really think me having a child would mean I didn't care about you? That I wouldn't want you in my life? Kotallo, before we were ever lovers—we were friends! And I missed you."

Aloy takes one step forward, bolstered by her own fury. "So tell me. Why did you leave?"

"Because I couldn't take it!" The words snap out of him, raw and ragged and catching within Aloy's own heart. "Because… I thought you were moving on, and I realized that I never would. Not if I still had you in my life, even if in the smallest way. And I couldn't hold you back like that." Kotallo sighs, his words beginning to shake from the sheer weight of them, and Aloy recognizes the current running low through every stroke of breath. "When I realized that you had Talla, and I thought—I wanted to be happy for you, I should have been happy for you, but all I could feel was that ache. That I had finally lost you, even if I had lost any right to love you months before."

"The right?" Aloy mutters quietly, but Kotallo carries on regardless.

"You were happy, Aloy. Or at least, I thought you were happy. And I couldn't keep going when all I wanted was to be the reason that you were happy. I—I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't burden you with my own emotions—not when you had finally found a way to live your own life, and you had left what we had held behind."

"You were the reason I was happy," Aloy whispers, the ebb of an ocean, the tide stealing her breath away. Her hands shake before her, and Aloy pins them resolutely to her side. "All those months, Kotallo, when I was so lost and uncertain, you were what held me together. And I couldn't… I was hoping even then that maybe we—that it all could have turned out differently. And having you with me in that way made me believe that maybe it still would."

"Then why leave?" Kotallo's own raw anger has faded as well, his voice caught instead in the same heavy weight of desperation that Aloy has felt pressing against her lungs all these aching years. "Why didn't you come back home? Why disappear to the sacred lands? Why didn't you—"

His voice cuts off, and Kotallo heaves out an unsteady breath, reaching up to dig his fingers roughly into his hair, throwing the metal pins within it askew. "Forget Talla," he mutters, his gaze finding hers and she cannot breathe from the weight of it upon her. "Why did you leave me, Aloy?"

"I don't—" the words are faltering, burning on her tongue.

"Why dismiss me?" Kotallo steps forward, his voice ringing in her ears. "Why walk away after Nemesis? After all we went through, and then you just decided—" Kotallo's words snap off, that same burning anger lancing through his gaze, piercing straight to her heart. "What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't. I couldn't—" She can't breathe. The air tastes of copper and smoke. There is ash and grit between her teeth, the burn of it in her throat, the cloying heat of blood thick upon her palms. She can't— "I don't know."

"Like hell you don't!" Kotallo's words bite into her lungs, ice within her veins, fire upon her skin, the dull roar of blood pounding in her ears. "You've lied to me enough. Don't lie to me now, Aloy!"

She turns—desperation threading itself through her bones—and even though she had already promised Kotallo that she would stop running, there is nothing more that she wants than to simply disappear, to leave every sparking word of this argument until all she can feel is that dull ache within her chest once more, rather than this roar of emotion that seems set upon tearing her apart from the inside out. "You walked away from me too," Aloy whispers, wrapping her arms around herself.

Holding herself together.

"You—"

You said you would be waiting for me.

You said you would stay alive.

I told you to stay alive—

"How can you think I would just walk away if I knew? Damn it, Aloy, I DIED for you!"

Her heart stops.

And anger burns, brittle and broken in her lungs.

A knife to the chest.

His blood on her lips.

"You think I don't know that?"

The words tear from her, terrible and scalding and hot, blaze tipped down her throat, painted across her cheeks. "You think there's not a single day where I am not stuck in that moment?"

Every day, every night, that moment, that life, that second where his heart stopped beating and hers kept going, and his life, and his blood, and all of it was on her hands.

Aloy chokes on a breath, and she cannot hear, she cannot think, there is only the pounding of her pulse splitting into her skull. "How could you—why would you—" The pressure in her lungs snaps—the hot choke of tears within her throat and burning within her eyes, blurring her vision and reducing Kotallo to nothing more than a smear of colors before her.

Smoke on the wind.

"Why, Kotallo? I gave you an order to—to stay alive and—"

"You think I died for my Commander?" Kotallo's voice tears through her own, and numbly she finds herself stepping towards him, her body shaking even as his words shake in desperation. "Aloy, I did that because I loved you more than life itself. And I will never regret that day."

"WELL, I DO."

Aloy throws her hands down to her sides, every part of her numb and sparking all at once, and she blinks furiously against the sob that catches in her chest. "Every night I am terrified to go to sleep, because that day will never leave me. You may have been fine with dying to save me, Kotallo, but I'm the one who has to live with it!"

The world pitches, each breath slamming into her lungs and sending stars across her vision, tongues of flame across her skin, and Aloy can barely hear the words even as they rip from her throat. "You may have been trying to save me, Kotallo, but did you ever once think about the world you would have left me behind in?"

The sound of his breathing falters.

"Aloy."

She pulls each tear soaked word from her throat, each faltering step forward, each choking thought within her mind. "Do you really think—" Aloy lifts her head, exhaustion and grief crashing into her all at once, a thousand days and hundreds of sleepless nights, every second, every breath, every ghost of those eight minutes that felt as if a lifetime. The end of his—the end of hers. "That I wanted the blood of one more person I loved on my hands again? Because I failed them?"

Kotallo opens his mouth again, to shout, to argue again, to fight back against her words—goddess, she's sick of fighting—to let each word scrape along all of her busted up and bleeding nerves.

But he never gets the chance.

"Mama!"

A choked out sob cuts through the ringing silence left behind by Aloy's own words, and everything stops.

Aloy's whole body tenses, her heart slamming to a halt and digging halfway through her ribs as she turns, all her anger and desperation crashing like glass within her chest, shattering into fear and something much more frantic then each gasping breath she had pulled in before. Talla's silhouette is caught by the fire, a mess of blankets and shaking shoulders and unsteady breaths that cut into Aloy's very lungs.

She is at her daughter's side in an instant.

"Shh, Talla, love." Aloy's voice shakes within her throat as she swipes away her tears, hopelessly smearing away the paints Talla had been so insistent she apply that very afternoon. "It's alright, love. I'm here. I have you, shhh."

Talla hiccups, her breath rattling in her lungs even as she clamps her hands over her ears, shaking her head. "No," she insists, voice broken and small. "No." She coughs, her whole body shaking, and Aloy lets out a breathless whine as she moves to hold her daughter close, even as Talla cries out and tries to pull away from her. "No!"

Something is fracturing in her chest. Something that's already broken enough times in this night she cannot see a way for it to ever be whole. "Talla, please—"

"No more yelling," Talla cries, words slicked through with tears as she shakes her head again, her whole face screwed up tight.

"I know," Aloy chokes, brushing her sweat-soaked hair away from her face, the heat that lingers there even now churning like blaze within Aloy's own stomach. "I'm sorry, Talla. I'm sorry, I know, I know—"

"Talla."

Kotallo's voice is smooth, endlessly calm as he approaches them, his steps even, and the affect is instantaneous, stilling her lungs and ringing in her ears as Aloy slowly turns her head to take him in.

She watches, hands drifting down, heart in her throat as he reaches out, his hand impossibly gentle as it stokes across her—their—daughter's cheek.

"Talla," he says again, lighter now, as if it is almost a song, his thumb tracing along the line of a tear just below her eye. "Little one." His voice shifts again, softening, warming through this frigid air, turning to a low hum that is almost crooned in how gently it is placed. "All is well."

Aloy's hands twitch in her lap, and there is an echo of countless nights before in the way that Kotallo speaks now, in all the ways that he had drawn Aloy out of her own spiraling thoughts and pulled her to steadiness through the sound of his voice alone. His hand moves, cupping fully along Talla's face from the sheer breadth of it, and Talla sighs, her eyes fluttering closed as she sinks his weight fully into his touch.

"All is well," Kotallo hums again, tracing along that same line, brushing away the tears from Talla's lashes, relentlessly gentle in every touch, and the sight of it all catches within Aloy's throat. "Dry your eyes. Fill your lungs. Breathe, Talla. Would you breathe with me?"

Talla draws in a shaking, hiccuping breath, matching it to the length of Kotallo's own inward draw of air, and Aloy finds her lungs pulling in tandem—

Talla breaks into a hacking, shuddering cough, Kotallo suddenly shifting to catch her weight upon the length of his arm, holding her steady as her body heaves and shakes.

A pained sound falls from Aloy's own lips, heartache lancing through her chest, unable to stop herself from reaching out for her daughter, hands curling onto her shoulders as Talla falls into a breathless wheeze.

Kotallo's hand settles over top of her own, and when she finds his gaze, his eyes are set aglow by the light of the fire, thumb tracing slowly across her skin. "Breathe, Aloy," he murmurs, and his voice is like life, flooding into her lungs. "You must be calm as well. She can feel your fear."

"I can't—" Aloy bites back the last of the words, her gaze shifting to Talla's now opened eyes, widened and frightened and staring back at her with the glint of tears still caught within the edges.

Every burning flame of anger that had been lodged within her chest dies all at once, fading into nothing more than ash and endless, aching exhaustion. A desperation, chilled like ice within her lungs.

"I'm sorry, Talla," Aloy murmurs, stroking down her shoulder to her arm, adjusting the blankets piled upon her lap. "I'm sorry we were yelling."

"No more yelling?"

There is something so fragile within her voice now, something so easily broken, it nearly brings Aloy back to that edge of tears, her vision blurring at the edges as she blinks them away, her brow creasing.

"We promise." Kotallo's voice is a low rumble, draping just as steadily over Aloy's shoulder as she can see it fall upon Talla's own. "We will be calm." He brushes away her bangs, drawing her uncertain gaze to look up towards him. "It is still very late—the sun is not even awake. Would you try to go back to sleep?"

Talla blinks at him a few times, the uncertainty in her eyes flickering into exhaustion, before finally, her mouth cracks open. "I'm thirsty."

Aloy stands on uneasy legs, her hand pressing to the back of Kotallo's shoulder—not just for balance, but also in reassurance. Who she is reassuring in this moment, she cannot say, but that line of tension drawn across Kotallo's back loosens, even if only the slightest. "I'll go get some water."

She wills her hands not to shake, the actions near mindless as her thoughts tumble through all that has occurred, catching again and again upon the image of Kotallo's hand holding Talla so gently, of the warmth within his voice as he spoke to her.

When she turns, the cup nearly falls from her hands as she sees them.

Kotallo has fully set himself upon the bed, Talla curled tightly against his chest, the tangle of blankets around her trailing half off his lap as Kotallo strokes his fingers through her hair, his head lowered as he murmurs softly to her, the catch of the firelight against his lashes as he blinks, gaze lowered and yet still full of such undeniable care.

Aloy swallows down a breathless whine, some strained, half-broken sound that gets caught halfway up her throat, and everything in front of her is both impossibly right and achingly wrong that she cannot breath—cannot think, cannot hold any knowledge behind the fact tearing itself through her mind that this—

This is what she has taken from her daughter.

Not just Aloy's own, achingly restless, sleepless nights. Not just her own panicked breaths and blood tinged thoughts. But Talla's life. A life that should have been spent like this, nestled against her father's chest as he holds her close.

A life that should have been spent within the sound of his voice, the full, rich tones that hold all of the warmth of his presence. Not the pale, mechanical-edged copy that she has been stuck with for all of these years, this digital copy that was all Aloy truly had to let Talla know her father by.

And she had never known. She still doesn't know—that the teeth upon her jaw were for her father, that they wove yellow into their beads to match his colors, that she was raised upon every story and breath of comfort that Kotallo had given to Aloy, then passed on to her.

But Talla had never known.

Aloy forces her steps forward, heart in her throat as she reaches the cot once more, and Kotallo finally parts from their daughter, holding Talla back gently and supporting the weight of her still with his hand. Talla follows with exhausted obedience as Aloy tips the cup up to her lips, drinking slowly until the whole of it is gone, her eyes fluttering closed.

Her weight shifts, folding into herself, and Kotallo guides her back towards the bed, pulling the blankets to settle upon her once more, still murmuring quietly to her even now. "That's right, Talla. Get lots of rest now—it'll help you feel better, hmm?"

When his hand moves to brush Talla's bangs away from her eyes, it is shaking.

Aloy has to look away.

Everything within her is set on edge, a conflict of anger and grief, despair and some breathless hope, desperation and exhaustion, all set in a mass of writhing, churning sensation within her now, catching her every breath and pulling thin, like flying too high up and growing light-headed. And all she can do is stare down at the wooden cup gripped tightly in her hands, knuckles paling white, and know that the people before her now are the ones that she has wronged most in all the world.

Then Kotallo stands, stepping towards her, his gaze dark and expression heavy and Aloy finds herself stepping back even as her mouth opens to speak—even as she knows there is no defense she can give for herself now.

The words do not make it to the open air.

Kotallo grabs her wrist, pulling her into his chest and nestling himself around her, hand moving around to span across her back as he curves into her, his warmth an undeniable ache, a craving that she could not escape for all these years, and to be wrapped up within it once more—

She cannot help the sob that chokes out of her throat, her hands abandoning their grip upon the cup to instead turn to Kotallo in desperation, fingers curling and gathering up great fistfuls of his shirt as she drags in a gasping breath, burying her face and her tears into his warmth.

That splintering thing within her is gone now, blistered up and cast to the wind, and all Aloy has is Kotallo's warmth, his weight, his hand at her back holding her up even as she clings to him, desperate heaving inhales that burn on their way down, and broken off exhales that bleed within her throat, tears staining hot upon her cheeks and dripping down her chin.

Kotallo holds her, immovable, the force of a mountain even as he hums in low, wordless tones, comfort spilling from his chest deep into her own. He holds her, his hand splayed tight across her back, fingers pressing so intently that her body aches where it is not held by him. His head nestles close, falling into that hollow between neck and shoulder, as if this space was only ever created for him alone, his breath whispering soundless words upon her skin.

Something catches in her throat as she realizes that his breath is not the only ragged heat upon her now—that tears have fallen from him to burn against her skin.

He leads them in blind, shaking steps away from Talla, and Aloy follows in his every movement, hardly registering any sense or sensation save the heat of his arm wrapped around her back. They stumble in this slow, faltering way until nothing but silence and darkness has fallen upon them, far from the fire, far from the shape of their daughter now wrapped in exhausted sleep.

Far from light in which to see each other by.

Aloy clings to Kotallo even still, her face buried into his chest until finally, his knees bend and hers follow suit, without thought, within instinct, and they both sink upon the ground, a mess of tangled limbs and heaving breaths.

Kotallo finally shifts, his hand tracing upwards to curve against the back of her hand, his touch hot against her neck as Aloy tips her head backwards to meet his gaze, even through the darkness and shadows set upon them now. "She will be fine."

The words are hollow, ringing like the of a quiet whisper within a valley, set about in silence and empty space, yet they are still laced through with their own desperation, as if he is trying to convince himself as well of this very statement, as if the utterance from his lips has done little to dissuade himself of his own doubts. "She will be fine, Aloy."

"Kotallo—" her voice trembles, and the words within her die upon her tongue, flickering out at the weight within his gaze.

"I already contacted Beta before I ever arrived—" His gaze drops, the corners of his eyes hardening, drawing faint lines through the paints upon his skin. "She'll be here soon. I told her everything that you had told me and—and she'll help—" Kotallo's voice strains, the words faltering and falling into a shortened breath, and Aloy cannot help herself.

She reaches out, catching his face between her hands, cupping her fingers along the curve of his jaw and cradling at the soft warmth of his cheeks, the subtle of paint beneath her touch, and holds him.

He breaks immediately, visibly, achingly as his eyes screw shut, his body shaking as he relents into her hold, stuttering breaths and jerking shoulders as a strangled sound claws its way from his throat into this silence between them.

Kotallo—who has been relentless in all things, determined in every way—torn to grief and fear.

"She'll help our girl," Kotallo croaks, the words wet and choking and strained, yet he says them all the same as he meets her gaze, and for the first time since the nightmare of these past few days had begun, Aloy feels the smallest sliver of hope within her, a speck of greenshine casting the dimmest glow through an otherwise darkened space.

Our girl.

Ours.

The word echoes endlessly through Aloy's mind, matched by the dull glint within Kotallo's eyes, and she lets out a breathless sound, drawing Kotallo to bow his head and pressing her forehead to his own.

His hand grips tighter at the back of her head, shaking against her skin.

"I'm so sorry," Aloy whispers, the words sticking in her chest, the pain of a knife plunged between her ribs finally pulled free. But it is now, and only now, that her words may pour out, blood upon her tongue. "Kotallo, I am so, so sorry."

He drags in another breath—his gaze has never left her own, their noses brushing against one another, the heat of his lungs drawn straight into her own.

His slow exhale becomes her own inward draw, the quiet warmth of his lips pressed soundlessly to her own, and she cannot say who moved first, only that they hold each other now, a wordless desperation in her chest that fades upon her skin, the slow track of tears seeping from closed eyes.

It does not feel as if all that she has remembered—even as so many things remain the same. There is no heat between them now, no breathless smiles or humming tones caught within their throats. There is only the dull ache within her lungs, the shuddering to her weary bones, the slow drag of Kotallo's thumb behind her ear.

His lips against hers—in all that she has dreamed for years—and all she tastes is ash.

Chapter Text

They settle now, backs against the wall, aching lungs and woven hands, sides pressed together and they stare—off to unspoken distances, and peace has taken them, if that is even its name in this moment.

She had not known.

He had never known.

Was it this unknowing that had torn them apart? Not just in the matter of Talla—but to also be so unknowing in the days before? That they had torn from each other, unknowing of the scars carried beneath the skin, that did not rear until they had truly been lost to one another in full?

Kotallo sighs, his hand shifting tighter around Aloy's own, and lets his head sink back against the wall, exhaustion pulling itself through his bones.

Aloy shifts as well, nestling closer to his side, her shoulder rolling against his own—before her head is there, the weight of it tentative, as if waiting for him to deny her in some way. Kotallo squeezes her hand again, silent assurance, and Aloy lets out a breath, settling upon him fully.

"You must hate me."

The words are quiet, listless almost, as if every lingering scrap of emotion has drained itself from her, as if it has all been shed and left nothing but the ache that he is certain is mirrored within his own lungs.

"I want to."

His own words taste of bile and blood, acidic upon his tongue, yet he would rather take them than the taste of any other lie. There have been lies enough between them, and however bitter the truth may be, it must be said.

Aloy's breathing stutters—he can feel it, the weight of such a sound pressing into his lungs, a dull roar in the back of all his thoughts. An ache that pounds within his chest, that presses tight—he swear as if he cannot breathe.

"I want to be furious." The words draw from him, snowmelt in the spring, the crunch of burnt and broken lands in the aftermath of a fire.

But perhaps the fire was needed in order for the lands to grow once more.

"I want to hate you. And part of me hates that I want that." Kotallo's voice breaks, and he draws their intertwined hands higher, lifting them to brush the words upon the lines of her knuckles. "But mostly, I just—I hate how much time I've lost. That… that I haven't been here, for Talla and… and for you."

His lips upon her skin—a right he should have lost long ago, and yet now… she does not protest.

"I don't hate you," Kotallo sighs, setting their hands down once more. "I don't know if I ever could."

Her thumb strokes across the back of his hand, the motion slow and achingly familiar, an echo of what they had lost. "I never hated you either," she whispers, the words like ghosts between them now. "I hated the distance. I hated that you never came. But I never hated you."

Kotallo releases her hand, and Aloy makes some muffled cry before the sound is suddenly cut off, quieted and hushed. His arm withdraws from where it had been set between them, and Aloy moves as well, resolution on her face—

Kotallo's arm wraps around her, pulling her close, and the surprise written upon her features flickers for only a moment before she is sinking into his embrace, curling herself tight against him.

"Tell me about Talla," he croaks.

Aloy hesitates, only a breath, her fingers curling against his chest.

"She likes the color yellow," she whispers, her breath drifting on his skin. "And foxes, and wildflowers. She wants to learn to be a stitcher like her Uncle Teb."

Something catches in his throat, and Kotallo shakes his head. "Keep going."

Another breath. Another beat. "She doesn't like the cold. Like her mother, I suppose. She… doesn't like being around too many people. She likes it in the woods, though. And when we get to go up to Rost's cabin, up the mountain, she likes it there."

Kotallo's hand shifts, drawing slowly down down Aloy's back. A soothing motion—though he does not know who he is seeking to soothe more in this moment. "Keep going."

He listens quietly as Aloy speaks—her words painting the story of a child he has never known, and yet in each lilt of her words he can see the reflections of their own lives. Aloy speaks of Talla—young and inconsolable, of the sleepless nights and sleepless days and how all that soothed was her father's voice—and Kotallo's chest aches.

His hand pulls slowly through Aloy's hair as the words draw from her, of Talla's first steps, of the time she found Aloy's pot of paint and ended up covered in blue, of when she refused to eat anything but roasted mushrooms and greens for weeks.

Aloy speaks, until the words fall too softly from her to continue, cracking in this space between them, held within trembling lungs. "She loves you," Aloy whispers, yet there is something haunted to her voice now. "She… she asked if she was allowed to love you. And I think that was what made me realize—"

Aloy cuts off, the words breaking, and Kotallo tilts his head to press in comfort against her own. She drags in a shaking breath, her fingers pressing against his chest, before a sigh pulls itself from her. "She needs you, Kotallo. More than anything else that we messed up between ourselves, she needs you. More than… more than all the ways I tried to convince myself we could live without you, she needs you."

Kotallo pulls her tighter, closing his eyes. "I'm here," he murmurs, the words catching in his throat. "I'm not leaving, Aloy. You're—you're stuck with me now."

"I don't mind," Aloy mumbles, her voice drawing faintly once more.

Kotallo lifts his head, his gaze traveling towards the bed with Talla upon it, and she is loosely sprawled in sleep once more, one arm half hanging over the side, the peek of flame-colored hair uncovered from the blankets. Something protective surges over him then, something undeniable, something that sparks in his lungs and solidifies in his chest.

"I'm calling Hekarro in the morning to resign as High Marshal."

Aloy stiffens at his side, drawing away to meet his gaze, and Kotallo stares evenly back at her. "Kotallo," she begins, the words small in their protest. "You—that's everything that you worked for for years. Are you—"

"Talla needs me." Kotallo cuts her off, his hand shifting to curl around her arm. "And this… is where I want to be. It is what I choose."

The echo of a memory, back and back, years before. The first time he had sworn himself to her—the first choice in what became the rest of his life.

Aloy swallows harshly, and there is something breathlessly and undeniably hopeful in her eyes, but something also slicked with doubt. "I don't want you to throw your life away again," she whispers, her hand coming up to rest upon his. "I don't—you always sacrifice everything too easily."

Kotallo shakes his head. "This isn't a sacrifice," he murmurs, looking back towards Talla. "This is love."

Her hand slips—

Kotallo catches it, running his thumb across her knuckles, and Aloy lets out a faint sigh. "Maybe they're the same thing," he finally murmurs, shaking his head. "Maybe love is a sacrifice." His gaze lifts, finding hers brimming with unshed tears. "But in this, there is nothing for me to lose, and everything to gain."

He pulls on her hand, and Aloy falls easily against his side once more, his arm looping over her shoulders and still holding to her hand, the press of her breaths meeting each of his own.

Kotallo tilts his head back, his gaze traveling slowly over the interior of Aloy's cabin, of everything of Talla's life that he has missed in all these years. His voice nearly shakes when he speaks, and he swallows down the grit within his throat. "What would it take to get a cabin here in Mother's Heart?"

Aloy's head lifts again, and he knows that she is staring up at him, but Kotallo does not meet her gaze. "I won't presume to stay here. It's not… meant for three. So what would I need to do to—"

"You can't." Aloy cuts him off sharply, and the silence hangs in the wake of her words, insistent and waiting, until finally, he looks upon her once more. "You said you don't want to miss anything more of Talla's life, Kotallo. There's… no need for you to be anywhere else. We'll figure it out"

Kotallo holds her gaze, waiting for her to change her mind, but there is determination in her eyes, and something tells him that this is a matter she will not be moved on.

He cannot complain. To be able to stay here with Talla, with Aloy—it is more than he had even dared to hope for.

When Kotallo's head dips in acceptance, Aloy mirrors the motion before settling back against the wall once more. Not tucked against his side, as she had been, yet still their hands remain intertwined between them, and Kotallo memorizes once more the weight of her hand within his own, already mourning the moment that she will let go.

"Besides," Aloy murmurs, the words near bittered and dry. "Nobody just gets a cabin in Mother's heart. You have to be born into it, or come to live with someone who was already here."

Kotallo shifts his head, turning to look at her, and there is faint exhaustion upon her features, highlighted by the shadows and light cast from the crackling fire. "Then you…?"

A wry smile upon her lips. "Privileges of being the Anointed."

A contemplative noise, drawn through the back of his throat. His thumb strokes across her skin without thought, as if his body craves the reminder of her presence even as his mind is consumed with nothing but the thought of her.

Aloy sighs, the sound altogether wearied, an older ache that echoes through his bones. "I stayed with Sona, at first. But then after Talla… she pulled some strings, or something. Used her influence as the former War Chief. And now… well, it isn't big, but this cabin is ours. It's our home."

Kotallo shifts his weight, drawing his shoulder to brush against Aloy's. "You've earned it," he murmurs, and the ache within him lessens as Aloy presses into his touch. "After all that you have given, Aloy, you deserve this sort of peace."

She does not answer him, but the silence that falls between them is something softer, something that he cannot name, the weight of it settling within him. Her hand shifts, nails scraping against his skin, and yet still, neither of them speak.

As if the words within them carry too much to be fully spoken, the charge of a cloud laden dark with rain, and yet still it does not fall.

The weight of them crawls further up his throat.

"When did you know?"

Aloy stiffens, her grip tightening, and he can all but hear the tension running itself through her even as he does not turn to look upon her. Instead, Kotallo steadies his gaze upon Talla, letting the image of her sooth across his sparking and uncertain nerves. "About Talla?"

A shaking breath, and Kotallo prepares himself, for the crash of the storm once more. But Aloy's words come out softly, without any threat of wind or gale, only the soft fall of rain upon stone. "About a week before I left for Meridian. I was… three months along."

Kotallo swallows back the knot of emotion welling in his throat, instead sinking his head back against the wall. "Why didn't you tell me then?"

The words feel as if they should crash like thunder, a streak of lightning harsh across the sky. Instead, all Kotallo can find within himself is the ache, the hollowness that he had grown all too accustomed to, that he had only ever noticed in its absence, and yet it has returned to him once more. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You said—" the words break, faltering upon her tongue, and Kotallo lifts her hand, ghosting the press of his lips across her skin, silent encouragement even as he readies himself for whatever bladed claim she might make next. Aloy pulls in another breath, then rests her head against Kotallo's shoulder again, the heat of her breaths pressing upon him now. "The last time we spoke, it ended in nothing but arguments. And you said… that we were broken. In a way that couldn't have been mended."

"I would have tried," Kotallo croaks, shaking his head. "And even if we—Aloy, even if you never loved me again in any way, I still would have been there for our daughter."

"I didn't know that," Aloy hisses, and the sound of her voice threads through with unshed tears. "And I thought—you had—and we both—" her hand tightens, searching for a grounding point, and Kotallo matches her hold, as if this one thing is the only thing holding them both together now. "You said you didn't want kids."

At this, Kotallo stops, the thought wholly incongruous with anything else within his mind, the just of a stone disturbing the rushing of a stream and sending his mind scattering into fog and mist and snow on the wind.

"What."

Her voice shakes, body trembling against him, and Kotallo cannot help but to turn incredulous eyes towards Aloy at his side. "When I asked you—" the tears catching upon her cheeks, the smear of paints that had long ago lost their original form. "I asked you, Kotallo, and you had said you never wanted them. That—that they had never been in your future. And I couldn't let Talla grow up knowing she was unwanted. I grew up unwanted and—I couldn't do that to her."

Kotallo finds himself clutching at Aloy's shoulder, fingers curling tight and grounding himself—grounding them both. "Aloy." Her name scrapes roughly through his throat, but Aloy is shaking her head, her hands trembling between them.

"I couldn't risk that," she whispers, the words hollow and ringing in the space carved between his lungs.

"Aloy," Kotallo says again, the sound of his voice sharper than before, catching Aloy's gaze and holding it to his own, and everything within him is ringing, a crash of mourning and sudden understanding, and his own gaze burns as he looks upon her now, grieved and breaking. "I always wanted… hoped… but I just… I never thought that we would."

Aloy's eyes widen, and she reaches up to steady her hand against his arm, disbelief written upon her features as she clings to him. "What?"

"That day when you asked." Kotallo's voice softens, impossibly held, like dew waning beneath the sun. "I told you I had never met anyone that I had wanted to have a child with. But you, Aloy—" he cuts off, dragging his hand upwards to to cup against her cheek, and Aloy lets out a ragged breath, leaning into his touch. "Aloy, I would have loved—" His voice breaks, and Kotallo shakes his head. "But you didn't seem to want them. And I didn't need them in order to love you, so I… I understood. And I was content."

"I don't…" Aloy hesitates, looking away. "I don't even know if I did. Until Talla, I—" she covers her mouth with one hand, her brow drawing tight. "Kotallo, I didn't even know that I could."

"You did, though." Kotallo swipes away the tears beneath her eyes with his thumb, a breathless smile upon his lips. "And she's beautiful."

"She has your eyes," Aloy croaks, her own smile returning, a worn and crumpled thing and yet still, there is peace within her eyes as she closes them and sinks into his hold.

Slowly, Kotallo shifts his hand around to cradle against the back of her head, and it takes only a breath before Aloy is leaning towards him, settling herself against his chest, the weight of arms warming against him as they circle around him now.

"Kotallo." Her fingers curl, gathering up the fabric of his shirt, and Kotallo cranes his neck to look down at her. "If everything hadn't… would you really have wanted to?"

"With you?" Kotallo closes his eyes, and for one moment, let's himself forget every mistake and argument ever held between them. For one moment, all he knows is of Aloy's warmth pressed against him now. "Aloy, if it was with you, I would have done anything in the world."

A choking cry, before Aloy buries herself completely against him, and Kotallo cannot help but curl closer around her, holding her tighter, his own lungs burning as Aloy breaks within his embrace.

He bows his head, burying his face into her hair, clinging to the sensation of her, the scent of her, the warmth of her, everything that he had once thought lost forever, and closes his eyes against the tears that pool within the corners of them.

"I'm so stupid," Aloy cries, the words muffled against him now. "I messed—I messed everything up. I thought I knew what I was doing and—"

She shakes her head, the stain of her tears against his skin, the smear of paint upon them both. "I called you so many times. I wanted you here, Kotallo, I—" a shattering sob, and Kotallo grits his jaw against the flare of pain that strikes within him from the sound alone. "That day—I was going to ask you to—Kotallo I—"

"I'm sorry," Kotallo pulls her in—breathes her in, burying his head into the crook of her shoulder, and Aloy's arms pull tighter around him. "I should have been here. I shouldn't have left you. I—I should have listened."

They both—

All these years gone, because of them both.

Because she didn't stay long enough to tell him.

Because he didn't stay long enough to hear her.

Because they've both been clinging to each other, all the while waiting to lose the other.

"I promise you," Kotallo rasps, spanning his hand across her back. "I promise you, Aloy. I'm not leaving her this time. I swear it."

A breathless sound, a mix between a sob and a laugh, and Aloy barely lifts her head. "On your life?"

That pull within his lungs, and Kotallo pulls back enough to find Aloy's gaze, and the tears set within her eyes. "On my life and every breath," he whispers. "Aloy, I swear I'm here for her. I want her."

Something changes in her eyes, something he cannot name, some subtle shift in the way she looks upon him now.

"Ok," Aloy breathes, and her gaze drops, staring down at what little space remains between them, and yet in this moment alone—

She might as well be half a world away.

-

Kotallo wakes to warmth settled against his skin, and a weight pressed against each inward draw of breath. His eyes open slowly, slowly, his head craning downwards—

And finds Talla curled against his chest, her features smoothed in sleep.

He blinks, once, twice, awareness slowly tipping back into him, and he goes to move his arm, only to register further weight upon it. His head tilts, and Aloy's sleeping form is nestled at his side, his arm wrapped around her and her hands tucked tightly around his own.

Aloy, at his side once more. Kotallo's head tilts back, brushing against the wall at his back, his eyes drawing closed.

Perhaps he is simply dreaming.

If he is, it is a dream from which he will never want to wake.

Kotallo releases a breath, and lets himself drift further into the darkness that had never truly released him in the first place, lulled into peace by the quiet rhythms of breathing, Aloy and Talla's both, warm against his skin.

Not even a day before had he ever considered this possibility.

A child. His child. Aloy's—theirs, with her mother's hair and his own eyes and the faintest brush of freckles scattered on her nose.

Aloy had asked him, years ago, before Nemesis even. A night set deep and shrouded in darkness, not even a candle to see each other by as they huddled closer in their shelter, the sounds of a settlement spilling quietly out beyond them. She had asked him—yet even still, he had heard her hesitation.

And he knew his own heart.

Among the sky clan—he had never held much hope for a family of his own. Not in such a way. And after being sent away to join Hekarro… those hopes had waned even further, until they had shattered in light of the Embassy.

But Aloy saw him. Saw him in all things, in every way, beyond the faults and flaws that he had been blinded by. She had found him, held to him in a way that awakened such gentle, fragile hopes once more.

He had no need of anything more in that time. Their futures had still been so uncertain, the threat of Nemesis held within every breath.

It had stricken Aloy most of all, and all that he could offer her in that time was his comfort, his love, even as he could feel their future slipping from his grasp.

He would have done anything in the world for her then.

And even now—even still…

He would give anything, do anything for her, with every breath, with every beat of his heart.

He loves her still.

Perhaps there has never been a day that he has not.

She has missed him, in all of this time. She has said as much, and even now in this very moment he can feel it, the loose curl of her body beside his own, as if nothing had ever changed.

But it had. Everything had changed. They both—

And yet for all the ways things have changed, he cannot hide the one truth that remains.

He loves her.

It is the quiet beating of his heart with his chest, insistent against every ache and burn still lingering within him, firm against the anger that still licks like shadows within his lungs.

He had wanted to be angered, the night before. And he was—sharp and crackling and the roar of a mountain hewn to dust and ruin, the foundation of every thought in these past months suddenly crashing to the ground, his body and mind set reeling. He had not lied when he said he wanted to hate her—not when the taste of anger was a bitter friend that he had almost forgotten in all of these years, and yet in that moment he had almost let it take him whole.

But then he saw her.

Saw it in her eyes—that disbelief clear within her gaze, and Kotallo knew. Her own footing had been just as shaken as his own, and they were now both lost, set unmoored upon the toss of an ocean, alone and set about by a storm.

But it was the way she looked at him as he held Talla that he realized that his anger was bitter once more, fleeting as the wind, and all that was left was the loss.

They had both been lost, for all these aching, broken years.

Kotallo lets out another sigh, looking down to Aloy once more, as if to assure himself that she is truly there, truly still within his grasp.

Something in him catches as he sees Aloy staring back up at him.

She blinks—only half aware, her gaze falling unfocused before her head falls back against his chest. "Still here?" Aloy mumbles, the words thick with sleep, her hand threading through his own.

"Still here," Kotallo echoes, an impossible hope within his own chest.

He's still here. She is still here. They both—

He cannot be asleep, and yet this impossible dream continues.

Kotallo moves his arm, and Aloy shifts against him, her hands falling as he reaches, his touch settling gently upon Talla, brushing away the hair loose about her face, tilting her head upwards to look down at her.

She snuffles in a breath, her brows drawing tight, and Kotallo strokes his thumb across the girl's cheek before letting go, the hope blooming into a blaze set in place of his own heart.

"When did she get here?" Kotallo murmurs, his own voice rough with sleep as he looks towards Aloy again.

She shrugs, reaching out to rub at Talla's arm, even as the girl sleeps on. "She does that. I'll wake up with her suddenly in my bed and I just…" an indulgent sigh, an almost laugh. "I love her, Kotallo."

Talla stirs, and Kotallo and Aloy both fall into sudden silence as their daughter shifts, some muffled sound drawing from her, before she goes still once more, tucked closer against her father.

"I understand," Kotallo whispers, his voice softer than before. "I cannot see how anyone could not."

Aloy shifts again, her hand drawing up to her temple, and she huffs out a breath. "It's morning," she sighs, her head sinking back against Kotallo again. "I should…"

"We should," Kotallo echoes, his hand coming to rest somewhere upon her side, and Aloy's fingertips brush against his own.

Another sigh, and Aloy nestles closer. "Or we could…"

"We could," Kotallo agrees.

Aloy takes his hand up in hers once more, holding it higher up against her chest, and Kotallo pulls her closer, sinking into her form just as she presses against him, their postures softening, curving, and in the middle of it all, Talla is held between them.

Kotallo's head comes to rest atop Aloy's own, and he cannot help but breathe her in, the slight herbal notes within her hair that are different now than any of his memories can recall. Aloy hums, a wordless sound, a contented noise, and Kotallo matches the low draw of it, more than willing to let himself sink into this moment until time itself has faded away.

"ALOY."

They both stiffen, heads knocking together and Kotallo hisses in a sharp breath, just as Aloy mutters out a stifled curse.

"Wha—"

A pounding on the door—and that voice again, growing almost frantic. "Aloy!"

Aloy groans, pulling away from his side, and Kotallo releases her just in time to catch Talla, whose own body had begun slumping from the lack of her mother's support. The girl sniffles again, and Kotallo whispers senseless sounds of comfort to her as his gaze follows Aloy towards the front door.

She leans heavily upon the wooden frame as she draws in a breath, before straightening herself and brushing her hair away from her face, a look of exhausted determination falling upon her features as she pulls the door open.

And the voice—

"Aloy! Praise the All-Mother—are you alright?"

"Teb." Aloy takes a step back, and yet still the voice continues.

"I was setting up for the morning and I heard—a man came in yesterday? And yelling, all through the night and Aloy—"

Teb. Uncle Teb.

Kotallo curls his arm tighter around Talla, relishing the weight of her. Because she is his.

"I'm fine," Aloy says shortly, her voice clipped. "It's fine, Teb."

"Have you been crying?"

Aloy steps back again, the door swinging as she releases it, and it reveals the Nora man as he steps in after her. "Aloy, what has been going on with you lately? And I thought you were supposed to be up the mountain for another few days—what's even—"

Something catches in Kotallo's throat as he watches Teb reach out to touch Aloy, and the moment that she freezes.

Kotallo grits his teeth, and he finds himself lifting Talla higher against his chest, his legs folding beneath him as he shifts his weight, pushing himself up to stand.

All he can see is Teb's hand, holding to Aloy's, holding her even as she looks away, her expression hard. "Really, Teb, I told you. I'm fine. There's nothing to worry about and—"

"Aloy?"

Kotallo does not speak until he is only two paces away from them now, but the sound of his voice is enough to turn Aloy towards him—and free her from Teb's grasp.

"Kotallo—" she steps towards him, bridging the gap, and her hand drifts, resting upon his arm.

Kotallo's gaze does not leave Teb, and the Nora man seems visibly rattled as he looks upon him, before his eyes begin to narrow.

"High Marshal," Teb says, the words clipped.

"Teb," Kotallo answers, before his attention shifts down to Aloy, and Talla still held within his arm. "I thought we might need to check her temperature again?"

"Of course," Aloy murmurs, opening her arms, and Kotallo complies, shifting their daughter into her hold instead. "Though you and your sky clan blood have probably got her all warmed up and will skew the reading instead."

A faint chuckle, and when he smiles, Aloy matches it. Only the faintest, but it is still there. "Apologies, Commander," Kotallo hums, pressing his fist above his heart in a lazy salute.

Teb's face has blanched further, and he steps towards Aloy once more, his hand halfway raised. "Talla," he whispers, his voice ringing in the silence. "Is she alright?"

Aloy pauses, her jaw gritting tight. Kotallo's hand drifts to the small of her back—wordless comfort, a steadying presence. She looses a breath, lifting her gaze. "She'll be fine," Aloy says, her voice firm. "We'll all… we're ok, Teb."

His gaze flicks towards Kotallo once more, and his hand brushes against her arm. "You know where I am," he says quietly, and Kotallo can feel the uncertainty rolling off of the man. "If you need me for anything, Aloy—"

"I know what to do," Aloy mumbles quietly, and it seems enough to satisfy Teb.

Almost.

Teb stares at Kotallo again, before taking a step back towards the door. "I'll come by this afternoon with some food." Another step. "You look exhausted. You shouldn't have to worry about cooking too."

He doesn't turn until the last moment, and even then, shoots another glance back over his shoulder.

Kotallo catches Aloy's gaze, and when she nods, he closes the door behind Teb, some of the tension between his shoulders slowly drawing loose.

"Are you upset with Uncle Teb?"

Their gazes catch upon each other once more, before they both fall to Talla half draped over Aloy's shoulder, the girl's words muffled.

Aloy shifts her hold on their daughter, adjusting her weight. "Little Scrapper," she murmurs, her gaze drifting to Kotallo once more. "How long have you been awake?"

"M'not awake," Talla mumbles, nuzzling against Aloy's neck. "Sleeping."

Aloy chuckles, shaking her head, and she tosses a gentle smile in Kotallo's direction, one he catches easily and tucks within his memories, as he swears to never forget the sight of it.

"You sure are talking quite a bit for someone who's asleep," Aloy hums, her body rocking as she walks away from the door, and Kotallo follows in her wake, something warming relentlessly in his chest. "How are you feeling, love?"

Talla huffs out another breath. "Tired," she mumbles, shifting against Aloy's shoulder. "Cold." Her head lifts—only the slightest, and yet still just enough for her gaze to find Kotallo's, her eyes only half drawn and yet… "Tallo's warm," Talla whines, crumpling against her mother once more.

Aloy looks over her shoulder at him, and Kotallo finds tears shining within her eyes.

He steps forward. "I'll—"

The words never get a chance to finish. His focus trills, sharp and ringing through his skull, and Kotallo flinches from the sound of it, and Aloy turns fully towards him to watch as he lifts his hand to pull up the alert.

That pit tugs in his stomach. "It's Hekarro."

Aloy's expression folds—concern and maybe even disappointment?—before she tilts her head towards the door at the back of the cabin. "You can step out there, if you want. I'll take care of Talla."

A breath loosed from his lungs. Kotallo steps forward and rests his hand at Talla's back, bending just enough to press a kiss to the back of her head, gentle and full of so many unspoken words. Then his gaze lifts—and his hand catches the curve of Aloy's jaw, holding her close, achingly close.

"I'm not leaving," he murmurs, his eyes insistent as they hold to hers. "I promised you, Aloy."

She nods, one hand drifting to brush against his stomach, fingers skimming across the bare skin there. "I know," Aloy whispers, her lips pursing into a sad smile. "I trust you, Kotallo. I always have."

He cannot help himself.

Kotallo tilts Aloy's head back, and presses his lips to the skin of her brow, closing his eyes.

One beat of his heart. That is all he dares allow himself, for fear of wanting more.

He turns without looking at her again, without hesitation, and pulls his hand to his focus even as he steps into the frigid air outside the shelter of Aloy's cabin.

Kotallo tips his head against the door and steadies a breath within his lungs, readying himself for whatever arguments Hekarro might make in calling him home, even as he knows that he will not be swayed.

The call begins to ring, and Kotallo closes his eyes.

He has Talla, now. And he has Aloy, in whatever tentative way. She wants him here, in this place, in her life.

In the life of their daughter.

That is home enough for him.

Chapter Text

Kotallo takes Hekarro's voice as the balm that it is and stabilizes his thoughts to the sound of it, unflinching, unwavering, leaning against the cabin.

"Kotallo—thank the ten."

An almost smile brushes across his lips, and Kotallo lets his head sink down, chin brushing against his chest. "My Chief. I—"

"Did I not tell you to contact me when you arrived, Kotallo?"

His head snaps upwards, his fist curling at his side as Hekarro continues. "Do you know how many hours it has been, Kotallo? Without a single word from you?"

Kotallo pushes away from the door at his back, a sudden energy snapping and coursing through him, a need to move. "Apologies, my Chief. I know what I had said and—"

Hekarro lets out a heavy sigh, and Kotallo can all but see him resting his forehead in his hand, the weight and burden of his command falling onto him all at once. He had seen this image many times over the years, and something flickers strangely within him to think that he might never see it again, should he remain here in the Sacred Lands as he has intended.

"Are you well, my son? Are they…?"

The words claw up his throat, unbidden, uncontrolled, burning upon his tongue. "I want to resign as High Marshal."

Silence falls between them, sharp and frosted through with ice, and Kotallo swallows harshly, his body pulling tight as he waits, that dull ache threading through his chest once more.

Finally—Hekarro speaks.

"Denied."

Kotallo steps forward again, protest upon his lips. "Hekarro—"

"You disappear in the middle of the night, give no word at all in that time, and respond that you want to resign? No, Kotallo, I cannot in good conscious—"

"I'm a father." Kotallo sinks to the ground, swallowing back the knot within his throat as he stares off towards the western horizon, the spill of sunlight upon white-capped mountains, the loom of clouds stretching across the sky.

Hekarro's voice is impossibly soft now, realization and understanding coloring through each word. "The Champion's daughter…?"

"Mine," Kotallo breathes, a smile pulling across his lips, undeniable. "Ours." A sigh of relief, pulling from his lungs. "She's… I cannot describe her, Hekarro." His head tips back, the beads in his hair clicking against wood. "I have only known her a day and would give anything for her."

Hekarro hums, a low and considering note. "You wish to remain in the Sacred Lands, then."

"I'm not leaving her." There is no room for argument within his words. Call it insubordination—he will not be moved. "My place is here, Hekarro."

"Your place," Hekarro rumbles, his voice deepening. "You have Marshals waiting on you, Kotallo. You cannot leave them so suddenly."

"Let Ivirra take command." Kotallo stares down at his hand, the words slipping through his grasp. "You and I both know she was more leader to them than I when we were preparing in the face of Nemesis. She is more than ready for this, Hekarro."

"Kotallo," Hekarro says quietly, the shape of his words looming in this space between them. "Are you certain in what you are choosing now? This sort of action cannot be undone."

"I have never been so certain in my life, Hekarro." A breath loosed from his lungs, the plume of it hot upon the frozen air. "You told me only weeks ago, that this is my life. That I must fight for what I want." Kotallo stands, the ache within his chest and bones pulling tight, drawing itself into the flicker of flames across his skin. "I have found something worth every breath in my lungs, Hekarro, and I refuse to leave her."

Hekarro sighs again, a rumbling silence, before a sound that almost rings of defeat. "You cannot simply disappear from the face of the clan lands, my boy. You will have to return."

"I'm not—"

"Leaving her, I know." Does Hekarro chuckle in this moment? The sound of it is something achingly familiar, and Kotallo is struck with the memory of all the times such a sound had been directed at him before. "I cannot dismiss you outright. But I can… make concessions."

Kotallo's head lifts. "Concessions?"

"How long until that next gathering of yours… Meridian this year, correct?"

His thoughts slowly pull, connections drawing tight. "Five months more, my Chief."

"Hmn." Another breath, the length of it ringing in his ears. "Five months, then. I can buy you five months, assign some mission to you for the length of time, and then… you return. After Meridian, you come home. And you stand before the tribe one final time as their High Marshal, before the rank is officially placed upon Ivirra. On one further condition."

"Condition," Kotallo echoes again, even as hope is lurching within him. Five months.

"When you return from Meridian, you bring my grandchild with you, so that I may finally meet your little girl."

"Your—" the words snap and halt within Kotallo's mind, and he stares blankly outwards, unseeing of the world beyond him. "Grandchild?"

"Kotallo. My boy." That faint amusement is back within Hekarro's voice, a shaking to his head, and Kotallo can almost feel the weight of his hand settling upon his shoulder. "Through all these many years… I have come to consider you my son in all but blood. Surely you…?"

An incredulous sound breaks through his lips. "I—"

A softly drawn noise. "You need not look upon me in such a way. Such thoughts may be unwelcome, and I understand. But just know… you are cared for, here. You have those who will miss you."

"Hekarro." His name trembles within his throat, and Kotallo blinks in surprise, finding the damp of tears hot upon his lashes. "I—thank you. And in five months, we'll be there. And Talla… your… your grandchild. You'll see her. I will make certain of it."

A warmer tone, satisfaction. "That is good to hear, Kotallo."

Kotallo smiles, warmth and relief tipping slowly through his body. "Thank you, My Chief," he whispers again, his hand drawing up towards his focus.

Hekarro's voice gives him pause. "Kotallo? You must know—as your Chief, I am grieved to lose you. But as your father… if you would have me… in this moment, I could not be more proud."

Kotallo swallows back the heat within his throat, swiping away the tears burning in his eyes. "Thank you," he breathes, the words heavy upon his lips. "Hekarro, it means more than I can say."

"Of course," Hekarro murmurs. "Now go, enjoy your family. You have earned it, my boy."

An aching smile. A quietly spoken goodbye. Kotallo turns, the door opening before him, and he steps forward, into these first steps of this new life.

Of his family.

-

Aloy settles Talla down at the edge of her bead, brushing her bangs away from her face, unable to help the slight concern pressing upon her own features as she studies her daughter.

Talla's gaze is not fully focused, drifting somewhere along the cabin, before finally settling on Aloy once more. "Your paint's all messed up," she mumbles, reaching out to touch her fingers to a smear of blue along Aloy's chin.

Aloy smiles, a saddened thing even as her fingertips trace out Talla's own paints. "We'll fix it later. It's alright, Little Scrapper."

Talla's brow draws, her weight shifting. "Uncle Teb?"

A sigh. Aloy tips her head, staring down at the hands of her little girl, which have come to settle in her lap instead. "I'm not… upset with him," she says slowly, before looking over her shoulder at the front door. "I just… your pa—" a harsh swallow, and Aloy shakes her head. "Kotallo and I, we have a lot to talk about. And we don't really want other people here while we figure it out."

Talla's expression crumples, her breathing hitching. "Do you not want me here?"

The sight of her kicks in Aloy's chest, and she shakes her head vehemently, pulling the girl close. "Oh Talla, no!" Her hand comes to cradle against the back of her head, holding her daughter against her chest, whispering soft kisses upon her hair. "No, Talla, love we will always want you. And we actually need to talk to you, too."

Aloy holds her a moment longer, before finally drawing back. "But not right now," Aloy murmurs, cupping her hand against Talla's cheek. "We can talk later. Right now, all you have to do is get better, ok love?"

Talla nods slowly, her eyes still wide and solemn, but there is none of that startled loss that had been in them when that question had been asked only moments before.

Aloy sighs again, pressing the back of her hand to Talla's forehead, the low ripple of heat still against her skin, and her lips twist into the slightest of a frown as she draws her hand back. "How are you really feeling, Talla?" She asks as she pulls off the focus from her temple to move it to Talla's own.

Talla's expression scrunches again, quiet concentration she bites at her lower lip. "My throat hurts," she mumbles, looking away. "And… and my chest feels sticky."

"Ok," Aloy whispers, brushing away her hair. "I can get you some honey for your throat." She takes the focus back, placing it on her temple once more, her brow furrowing at the temperature. "Are you hungry?"

"Mm-hm." Talla blinks slowly, before nodding her agreement. She yawns, raising her hands up to rub at her eyes. "And thirsty."

"Hungry and thirsty," Aloy echoes, and she cannot deny the slow wash of relief through her. Talla's appetite has been next to nothing these past few days, so to hear her even speak of being hungry… maybe, just maybe, they'll get through this soon. "Alright, Talla. I'll… I'll get you some soup, and you just sit here, ok?"

Talla's head drifts downwards, her eyes closing. "Is Kotallo coming back?"

Something catches in her chest, the slick of ice within her lungs, and Aloy buries those feelings to the side by reaching out and taking up one of the blankets on the bed, wrapping it around Talla's slight frame. "Yeah, Scrapper," she murmurs, tucking it over her shoulders and stroking her hand at their daughter's cheek. "He'll be inside in just a minute. He just… has to talk to someone first."

Talla nods again, her hands taking up the edges of the blanket, shoulders curling in. "K'tallo's warm," she mumbles. "M'cold."

"Ok," Aloy breathes, brushing her lips upon Talla's brow, the burn of tears pricking unbidden at the back of her eyes. "He can warm you up when he gets back in, then. And I'll get you something to eat."

Talla nods again, but does not react in any way as Aloy steps away, her steps hesitant and slow.

She crosses the cabin, her gaze cast upon their little girl the whole time, until finally her feel stall before the counter, her hands settling on the wood there.

A breath, drawn slowly into her lungs.

The door opens, and Aloy turns around, heart in her throat as Kotallo steps in. His gaze lifts, and Aloy waits, uncertainty sparking in her chest. Surely, Hekarro would not deny him. Deny them. Surely he… he would understand?

Her hands sink to her side, and the silence feels as if it is stretching too far, too side, her voice shaking as the words spill from her. "So? What did he say?"

Kotallo sighs, pulling the door closed behind him, and is at her side in only a few strides, and Aloy's body trembles before him, some desperate part of her wanting to reach out, to touch him, to hold him.

She keeps her hands at her sides.

"I'm on… an extended mission," Kotallo says quietly, almost haltingly. "I'm sure he will contact me again with some… role to fulfill while I am away, but for now…"

"You're—" her hand twitches forward. She cannot stop it, yet before she can move to withdraw it, Kotallo's hand is wrapping around her own, firm and grounding. Binding them together.

"I'm here," Kotallo whispers.

A breath of relief, and Aloy does not want to deny the part of her that aches to be held by him once more. She steps forward, her gaze carefully holding his, and Kotallo opens his arm, opening himself to her, and Aloy nestles easily against him.

She allows herself one full breath, held and whole against him, before she swallows back everything in her that wants—and steps away. "Why don't you put that Sky Clan blood to good use," she murmurs, patting at Kotallo's chest even as she does not look up to meet his gaze. "Talla's still cold, and you and I both know you could overheat a Scorcher."

Kotallo laughs, the sound ringing within her chest and Aloy savors it, an aching smile upon her lips as she turns away. "I'm getting her food. Do you… do you want some too?"

She nearly flinches at the brush of his hand against the small of her back, but then it takes everything within her not to sink back within his touch, wrapping herself in his warmth once more. "I would appreciate that greatly," Kotallo says, his voice low.

Aloy silences the part of herself that aches when he finally steps away, and instead pushes the whole of her thoughts into preparing the bowls, a small flask for water hooked up against her hip as she turns.

She does not lift her gaze towards them again until she is there, standing before the bed. That ache catches within her throat as she sees them, Kotallo leaning against the bed frame and Talla, settled in his lap and his arm curled around her stomach, holding to him as his voice unfurls in low and comforting tones.

"Hey, love." Aloy sinks into a crouch, holding out the bowl to Talla, who worms her hands out of the blankets and into freedom to take the wooden shape of it into her grasp. "I'm going to make you some tea as well, alright? It'll help your throat."

Talla nods, her focus falling wholly upon the soup, and Aloy can do nothing but smile as she holds the other bowl out to Kotallo. "And yours."

"Thank you—" he moves to sit up, then his breathing catches, a small noise slipping through his lips before her finishes the movement.

Aloy catches him by the shoulder, concern flaring through her. "Kotallo?"

He gives her a weak smile, shaking away her concern. "I am well," he murmurs, yet even still, he leans into her touch. "Just… sore."

The words filter slowly through her mind, a tugging through her veins, spiraling down to her gut. "Kotallo," she whispers, her hand moving down to his side. "How badly does it hurt?"

Another shake of his head. "I'm fine."

"Thats not what I asked you," Aloy murmurs, her touch pressing more insistently, and Kotallo's posture stiffens, before slowly softening once more as her fingers work across his ribs.

He lets out a slow breath, the edge of it falling into what would almost be a muffled whine. "Worry about me later," Kotallo finally says, his voice a quiet rasp. "It can be handled later."

Aloy's lips twist and she taps at Kotallo's arm, still wrapped around Talla. "Just one problem," she hums, and Talla's head twists upwards to look at her as well. "You might need that in order to eat, High Marshal."

Kotallo lets out a quiet sound of consideration before huffing out a small breath, resting his lips upon the back of Talla's head. "I'll wait, then," he murmurs, and there is something achingly peaceful about his expression now.

A calm that Aloy cannot exactly name, yet in this moment, all she knows is that she feels the same.

A smile that she cannot sway, though she has no desire to lose it in any way. Aloy hums, reaching out to ruffle at the edge of Talla's hair. "I'll get that tea now," Aloy whispers, dropping her own kiss upon the little girl's head.

She returns with tea and a stool, upon which she settles the steaming mug, the water flask, and Kotallo's bowl of soup, an absentminded smile upon her lips as she settles on the floor beside the bed, resting one arm up on the edge of it and leaning her weight into that point, watching Talla tuck herself closer into Kotallo's chest.

"What were you guys talking about before food?" Aloy asks, propping her head up to lean against her hand, and something entirely content washes over her in this moment.

"Kotallo was telling a story." Talla leans forward, her voice dropping to a whisper, almost conspiratorial as she blinks at Aloy with widened eyes. "I told him he's the Story Man cause we listen to his stories on the focus."

"A story?" Aloy echoes, her gaze lifting to Kotallo, and he shrugs in response, shifting the blankets drawn across Talla's lap. "And which one was that?"

Kotallo's smile grows, his voice drawing an important air to it as he clears his throat. "Ah, I was telling her of the tribe across the great waters, and of the many weeks it took to get there."

"Mm—the Quen." Aloy nods, shifting to rest her head now against her arm, still caught up in the sight of them—of their daughter, safe and warm and nestled in her father's hold. "Don't let me stop you, Story Man."

Kotallo chuckles, low and warm and when the muffled sound of Talla's giggles join in, Aloy decides right then and there—it is the most beautiful sound she has ever heard in her life.

-

Kotallo sets the little wooden bowl off on the stool to the side of the bed just as Talla shifts around against him, curling tighter unto herself. "Mama fell asleep," she mumbles, her own voice growing drowsy as she nestles against Kotallo's chest.

"She did." Kotallo's gaze drifts to her, half draped across the bed and even in her sleepfulness—more at peace than he has ever seen her before, her features softened and her lips—almost curled into a smile. "She must be tired."

Talla nods again, one hand patting at him even through the blankets around her. "Mama's tired a lot," she mumbles, her voice drifting,

Something pulls in his chest, and Kotallo curves his arm around Talla once more, holding her almost insistently, protectively. "It's ok," he murmurs, quieting the words into her hair. "I'm here to help now. It's… it's going to be alright."

Talla nods slowly, before she wriggles one hand out to reach in Aloy's direction, fingers stretching even as she remains too far away. "Love you, Mama." Her words split in a yawn, her head sinking back against Kotallo's chest, the soft huffs of breath felt even through the cloth of his shirt. And then, softer, in a sound that nearly breaks his heart in two even as it washes over him in unfettered joy.

"Love you, K'tallo."

"I—" The words catch in his throat, and Kotallo blinks past the emotion crashing within him, a shuddering breath as he curls closer around her. "I love you as well, Talla." He strokes his hand down the curve of her arm, yet Talla gives no response at all. When he cranes his head down to look at her, he finds her fast asleep already, features smoothed and softened by the warmth around her.

He smiles to himself, contented, and finds his fingers reaching towards his focus, to capture this moment and hold it forever, though he cannot fathom any world in which he might forget a life such as this one.

For once, in many breathless, aching years, there is simply nothing to do. No patrols to assign, no reports to review, no clatter and clang of crossing blades ringing in the distance.

It is almost as if he has stepped out of life itself and into a moment where time does not exist, nor any of his other responsibilities. He has no need of anything else, simply the two lives that lay before him now.

There is nothing more for him to do, nothing but to soak in this moment.

To love, and beyond all hopes, to be loved in return.

Kotallo sighs, his body easing backwards even as his breathing hitches. That small flare of pain beneath his chest, stitched across his side and aching with each breath to follow. The ghost of Aloy's fingers brush across his skin, the memory of her touch leeching hot into his veins and muscles, an unbidden groan he muffles behind gritted teeth.

He had almost forgotten how perceptive she could truly be. But it is no matter, no importance in this moment, not in light of everything else that he holds now.

In light of the little life curled within his lap, the barest edge of a snore dragging from her now.

Kotallo's lips twist in a quiet chuckle, fondness spilling through his bones and soothing over his thoughts, and he closes his eyes.

You have earned it, my boy.

Has he? What has he truly done to deserve this moment, when he spent so much time being the cause of all the pains set between them?

Talla has spent all this time without a father—because he was too stubborn to hear. Too impatient to listen. Too afraid to lose that he lost it anyways.

What has he done to earn this? To have Talla's love, when she knows so little of him? When he had spent so long hardly knowing her at all?

His mind flicks back to that night, months and months ago now, when he had finally heard Aloy's voice again for the first time in years. He had been preparing himself to leave again, even in that very moment.

How much more time would he have lost if Aloy had not fought to keep him there?

Would he have ever known his daughter at all?

Tears burn down his skin, further tarnishing his paint that has been long since ruined, and Kotallo drags an aching breath into burning lungs.

He is here, now.

And he will do everything in his power to remain, to love these two until the day that he dies.

What is left of his life.

-

Kotallo wakes with the stitch in his side pulsing insistently against every breath, his brow drawing tight and a half-gasped curse that he swallows back down.

A rustling sound, and his eyes drag open to find Aloy only a breath away, her hands held hesitantly just before him, a look of concern written into her eyes. "Kotallo?" She whispers, her gaze flickering over him, searching.

The muscles in his side spasm again, and Kotallo winces, trying to smooth the sensations over with a long-drawn breath. That searching in Aloy's eyes sharpens, and she turns her touch towards Talla instead, bundling the girl close to her chest.

"Get up." She cups her hand to the back of Talla's head, even as she tilts her own head backwards in motion. "She's a heavy sleeper—it's alright, Kotallo."

Kotallo grits his teeth, then eases himself off the bed, even as such a simple movement pulls against his ribs and aches in his lungs.

Perhaps Hekarro had been right. Perhaps he had not been ready enough to fly.

Aloy settles Talla back upon the bed, the girl not even stirring as her mother adjusts the blankets across her, before she is back up and standing at his side, her hand hovering at the small of his back. "How bad?" She murmurs, giving him a measured look."

Kotallo shrugs, rolling his shoulders out. "Manageable," is his short reply.

Aloy scoffs, her hand shifting to press more insistently to his ribs, and Kotallo grits down an uneven breath. "Manageable isn't good enough," she whispers, leading him the short distance across the cabin to her own bed. "Lay in a way I can reach your side. And take off your shirt."

Kotallo turns, the barest of a protest upon his lips. "Aloy—"

Her hand catches upon his arm, her gaze sharp and sure, before it softens into something he would almost call pleading. "Kotallo." Aloy steps forward, and Kotallo swallows back the desperation caught within his own lungs at the sight of her now. "Let me do this for you."

He sighs—and steps towards the bed, his arm moving around to grab the back of his top and pull it sharply upwards, the movement spasming across his side. He sinks slowly onto his stomach on the bed, the slight give of the pallet, the soft of the furs against his skin. Kotallo closes his eyes, and breathes.

It smells of Aloy. Holds her warmth even in her absence, and the presence of it all seeps around him, into him, loosening through his thoughts and turning his aching bones into fading memories as he soaks in such quiet comfort.

Her hands—warm as they trace down his skin.

"Here?"

Kotallo pulls in another breath, then huffs in out in a great sigh, turning his head to find Aloy kneeling at his side, one hand pressing gently to his ribs, the other holding a clay pot that even from here rolls with the scent of herbs, the tang of it sharp across his tongue.

"Yes," he breathes.

The word feels as if in answer to everything, to every question and every sleepless night, and Kotallo searches deep into Aloy's gaze, an ache building within his chest that he cannot deny, a wanting so deeply set into him it may as well have become one with his bones.

"Ok." Aloy's hand settles again, such quiet pressure, such a gentle touch from one who he knows has held the greatest dangers of the world and come out the other side to survive.

She who has toppled challenge and foe of any kind, who has brought the breath of every machine beneath her will should she so choose, who has defended and saved more than could ever be counted.

She who has spilled the blood of the stars themselves, and yet her hands that have so readily held the bow and blade—turned so gently upon him now, holding now the whole of his heart and soul.

I love you.

The second pass of her hand now is colder—the recognizable brush of salve against his skin, and Kotallo turns his head, muffing a groan into the pelts, his body tensing all at once, before going lax as the prickling passes deeper, a slow wash of numb sensation upon him now.

"I thought you were getting better," Aloy murmurs, and there is a note of frustration even within her concern as she traces towards his back, and Kotallo swallows back another undignified sound. "But I can't imagine the healers even allowing you to leave the Grove if you were still in such a state as this."

His breathing hitches, and Kotallo's hand curls into a fist upon the blankets, grounding himself to staring solely at the drape of Aloy's braid across her shoulder. "They didn't… exactly have time to deny me."

Her ministrations pause, and he can feel Aloy's gaze narrowing upon him. "Kotallo." The soft clunk of clay upon the ground, before Aloy's weight is shifting, drawing her closer to him. "Please do not tell me you worsened you condition by trying to fly here."

A wry twist his lips. "There was no trying, Aloy. I did fly here."

"Kotallo!" Her voice pitches into a quiet hiss, one hand curling around his shoulder. "By the Ten—do you always have to sacrifice yourself for others?"

For you, his heart echoes, the drum within his chest, the dull beating of his pulse within his veins, all of it crying to her all at once, For you.

The words do not make it upon his lips, and Kotallo turns his face away once more, away from the weight within her gaze. "You know me, Aloy," he murmurs, the words brittle within him now. "I am Tenakth. We give of ourselves, for the good of the clan, for the good of the tribe."

A warmth, soft and barely there upon his back, and Kotallo's muscles ripple in response. "For the good of yourself," Aloy replies, her voice drawing everything within him tight once more. "Kotallo, you matter to others." An almost laugh, the sound curling loosely in his chest. "I feel like we just had a conversation about this the last time you got hurt."

Kotallo hums, his eyes closing once more. "I'm not hurt now," he counters, even as the words draw ever fainter as Aloy moves to knead the salve into his aching muscles.

"Sure." Another half-breathed laugh, a pointed press to his side that Kotallo's lips twitch at. "And that's why we're doing this right now. Because you're "not hurt." Sorry if I don't believe that claim."

Kotallo sighs, but offers no further complaint. In truth, the sensation of her touch, working so insistently and familiar against his skin, it is yet another in a series of recent memories that he cannot hope but never to leave, matched with the scent of her wrapped around him and the subtle sound of her breathing filling the air.

He cannot say how long he lays there, soaking in her presence, her touch, the soft breath of her words as she mutters to herself, just as she was always so oft to do before. He only knows the moment that her hands finally leave him, and Kotallo struggles to hold tight to the pang of disappointment within him at the loss of her touch.

"Your paint's gotten all messed up."

Her hand moves once more, the brush if her fingertips down the line of his spine, and Kotallo suppresses a shiver even as his skin chills, a swoop of heat through his stomach. "You should probably get that fixed up, Marshal of—"

Her words break off suddenly, and Aloy clears her throat. "High Marshal. You should—you should fix that."

He can hear her stepping away, and Kotallo sighs as he pushes himself into sitting up once more, the lancing pain along his side having since forgotten itself and left to nothing more than a dull twitch beneath the skin. He stretches, his gaze following after Aloy even as she sorts back through the storage to put away the pot of salve. Watching her, his thoughts pull slowly though him, unhurried in this brief moment of time.

He finds the words upon his lips just as the realization tips through his mind. "I didn't bring any paints with me."

Aloy turns, and there's something almost like disbelief in her eyes as she stares at him. "What do you mean you didn't—Kotallo, I know you! You always keep a spare set in your traveling packs, don't you?"

A scuffed out breath, and Kotallo shakes his head. "Didn't grab one."

She takes another step forward, hands curling before her. "Kotallo—"

He stands, careful to keep his voice even as he shakes off the last of the discomfort around him. "It's fine, Aloy. I didn't need it. You needed me then, and that's all that mattered."

"Just—" Aloy puts both hands out, stopping him. "Just… wait, alright?"

She turns again, and Kotallo watches her, uncertainty clashing within him as she moves and he waits—wordless and unmoving, the breath in his lungs caught there as if held tight by claws, the metallic edge of each one flashing through him.

Aloy digs through the set of storage, deeper than before, muttered words underneath her breath that lose their form before they ever reach his ears, before suddenly she is turning back towards him, a cry of victory upon her lips, her hands filled with the shape of two clay pots once more, larger than the one that had held the salve.

"These are yours," she says, stepping forward, holding them out in offering, her voice almost sharp as she meets his gaze. Aloy stops just before him, pushing them towards him, the hardened clay cold against his skin.

Kotallo takes one of the jars, the uncertainty within him pulling tight, his hand curling around its form. "What…?"

"These are yours," Aloy says again, softer now, and some of the spark within her eyes has dulled itself as well. "I… when I came here, I still had these. But they're yours. They've always been yours."

Kotallo sinks down to the edge of the bed, balancing the pot upon his leg as he moves to undo the seal, and surprise ripples through him as he looks down. A faintly floral tang, followed by the sharp scent of home.

Aloy holds out the the opened jar, her hands shaking before him.

Marshal blue and white.

"They're yours," Aloy whispers, the words trembling in this space between them, and Kotallo's gaze lifts to find hers, dark with emotion and searching his expression. "I'm—I'm sorry its taken so long to get these back to you."

His heart leaps within his chest, the sudden crash of wanting within him, to cast aside everything between them and to sweep her up into his hold, to crush his lips to her own and to take—all of this grief that she has carried and take it upon his own shoulders, to swallow it down in a way that he might never have to see such loss within her eyes ever again.

But then something in her gaze shifts—and suddenly, Aloy is pulling away again. She shakes her head, expression straining, and the other pot is shoved into his grasp and she turns—hands reaching up and chasing through her hair as she steps away from him. "I'll—I'll give you some privacy."

The words sink like stone within him, the cold of metal and steel.

Kotallo's hand moves, reaching out, reaching for her—

His fingers fall closed around empty air.

Kotallo's hand drops, and he stares down at the trembling of it, a burning sweeping low through his lungs, the acrid tang of smoke, the sting of it within his eyes.

Privacy.

When once, she had been the one that he had bared every part to, his skin, his thoughts, his heart and soul and being.

The last time she had been at his side in a moment such as this, the paint had been applied to his skin by his own hands, fingertips marked in white and blue.

Marking him as hers.

Marking her as his own.

The years and distance have never seemed so sharp and twisted as they do now, bleeding down his throat.

-

Aloy refuses to look back towards Kotallo as he begins to strip himself of his paint, even as the whole of her thoughts ring through with the awareness of it.

She wants to turn back to him. Everything in her wants to turn, to take his hand, to take his paints, to take and take until the distance between them is only that of the single breath between their lips, and his skin is marked by the touch of her fingertips, drawn and set.

Until perhaps, she might be marked by his touch as well.

But she can't.

After all the damage she has torn between them, the blame set upon her own shaking hands, there is nothing left within her that deserves to lay her claim upon him in such a way.

So Aloy does not turn back, even as each breath within her lungs aches to be met by him, to hold him, to be held until it feels as if she might finally be able to breathe again. Instead, she returns to the mess she had made of all the jars and pots and tinctures. Pouches and herbs and all the desperate clutter she had placed in an attempt to hide the memories she could not forget, but could not bear to remember.

Behind her, Talla sleeps on.

Behind her, Kotallo sets himself right.

And before her, Aloy fixes the only sort of damage that can be undone.

The knocking at the door lurches through her, and Aloy stiffens from the sound of it, her shoulders drawing tight and hand slipping fast—the knife strapped to the bottom of one shelf, hidden, yet revealed to the press of her fingertips to the edge of the blade.

"Aloy?"

The sound, muffled as it is, is clearly familiar, and Aloy releases a breath, her hand dropping from the knife and moving instead to brush her hair away from her face, smoothing it down as she walks.

Her hand is halfway to the door when she stops, and Aloy looks over her shoulder at Kotallo, and he looks up at her as well, his hand slicked white and so much of him—

Unpainted.

Her cheeks flush, ruddy and red and a heat rocking through her, and Aloy pulls the door open just enough to catch Teb's own gaze—and push him backwards and slam the door closed behind her as she steps out.

The cold air is a further shock to her system, and yet somehow it only makes the heat crashing within her feel all the sharper, and Aloy swallows heavily, trying to soothe herself to the chill of ice upon her skin, and the weight of Teb's gaze upon her now.

"Aloy? Are you alright?"

There is concern in his eyes. Perhaps it has always been there. Perhaps there has never been a day that Teb did not look at her, and see that something was shattered and broken within. Perhaps he has always known that she has never been whole in any normal sort of way, not as he remains.

"I'm fine." The words are reflexive, a repetition she has often given to him before. "Kotallo's just… he's fixing his paint."

This time, Teb does not take her words in silence. "And Talla? Is she fine to stay in there with—"

"Talla's fine." The words snap out of her sharper than she intends, and something within her thrills at the shock of anger. At least anger is sharp, compared to this guilt that she has been drowning in. "She's sleeping. She just… needs to rest."

His hand comes to press against her elbow.

"Are you safe?"

Aloy's thoughts snap all at once, like a Stormbird straining against its bindings, and she simply blinks at Teb for a longer drawing moment, disbelief spilling through her like the slip of ice down her throat. "What?"

Teb's gaze scrapes over her again, and this time, Aloy realizes that he is searching, looking across her. But looking for what?

"Are you safe?" Teb repeats, his voice quieter this time, his brow creasing in concern. "Aloy, I told you, if you need anything at all—"

"What wouldn't I be safe?" The words cut upon her tongue, and Aloy steps away, the door at her back. "Teb, what would even—"

"Do you know what was said at the market, today?" Teb steps back as well, his hands shaking with his words, the frantic cut of his gaze. "The only thing said, upon the lips of every person there, and I had no clue until I heard it all? "The Anointed had a man go into her cabin last night. A dangerous looking man. And they fought through the darkest hours of the night." Do you have any idea how I felt in that moment, Aloy?"

Aloy swallows down her words, her silence resolute within her. She can't refute these rumors, not really. Kotallo had come into her cabin the night before, and to many allies she holds, to give any the label of dangerous it would be him. The evidence of his deeds has been set upon him, etched against his skin, a rippling thing like the presence of a stalker through the forest. The forewarning of danger as that of each rumbling step of a sawtooth pacing through long forgotten ruins.

He is dangerous, in a way that the mountains are dangerous, an inevitability of risk only to those who assume that he is not.

"Aloy." Teb turns back, something near pleading within his eyes. "I care about you. And hearing that—it terrified me."

"Kotallo wouldn't hurt me." The words are certain, almost a dismissal. Not like that. Not in the way that Teb is trying to claim. Sure, they have won their fair share of bruises and aching limbs from one another, but those were in equal measure, a thrill to each match of their movements.

"I didn't know it was him," Teb counters. "So instead, all this way, all I could think was if you were safe. And realizing how little I could do if you were not."

"But you know now." Aloy crosses her arms, yet the longer Teb looks at her in this way, the more it feels as if the ground is shifting beneath her feet. "And you know Kotallo. And you know—he wouldn't hurt me."

"But he has!" Teb's touch finds her again, and Aloy stares down at the shape of his hand upon her arm. "He's hurt you before, and I don't want it to happen again."

A flicker of those early nights, when Teb had looked on in silent distress when Aloy woke in the middle of the night, deep rasping breaths and shaking hands. Those nights, when he offered a cup of tea and a blanket around her shoulders, and Aloy had held to Talla in her arms, grounding herself in the weight of her child.

Their child.

"He's—" Aloy drags in a shaking breath, and sets her hand over top of Teb's own. "He didn't know, Teb."

The Nora man stops, and surprise colors over his face. "What?"

Aloy swallows, shaking her head even as she turns to look over her shoulder, to the closed door and to the man who is now behind it. "He didn't know. But he does now, and he's here now, and Teb, he wants to be here."

When she looks up, she cannot help the prick of tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. "Have you seen him?" She whispers, her hand curling tighter. "When he's with Talla, have you seen? He looks at her like she is the most important thing he's ever seen. I've seen Sun Priests look to their king with less devotion."

"And you?" Teb's other hand catches at her elbow, holding her fast. "Aloy, I don't want him to hurt you."

A breathless smile, and Aloy shakes her head again. "Does it matter, Teb? He loves her. It's… more than I could ask for."

"You could ask for yourself." His hand lifts higher, brushing her braid over her shoulder. "You deserve to be cared for. You deserve to be loved."

"He promised." The words burn within her lungs, yet they taste cold and clear upon her tongue. "I don't… he doesn't have to love me. But he loves her. And I love him. And he promised to be here for her, and that's all I really need."

Teb breathing falters, yet when Aloy opens her eyes once more, he is smiling at her, his gaze softened with emotion. "I hope," he whispers, brushing away her hair. "That he makes you happy, Aloy."

"He's here," Aloy murmurs, tears hot upon her skin. "He's safe, and he's here. That's enough for me."

Teb nods, slowly, stepping back, his hands falling away to his sides. "Well…" His gaze drops as well, and Aloy finally notices the earthenware pot that had been settled on the ground off to Teb's side. "I did mean it when I said when I would bring food."

Aloy smiles, the action softened, tempered now by the slow warmth unfurling within her chest. She shifts towards the door once more, slowly pushing it open, her voice lifting as she calls out. "Kotallo? Are you—"

"We're both up," Kotallo answers back, his voice only slightly muffled, and Aloy looses another breath as she sets the door open fully, tilting her head to invite Teb in.

They step inside, the cabin slightly darkened, and Aloy blinks a few times before she finds the shape of Kotallo—crouched at Talla's side.

She has never seen such gentleness in another's eyes as she does in this moment.

Teb sets the pot off on one of the counters, then turns towards Talla once more, his expression pulling in concern as well. "How has she been?" He murmurs, and they step towards her daughter together.

"Better," Aloy answers, her voice soft. "I think… we've gotten through the worst of it now."

Teb nods, and then his voice brightens as he stands to Kotallo's side, looking down at Talla. "Hey there, Scrapper."

She looks up, and gives him a small smile and wave of her hand. "Uncle Teb!"

The Nora man's gaze flicks towards Kotallo, and Kotallo pulls in a breath, before nodding his head, standing up and stepping back to leave room for Teb to settle just before the bed.

"Hi Uncle Teb," Talla murmurs, swinging her legs on the edge of the bed. "Mama said she's not upset with you. I think Mama's just tired."

Teb chuckles, and Aloy looks away, stepping to the side as Teb begins to respond.

Kotallo's gaze flicks between Teb and herself, and Aloy gentles the questioning in his eyes by catching her hand upon his arm, grounding herself by the slightly tacky sensation of his paint beneath her fingertips. "Are you alright?" Aloy asks, walking them away slowly, and Kotallo's hand comes up to cup at her elbow, holding her as well.

"I feel like I should be the one to ask that," Kotallo huffs in reply, his gaze traveling carefully over her face, concern darkening in his eyes. "Are you alright?"

Aloy finds a laugh upon her lips, a faintest chuckle and the splay of her fingers across the plane of his arm. "Everyone keeps asking me that. Do I really look so terrible?"

"Aloy." He swallows, an uneven twitch to his lips, his fingers tightening around her arm. "You look like you're one cough away from collapsing to the ground."

A sharp laugh, one that draws Teb to look over her shoulder at them, yet all Aloy can see is that shine in Kotallo's eyes as he looks down at her, and it is like the sun is rising within her chest, dizzying and undeniable warmth.

"Well—" Aloy chuckles, shaking her head, and through it all, Kotallo holds her gaze. "At least I can trust you not to lie to me."

"Didn't you know?" His head tilts, one side of his lips drawing upwards into an uneven smile. "I thought that was the whole reason you kept me around in the first place."

"Hmm." Aloy's fingers drum upon his arm, and then she steps away, her touch sliding down until their hands are barely grasping at one another. "I guess I'll just have to keep you around all over again."

His eyes soften, creasing in the corners, faint wrinkles of time settled upon his skin, and the years between them do not seem so strong in this moment, to know that the years have come for them both in this way.

"That you shall," Kotallo murmurs, and the words feel a little bit like hope.

Maybe he doesn't love her. Maybe he never will.

But maybe, just maybe—

She really could be happy again.

Chapter Text

There is something like hope now, shining within Aloy's eyes as they hold to his. And there is something warming within him at the sight of it, an undeniable smile upon his lips at her hand still held within his own, the shift of callused skin brushing together.

Perhaps it will never be love in the way that he aches to hold her once more. But beyond all hopes, he is here, at her side once more.

Here, he can almost feel peace, settling itself beneath his skin, low and sweet and warm

"Mama." Talla shifts at the edge of her bed, nudging off the layers of blankets still around her. "I have to pee."

Aloy's gaze finally falls from his own, turning towards their daughter instead, a smile of faint amusement warming upon her lips. "Alright," Aloy chuckles, shaking her head. "Let's go find your boots."

Kotallo watches after them as Aloy untangles the last of the blankets, her hand hovering just at Talla's back as the girl steps slowly around the bed.

"Kotallo."

His gaze clips up towards Teb, who tilts his head towards the cooking counters across the cabin. "Help with the food?"

There's the faintest frown within the Nora man's eyes, a crease forming between his brows, but Kotallo follows him all the same, even as his attention drifts towards Talla and Aloy stepping out of the house, the door pulling closed behind them.

Kotallo turns towards the counter, reaching towards the pot upon the counter.

"Listen."

Teb's voice goes knife-sharp, near at odds with how soft spoken Kotallo has always known him to be before, and his attention cuts towards the other man, stopping at the intensity shining within his eyes.

Kotallo's hand drops back down to hang at his side.

"You may be High Marshal," Teb says, his gaze still holding to Kotallo's. "And I may be just a Stitcher, but I swear—" he steps forward, his finger jutting into Kotallo's chest, and there is anger burning in his eyes. "I swear to you, Kotallo, if you hurt her again, I will make you regret it."

A refutation draws itself up his throat, yet the words die upon Kotallo's tongue, bitter and laced with the knowledge that the man is right.

He has hurt her.

He has hurt them both.

Teb continues, his words sparking and low. "You've put her through enough already, Kotallo, and if you end up hurting her again—"

Kotallo takes Teb's hand and slowly pushes it down, holding the man's gaze. "I know," he says quietly, the words scraping through his throat. "I don't—" he swallows, looking back over his shoulder to the door that Aloy and Talla had gone through. "She's given me more than I dared to even dream, to be here in this moment. It's more than I deserve."

He looks back towards Teb, and he cannot deny the fierce wonder shining in his own eyes, the slip of awe into his voice. "I have a daughter," he murmurs, the words echoing through his mind, as if even now, he cannot fully believe them. "And Aloy has… has allowed me back into her life. And I will never leave her again."

Teb steps back, his brow drawing tight, before creasing upwards instead, understanding flaring through his gaze as he looks up towards Kotallo. "You still love her," he says, the words achingly quiet, and Kotallo cannot fully grasp the edges held within them. Admonition? Disbelief?

Disappointment?

Kotallo dips his head. "Perhaps I should not. But after all that we have gone through…" His gaze lifts, the words heavy within his chest. "The day that I stop loving Aloy will be the day that I die."

Teb's lips press into a thin line, something knowing within his eyes, yet still he looks away. "You better make her happy, High Marshal," he says, shaking his head. "It's been years since she has been."

He turns back towards the pot that they had come over to in the first place, pulling away the lid. "I made roast and roots," Teb says, his voice almost rough, his gaze distant. "Make sure Talla is eating plenty. She'll need to keep her strength up."

Kotallo settles his hand on his shoulder, and Teb stiffens beneath his touch. "You're a good man," Kotallo says, laying the words gently between them, waiting for Teb to turn and meet his gaze. "And thank you. Thank you for being here for Aloy through all this time, for being at her side when I was too blinded to see her. I am… indebted to you"

Teb's lips press into that wry smile again, but the light of it does not reach his eyes. "Make her happy, High Marshal," he says again, dipping his chin once. "That's how you can pay off your debt. I've spent too many years watching her hurt. Don't give me a reason to see that hurt in her eyes again."

Kotallo's lips press into a mirroring line, tension drawing along the line of his shoulders. "She's lucky to have you at her side. To have your care."

"Maybe." Teb steps away, his voice soft. "But I don't think it was my care that she was ever looking for." He nods his head towards the door, and there's still that sadness in his eyes. "I'll be going back to my stall now. You can always find me there or at my cabin if you ever need me."

Another step, a slighter pause. "Aloy knows the way, but if you have to, ask anyone nearby. Mother's Heart isn't so large that they shouldn't know the way."

Their eyes finally meet again, and this time, there is respect, held and whole.

"You're a good man, Kotallo," Teb says. "You said you don't deserve this, but I think you do. Don't waste it."

The door closes behind him, and Kotallo looks down to the floor, his thoughts slowly scraping over his words.

Don't waste it.

He has no intention to do so.

Being here… with Aloy, with their daughter—

It is something he had only dared to dream of once, long ago. Something he had never spoken aloud, and yet he has found it now within his life all the same. Some impossible hope that has now come true, against all that he might have thought before.

His child.

The door at the back of the cabin pushes open, and Kotallo lifts his head, looking over his shoulder towards it as Aloy and Talla both step inside.

A pause.

"Where's Teb?"

The words stick within Kotallo's throat, and he scuffs out a breath to free them, turning towards them. "He said he had to go back to his stall. And that we could send for him if he was ever needed."

Aloy's expression hardens, only the slightest, her eyes narrowing. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened." Kotallo turns away, beginning to go through the cupboards. "We spoke. He left. He's a good man."

"Kotallo." There is a warning in her voice now, a warning that he does not heed.

"You should eat," Kotallo says instead. He pulls out three bowls, setting them upon the counter. "He went through the trouble of bringing this food for you and Talla."

A hand presses against his back, and Kotallo cannot help the sharp intake of breath that cuts from him at her touch.

Aloy's hand draws lower, around his ribs, coming to rest at his waist as she steps in at his side, her voice low as she speaks to him. "Kotallo," she says quietly, carefully. "What happened?"

Kotallo looks over his shoulder again, to Talla still standing just behind them, her hand resting upon the table to hold herself steady, and there's something shaken and uncertain in her eyes.

A glance back towards Aloy, and he knows that she has seen it as well.

"Talla." Aloy brightens her voice, and their daughter's attention snaps towards her, the smallest spark of life in her eyes once more. "Do you want to grab some fruit?"

Talla nods, her boots stamping on the ground as she scurries across the kitchen, and Aloy shifts back towards Kotallo with a sigh.

She does not give him time to hesitate. "Talk."

Kotallo looks away, portioning out three bowls of the roast and roots, the words dull within his chest. "He cares for you, Aloy. And he does not—"

You've put her through enough already, Kotallo

"He does not want me to add to any difficulties you may already be facing."

Aloy scoffs out a breath, but she does not protest his words. She takes the first two bowls in her hands and carries them towards the table, setting them down with a faint sound. "He said something to that effect to me as well, I suppose."

When she turns once more, Kotallo holds her gaze, gently, the words drawing within his breath.

I'm sorry.

There is exhaustion now, in her eyes. A tiredness that he knows comes from more than just sickness that she must be feeling even now.

The knowledge of it aches within the back of his lungs, crushing through his bones to know that he—

He is the cause.

Aloy takes the bowl within his hand, the one that he cannot even recall picking up, and turns away again.

Talla has already settled a collection of fruit upon the table, and is perched upon her knees at her chair, hands pressed against the edge of the table as she leans over it. Aloy taps at her shoulder as she passes her by, quiet words of correction, and Talla sinks back down to sit in her chair instead.

And still Kotallo stands, watching a scene that deep within him, he knows has played out countless times before, a laugh upon Aloy's lips as she carries back a round of bread, yet Kotallo hears not a sound.

He is not meant to be here.

"Kotallo?"

Aloy's voice cuts through his thoughts, and Kotallo forces a breath into his lungs as he focuses upon her, that faintest of a smile still held in her eyes.

"Bring a knife?" She says, tilting her head down towards the table.

A table set for three.

He does not deserve this.

"Of course." The words are thick like mud within his throat, yet Kotallo speaks them all the same. Where he finds the knife, he cannot say, only that it is gripped in his hand as he settles at the table as well.

And though Aloy's voice rings bright, all he can see is the tiredness in her eyes.

An exhaustion of his own making.

-

"Aloy."

He catches her by the arm as they all come to stand, her hands already moving towards the plates left upon the table. She pauses at his touch, and concern creeps deeper through his thoughts at the sight of her, of the distance falling through her gaze.

"Get some rest," Kotallo murmurs, tracing his thumb gentle along the inner line of her arm. "I will handle this."

"Kotallo—"

Kotallo silences her words with a short shake of his head. "It is the least that I can do."

The least of all debts that he can pay, to make up for all the time that they have lost.

All of the time that he has cost them now.

"I wanna help."

Talla hugs against her mother's hip, peeking around her to stare up at Kotallo with those golden-brown eyes, and something within him melts at the sight of her, the drift of a smile upon his lips.

"You're supposed to be resting too, Scrapper." Aloy settles her hand on Talla's head, ruffling up her hair, but there is a tired acceptance in her words. "You're the one who's sick right now."

Kotallo's thumb shifts, drawing Aloy's attention back towards him. "And you, Aloy?" He murmurs. "Are you not meant to rest as well?"

Aloy begins to shake her head, the shape of protest upon her lips, and yet still, she hesitates.

"You called me here for a reason," Kotallo continues. He releases her arm, his hand moving instead to cup against her face. "Let me do as you asked." His thumb traces now across the curve of her cheek, and Aloy's eyes drift closed with a sigh. "Allow me to lighten the load."

A huff of amusement, a twitch of his lips. "I have a strong back, after all."

Aloy laughs, the faintest breath of a thing, but the sound of it sparks and warms within Kotallo's chest as she shifts against his palm, her hand coming to rest loosely upon his arm. "Fine," she finally sighs, dropping her chin. "But just for a little while. Talla—"

"Will be fine," Kotallo assures her, his other fingers threading gently into her hair, and the look upon Aloy's face softens at the movement, her lips parting slightly as she presses into his touch. "She seems eager to help, but I will make sure she rests as well."

"Ok," Aloy mumbles, yet still makes no attempt to move, the weight of her head falling deeper into his hand, and Kotallo smiles to himself as he moves his fingers across her scalp once more.

"Bed, Aloy," he says gently, slowly withdrawing his hand, and at this Aloy seems to snap back into herself, her eyes widening before blinking frantically, as if attempting to ground herself once more. When Kotallo's hand brushes against her shoulder, she shakes her head, turning sharply away from him, and that warmth within his chest begins to flicker and fade.

He does not see the flush now set deeply across her skin, nor the way that Aloy's fingertips rise to brush against her lips, a surge of wanting in her eyes.

All Kotallo comes to see is Talla moving to press herself close to his side in her mother's absence, her small hand tapping at his hip.

"Kotallo," she says quietly, almost urgently, and Kotallo finds himself upon one knee to look Talla in the eye.

"Yes, little one?" He murmurs, matching the seriousness in her tone. "What is it?"

Talla gives a pointed look down, before finding his eyes once more. "Your pants are too short. You're going to be cold outside."

Kotallo scarcely has time to respond before Aloy's laugh suddenly cuts out of her. He and Talla both look up towards her, where she stands with one hand covering her mouth, shaking her head even as her other hand waves reassuringly in front of her.

Talla's face screws up in concern, her voice wavering. "Did I say something bad, Mama? I'm sorry, I—"

Kotallo presses his hand to her shoulder, quieting the girl. "Not bad," he soothes, tipping his head. "Amusing, perhaps, but not bad. Your mother—" he looks up to give her a look, and Aloy tips her head back, looking away from him even as her hand remains plastered over her mouth. "Has said something to that effect many times before, is all."

Aloy finally lowers her hand, letting out a shaking breath. "I didn't always dislike the shorts," Aloy insists. "But she's right. They're so impractical in the cold!"

"Ah—" A halfway smirk twitches across his lips, and Kotallo lifts his chin. "But you forget, my Sky Clan blood—"

"Keeps you warm, yes." Aloy looks away, but this time, Kotallo does not miss the brush of color warming across her cheeks. "But still…"

Aloy trails off, before shaking her head. "It's a shame Teb left so quickly." Her arms fold over her chest, a look of contemplation falling upon her features. "I should have spoken with him about getting you something to wear while here."

Kotallo shifts his weight back, and gives Aloy a measured look. "And what is wrong with what I have on now?"

Her eyes meet his, and then slowly, pointedly, trail down the whole of his body. Kotallo cannot deny the rush that being held under her gaze pulls within him, goaded on by the sight of her teeth coming to worry across her lower lip, that same flush burning darker against her skin as her gaze finally stops low upon him, before flicking back up to his eyes.

"You know exactly why, High Marshal," Aloy murmurs, and Kotallo swallows back against the heat pressing into him now. "And besides, I told you before—your armor isn't made for non-combat contact. And if you go out there in just that—" she gestures at him vaguely with her hand, and Kotallo huffs out another amused breath as she turns away, as if realizing her flustered state. "You'll distress the Nora." Her voice quiets as she steps towards her bed, but Kotallo hears it all the same. "Or worse."

"You'll freeze and get sick too," Talla says solemnly, and it is all Kotallo can do to muffle down another chuckle at her words, not wanting to dismiss her distress.

"Then I will be careful, little one," He murmurs, his gaze flicking to Aloy as she pulls the covers on her bed completely over her head, before returning back to Talla. "And I will stay in here, where it is dry and warm."

Talla nods, satisfied, before stepping past him to reach up to the table. "Now?"

Kotallo pushes himself up to stand, a small grunt slipping from him as he does so, before resting his hand atop Talla's head. "Of course, Talla. Tell me where everything goes?"

She nods enthusiastically, and Kotallo smiles down at his daughter, and for a moment, all of the doubts that had threaded through him before fade away like dew beneath the sun.

Perhaps he does not deserve this. But he will take this life, this moment, this darling child that has suddenly become his own, his world, and hold to it.

Not a second more to be wasted.

They clean up together, though for all of her insistence before, Talla's movements slowly begin to drag, until Kotallo brings one of the chairs up to the counter and helps her to climb on top of it, nestling there as she gives him further directions, her voice soft but clear.

When he places the last remaining slices of cut fruit in front of her, she begins to eat it without a word, but there is a smile written in her eyes as she watches him.

Kotallo moves about the cabin, placing the pot to warm besides the fire, the last of the bread put away, water drawn to clean this dishes. Through it all, his steps remain quiet, though at one point, he pauses to look towards Aloy as she shifts upon her bed, the only thing revealed beneath the blankets that of her burning red hair.

A muffled snore slips out from her form, and Kotallo smiles to himself, before continuing.

It is only once the table has been cleared and the kitchen completely cleaned that Kotallo returns to Talla once more, still sitting upon the counter with her head drooping and eyes closed. That same warmth from before blooms through his chest as he traces his finger down the length of her nose. "Talla," he hums, and her eyelids flutter slightly at the sound of his voice. "You look tired, little one."

"M'not tired," she mumbles, but still her eyes do not open. "Don't wanna sleep."

Kotallo sighs, reaching out to curve his hand around her back, and Talla shifts forward easily, melting into his side as he lifts her and holds her close. She huffs out a breath, nuzzling into his neck before her head drifts back down to rest on his shoulder. "Warm," she huffs, her hand patting against his chest.

"Little scrap," Kotallo murmurs back, and he cannot help the aching part of himself that leads him to press his lips upon the top of her head, brushing against her hair. "Stubborn, just like your mother."

He carries her across the cabin, but when he stops beside her bed to ease her down, Talla suddenly lurches into movement, squirming and trying to escape. "No—" she whines, her legs kicking out against the bed. "No, I don't want to sleep!"

"You don't have to sleep." Kotallo pulls back, only the slightest, but it is enough to catch her eye, and Talla quiets. He eases her down gently, and this time, Talla drops to the bed without a fuss. "But wouldn't you like to be warm?"

Talla nods slowly, and Kotallo matches the movement, letting go of his daughter in order to pull the blankets closer. Talla shifts, turning on herself in order to pull them up around her, before she catches at his hand, not quite looking at him.

"Stay?"

Ten above, how could he ever hope to say no to her?

Kotallo sinks down to the bed, and Talla tucks herself against his side almost immediately, humming happily to herself as she runs her fingers down the lines of his palm.

"And you're certain you do not want to sleep?" He asks, his voice soft. "It will help you feel better."

Talla shakes her head, flipping his hand over. "Tired of it," she mumbles. "M'bored."

She turns back to studying his palm again, her little fingers rubbing against his calluses, and Kotallo begins to loosen next to her, his posture softening as he watches.

"Why did you come here?" She says suddenly, and her gaze is pointed up towards him now, sharp and clear and seeing altogether too much in this moment.

Kotallo hesitates, looking towards Aloy's sleeping form, and the words stick within his throat, curling like ivy across aging stone.

Story Man.

Kotallo.

Talla has… given no indication that she has any idea who he is beyond these two things. That she knows who he is, as her father.

And though Talla has asked now, surely it should be Aloy to be the one to explain this to her.

Not a stranger, that she has only known through these recent aching months. An unknown man that has suddenly dropped into her life, when he had been so absent before.

Kotallo claws through the knot within his throat, looking down to her hand upon his. "Well, Talla, I—" The words catch again, and he runs his thumb across her knuckles. "I came here because your mother asked me to. Because she—she needed the extra hand. To help when she couldn't do it alone."

Talla makes a small noise, considering, and she looks down as well, tapping her fingers against his hand as she thinks. Then she lifts her gaze again, and those eyes that are so similar to his own look up at him, completely serious as she speaks. "Is that why Mama called you and not Uncle Teb?" She asks. "Because you—cause she only needed one extra hand and not two?"

She says it so innocently, as if it all makes perfect sense within her own mind and it must, but those words suddenly crush into Kotallo's chest, striking into his lungs and kicking out all the air within him. All at once, he wants nothing more than to scoop her up and hold her close, a shock of emotion pulling through his throat as he looks down at her with his trembling gaze.

Finally, achingly, the words find themselves upon his lips. "Yes, little one," he croaks, taking her hand tightly within his own. "That's exactly why."

Talla makes that humming noise again, leaning against his side, and Kotallo is struck with a sudden longing within him, an ache that he has not felt in many years, a desperation to have his left arm once more, if only to hold his daughter closer.

But all he has is his right, with Talla's hands holding to his own as she traces out further marks and scars, her shoulder jutting up against his ribs as she nestles closer to him, the press of her legs leaning against his as she draws them fully onto the bed. "Where did your other hand go?"

Kotallo swallows down a shaking breath, turning over his hand to tug on Talla's legs, and she crawls easily into his lap as he shifts himself backwards until his back hits the wall. "I… lost it," he says carefully, quietly. "In a battle, long ago."

Another breath, and though it has been many years, as his eyes drift closed, he can almost hear the grinding of the bristleback once more. His eyes slowly pull open, staring out, unseeing of the cabin beyond them. "I was trying to protect a friend."

Talla shifts around in his lap, turning to face him now, and Kotallo draws into himself at the softest brush of her fingers against his shoulder, not yet touching the scars there, yet her eyes remain wide and upon it all the same.

"That must have been scary," she whispers, her eyes flicking towards his face.

Kotallo sighs, then rolls his shoulder forward to press it into her hands.

Talla remains still at first, before she begins to trace the outlines of the scars, no longer as dark and ragged as they had been years before, the ridges now faded and a paler tone against his skin.

"I would have been scared," Talla whispers again, her face solemn.

Kotallo lets out a breath, before he tips his head close. "May I tell you something?" He murmurs, drawing Talla to look at him again. "I was scared."

Talla frowns, her brow draws tight, and she suddenly crushes back against his chest once more, nestling her head just above his heart, her fingers gathering up a handful of his shirt. Kotallo hesitates, before he wraps his arm around her, holding her steady, holding her close.

"Mama gets scared about you," Talla says, her voice quiet and trembling. "And it… it makes her sad sometimes, too."

She buries lets go of him just enough to suddenly grab the blankets and wrap them around her, as if shielding herself somehow, her face crushing against his chest once more. "I don't like it when Mama is sad."

The words catch through Kotallo's chest, and he sighs, stroking along the curve of her back through the blanket, sighing to himself. "I know, Talla," he murmurs, looking across the cabin to Aloy's bed once more, the sight of her own body pressed wearily against the pelts and pillows. "But I'm… I'm here now. And I will do anything that I can to help. Because I don't want your mama to be sad either."

Talla nods, uncovering herself from the blankets, even if only in the slightest as she looks up towards him. "Kotallo," she says, beginning to crawl out of his lap and instead pulling over one of the pillows on her bead, nestling against it as she stares at him.

Kotallo moves with her, pulling the other blankets closer and draping them across her as Talla settles into a comfortable position. She peeks out from them, those golden-brown eyes and a flush of red hair just like her mother, and Kotallo smiles down at their child, his hand coming to rest at her cheek.

"Will you tell me a story?" She mumbles, her eyes already drifting closed, nestling into his touch.

And who is he to deny her, when everything in him is ringing through with love for her?

"Of course," Kotallo whispers, stroking his thumb along her brow. "Whatever you want."

Quieter now, for him and him alone.

"My child."

-

Aloy wakes slowly, her body easing itself into consciousness, sifting through the warmth of sleep into the low warm still settled beneath her skin.

Her sleep had been strangely dreamless, for once, nothing but a wash of dark across her consciousness. Now, she rolls onto her side, her eyes slowly flickering open as she stretches on the bed, muscles flexing and the soft clicks and pops of her shoulders reaching her senses.

Then her head turns, and she finds Kotallo leaned against the wall by Talla's bed, and whatever tension may have been left within her suddenly falls away.

Aloy slips off of her bed, her footsteps light as she pads across the cabin towards him, and everything within her is warming, like a flame set in place of her lungs, filling her from the inside out.

Talla is curled up at the top of her bed, her arms wrapped tightly around Kotallo's hand, which hangs limply at his side, his legs stretched out across the bed and his back pressed against the wall, his head angled as somehow, impossibly, he sleeps.

"Oh, Kotallo." Aloy half chuckles, half sighs as she finally reaches the bed, and her hands are moving before she can even fully realize it, brushing against the line of his cheekbones and gently cradling his face between her hands. "You're going to wake up aching again," she murmurs, eyes searching over his face.

Kotallo pulls in a breath, his head drifting slightly, leaning more into her hand, yet beyond these two things, he does not respond in any way. Nothing but the rise and fall of his chest, and it takes Aloy another moment more to realize how close she is to him now, half settled upon the bed to hold him in this way.

An ache presses into her lungs, and all at once longing crashes into her, like the waves of the ocean surging over her, pulling her beneath their relentless tides.

She is the only one awake now, this close to him.

Surely no one would blame her if…

Aloy lets out a shaking breath, drawing her thumbs across his cheeks once more, before leaning his head forward. Her lips brush against his skin, feather soft against the expanse above his brow, the barest taste of paint filtering through her senses as she withdraws again.

"My Marshal," she whispers, and that ache is pulling within her, the thick of it settling low in her stomach and knotting up through her lungs.

Kotallo's brow draws, the slightest wrinkle left behind, an uneven twitch to his lips, and Aloy's hand moves without thought, smoothing out the crease, her breath catching in her throat.

"My brave, foolish Marshal," Aloy murmurs, soothing at his brow until his face falls into blank sleepfulness once more, and she sighs. "Flying all the way here in such a rush."

It takes a bit of rearranging, but Talla got her trait of being a heavy sleeper from someone, and the evidence of it all is here before her as she eases Kotallo onto his side, slipping an extra pillow beneath his head as she settles him down.

No one would blame her.

Surely no one would.

"Rest, Marshal of mine," Aloy sighs, finally, regretfully, pulling her hands away. She hesitates, before resting her hand against his shoulder, only the slightest bit. "You deserve it."

He does not stir, does not move, only the shift of each breath, and Aloy shifts her attention down to the sleeping form curled up at his side. "And you too, Talla" she murmurs, pressing a kiss upon their daughter's temple. "Rest, love."

Talla mumbles something under her breath, her hands tightening their grip upon Kotallo's own, before falling into stillness as well.

Aloy chuckles fondly, brushing her hair away from her face and sweeping her braid back over her shoulder as she stands fully once more, easing away from the bed.

It almost seems to good to be true, in some ways. To have them both here, in her life, within reach.

To have Kotallo, when she has spent so many years longing and yet… refusing to make the first move.

How different would everything be if she had simply spoke first? If she had kept trying, kept reaching out? If she had not settled into bitter complacency?

Aloy presses her hands against her cheeks, the burn of her skin flush against her palms, and for a moment, allows herself to drift as she has done so many times before.

The calluses on his hand were a familiar sensation, yet so different from her own. The hold of a sword, rather than a bow. Strengthened over time, rather than how these years have softened her own.

The weight of his hand, warm against her skin.

Aloy finds herself standing before the table, and she sinks down with a sigh, burying her face into her arms.

How could she even dare to hope that he might ever consider her again—when all of this pain between them is through her fault alone?

You must hate me.

Aloy curls her shoulders tighter, his words scraping through her mind like the shock of steel upon bone.

I want to.

All that she has said. All that she has not said.

Every year between them, lost.

And with it, any hope that he might feel for her the way she feels for him.

"I cant keep doing this," she whispers, the words falling into empty air, muffled against her arm. "I can't…"

How is she supposed to live as if she does not love him, as if he is not the first thought within her mind upon waking, or the last to drift across her thoughts when she falls into sleep?

How is she meant to see him with their daughter, a light in his eyes that she has never seen before, and not fall for him all over again in ways she had not even know possible?

How—

A knocking at the door.

Aloy's body tenses, muscles pulling tight, her hands curling against the table surface.

Another beat, and the knocking comes again. Aloy pushes herself into standing with a grating breath, turning towards the door.

All she wants is a moment along to untangle her own thoughts, to find a way through this mess in a way that will not hurt Kotallo or their daughter.

All she wants is a moment to breathe—

She pulls the door open, and Beta stares back at her, hand half raised and ready to knock once more, but the motion turns into a fluttering wave, and Aloy stiffens in surprise.

"Aloy!" Her sister says brightly—too brightly, for how dark the night stretches across the world at her back.

"Heard you were in need of some extra help—mind if I come in?"

Chapter Text

The first thing Aloy does is promptly punch her sister in the shoulder.

"That's for lying to me about Meridian!" Aloy snaps, the words coming out in a seething hiss even as Beta is reeling, her mouth open as she blinks repeatedly. Then Aloy drags her into a hug, crushing her arms around her and burying her face into Beta's shoulder, the words catching in her throat. "And this is for everything else."

Beta's arms come to wrap around Aloy, her movements slow, still processing everything that has just happened. "Um… so that's…"

Aloy tightens the hug, then steps back, holding her sister at arm's length. "Goddess, it's been too long." She looks over her sister, a breathless grin pulling across her lips. "I mean, just—" Aloy reaches up, fingers brushing across the yellow and white fabric pulled over Beta's hair. "I like it. Oseram is a good look on you."

Beta laughs, but it is a faint and fleeting thing. "And exhaustion is a familiar one on you," she sighs, reaching up to press the back of her hand to Aloy's forehead, her expression pulling tight. "What are you even doing up right now, Aloy? You should be resting!"

"Letting you into my cabin," Aloy huffs back, her voice flat. "You are the one who knocked, Beta. Would you rather I had just been asleep and left you out here?"

"Not what I meant." Beta's voice goes flat as she regards Aloy, putting her hands on her hips. "You're clearly running a fever—why didn't Kotallo tell me you were sick too?"

"I'm not sick," Aloy protests, but it's a weak one, one she knows neither of them believes. Beta raises one brow, the proof of her doubt, and Aloy sighs, wrapping her arms around herself, fingers brushing against the raised bumps of night chill across her skin. "Kotallo didn't know."

Beta sighs again, but the disappointment in her voice as she speaks is an old and familiar thing. An echo of who they have always been over the years—the reckless and responsible. "Just let me get my bags in, and then I'm getting you into bed. I don't care if I have to tie you down to do it."

Aloy scoffs out a laugh, but the action warms and lifts entirely within her chest, a loosening to some of the tension knotted up between her shoulders. "Yeah, I'd like to see you try."

Beta narrows her eyes, but steps off the front porch towards her charger on the dirt path all the same, her words carrying behind her. "I know where you keep your rope caster!" She calls back, smug insistence in her voice.

"Bold of you to assume I wouldn't beat you to it!" Aloy counters, following in her sister's steps as she rubs her hands along her arms, shivering from the slip of the night air along the back of her neck and trickling down her spine.

The two of them stop at the charger's side, Beta undoing the few buckles and clasps to release the packs from the machine's hindquarters, and moves to sling them over her shoulder.

"Here." Aloy reaches out, taking up a length of glowing cord from the mount's neck, urging it into following her. "We can keep her in the back so she's out of the way."

Beta scoffs behind her. "And you couldn't do that before I took off the packs to carry them?"

"Of course not." A subtle smile slips across Aloy's lips, and everything is feeling a little bit right, even if only in the smallest ways. Like she's stepping back into herself, somehow.

"I hate you so much."

"I love you too."

It's darker around the fence to the back of the cabin, the light from the torches along the main path reduced to nothing than the faintest illumination upon the ground, and Aloy taps one hand to her focus, activating the light as she undoes the latch upon the gate, stepping through the opening space to lead Beta and the Charger through—

Just to walk straight into the wing of a sunwing.

A curse trips off her lips, and Aloy stumbles, one hand flashing out to catch her balance on the machine before her. Icarus swings his head around, eyes glowing a stark blue against the night, and he lets out a low trill, nudging his head against her chest.

"Great," Aloy groans, before letting out a sigh. "The machines came off the roof."

Really, it would probably have been for the best. She cannot find any way in which the Nora would have built their cabins with the intent of having several machines perching upon them for extended periods of time, and while Icarus has been able to take up residence upon her roof, Ra's added weight may have lead to a breaking point.

She strokes her hand across Icarus' crest, before gently pushing his head away from her. "Come on, Beta," she says, and that faint of exhaustion is pulling itself through her again, beginning to drag in the heels of each step.

"Aloy." Beta's voice takes on a strained tone, even as she follows her through the machines crowded through the back area. "Why are there two sunwings back here?"

"Let's get inside." Another latch, another lock. Another layer that she hides behind, keeping her and Talla safe. "It's late, and I don't need any more rumors starting up in the morning."

"More?" Beta mutters, but Aloy does not answer the questioning to her voice.

"I should have some blankets tucked away, but I can get more from Teb in the morning if we need." She pushes the door shut, setting the latches once more. "Put your stuff over hear the fire, but be quiet—they're both still asleep."

"Both?" Beta echoes again, but Aloy pays her little mind as she begins her hunt for where she had packed away the winter bedding at the beginning of spring. "What do you mean both—"

Her words cut off abruptly, and Aloy whips around to the heavy thunk of something hitting of the ground.

Beta stares right at Talla's bed, where she and Kotallo both remained settled in sleep, far too much of him recognizable even in the darkness.

"What. the. hell."

"Beta—"

Beta whips around, her eyes wide and yet also shot through with accusation. "What the hell is Kotallo doing here?"

"Beta, quiet," Aloy pleads, moving towards her sister even as the other Sobeck's face contorts in indignation.

"Don't "quiet" me!" Beta snaps back, gesturing towards Aloy. "What the hell is happening here? First the two of you don't talk for years, no matter what any of us try to do, then I find out from Kotallo of all people that not only you are talking again, but my niece is sick and now this—"

Her arm flings out towards the bed, her voice pitching into a half whispered scream. "And he's right there!"

"Asleep," Aloy hisses, grabbing Beta's hand and pulling her roughly away. "Though if you keep yelling like that, you'll wake them both up, just like I said. So quiet, Beta."

Screw whatever sleep she had gotten before. The late hour has crashed into her all at once like the pounce of a Sawtooth, a heavy weight placed between her shoulders and tightening the line of her neck, and Aloy clings to her sister's hand, trying to steady herself against the slow dizziness spilling through her mind. "Can we just talk about this in the morning, Beta? I—"

"No!" Beta snaps, wrenching her arm free. "No, we're not talking about it later—we're talking about this now. Why don't you tell me anything anymore, Aloy? I mean, I'm your sister, aren't I? I can't believe that—"

A muffled groan, a catching breath, and faintly, thick with sleep, Kotallo's voice. "Mm—loy?"

Aloy mutters a curse under her breath, shooting Beta an irritated glare. "I told you—" she pushes away from her sister, stalking towards the bed. "Was being quiet really too much for me to ask?"

Beta opens her mouth to shoot back a quick retort, but both of them fall silent as Kotallo jerks fully awake, a ragged groan locking up in his throat as he pushes himself up. "What's—"

He stops, staring blearily down at Talla, who still holds his hand captive within her grasp, and the moment in which his expression shifts rocks through Aloy's chest, the utter softness with which he looks down at their daughter burning in the back of her lungs.

Then his head turns, and Kotallo finally catches sight of the two of them standing there.

"Beta?"

Kotallo rolls his weight back onto his hip, his gaze flicking back to Aloy, and perhaps it is just within her own mind, but something within her swears that his eyes soften as he looks upon her as well.

"A bit of help?" He murmurs, tilting his chin down to Talla, yet his gaze never breaks from hers, and Aloy steps forward without any other thought.

"You could probably wriggle out on your own," Aloy huffs, soft amusement in her voice as she looks between Kotallo and their child, her hands curling gently around Talla's as she unwinds the girl's hold.

"She's got a strong grip," Kotallo rumbles back, and that faint smile is back on his lips, the one familiar from far away days, and some of the warmth within her chest expands and deepens all at once, a flush crawling across her skin.

"You have to be kidding me."

Both of them jolt away from each other at the sound of Beta's voice—Aloy hadn't even realized Kotallo had been leaning in towards her until he is now so far away—and something quails within her at the distance left between them.

Aloy ducks her head, ears burning as she peels away the last of Talla's fingers from their stubborn grasp. Kotallo finally pulls away his newly freed hand, pushing himself fully upright upon the bed, and then away from it to stand—

Just as Aloy steps back, her foot crossing over his and landing unsteady upon the ground, and her hand instinctively reaches for the first thing to ground herself upon.

Kotallo's arm snakes around her hips, pinning her to his side, and Aloy cuts a breath into her shaking lungs as her fingers clench harder around the fistful of his shirt that she has gathered up into her hand.

His breath is unbelievably hot as it fans across her neck, and all of her skin is sent sparking where it makes contact with his.

Beta lets out a groan and turns abruptly away, throwing her hands up in either despair or defeat—though at this moment, Aloy's thoughts are far too caught upon the dig of Kotallo's thumb against the jut of her hip to fully process the movements of her sister.

"I'm going to need a drink," Beta shouts behind her, and it's at these words that Aloy and Kotallo jolt away from each other once more. Aloy stares down at the floor, breath stuttering within her lungs, and gathers up the faint threads of control she can still claim, trying to ignore the way her skin burns with the memory of Kotallo's touch upon it in such a way, in such a place.

Behind her back and unknown to her, Kotallo covers his mouth with his hand, and all beneath his paint, his skin is set in a furious blush, red marking across his neck and the tips of his ears.

Neither of them sees the other as they each sneak glances over their shoulder, wanting deep and dark in their eyes.

-

"Let me get this straight."

The three of them all ended sitting at the table, Beta on one side, Aloy and Kotallo across from her on the other.

Beta's hands are wrapped around a now half empty mug—Aloy had managed to talk her out of digging out the last of her Bulwark Blaze, and convinced her into accepting tea instead—a glare now settled on Aloy and Kotallo both.

"Talla is Kotallo's daughter," she says flatly, staring them down.

Aloy scuffs her thumbnail across her knuckles, tension knotting itself in the stretch of muscle between her shoulder blades, only to be soothed back down by the brush of Kotallo's fingertips across the small of her back.

"She is," Aloy murmurs, the words falling from her lips, trembling in the air between them all.

"And Kotallo, you didn't know that she was yours?"

Beta's attention singles upon him, and Kotallo's hand twitches from where it is settled against Aloy's back, his head dipping low. "I did not."

One of Aloy's hands drops below the table, fingers skimming across the side of his thigh, and there is only a breath before Kotallo shifts his leg further into her touch, and Aloy's hand falls into rest against the curve of his thigh.

"And Aloy didn't know that you didn't know," Beta mutters, but at this point, her attention is not upon either one of them as she covers her face with her hands. She lets out a ragged groan, slumping further into her hands, her elbows propping her up on the table.

Her words are muffled as they spill out before them, but the frustration in her voice is not lost as she speaks. "You two are the biggest scrapping idiots in the world."

"Beta—"

Beta holds up one hand, cutting Aloy off even as her face remains buried in her other hand. "Nope," she says, her words going blunt. "No talking right now. You had plenty of chances to talk over all of these years, but right now I'm the one talking."

Kotallo's hand twitches across her back again, and when Aloy looks towards him, there is a faint brush of amusement upon his lips.

"You two are idiots," Beta mutters again, finally peeling away her hands. "Because you still haven't figured out how to talk like normal people!" Her gaze snaps towards Aloy, before she points an accusatory finger at her sister. "And you're the worst!"

"I—" Aloy opens her mouth to speak again, but Beta cuts her off with a sound that is almost reminiscent of their sunwings roosting out back.

"You need to talk to people!" Beta's words have reached an odd strain in them, almost screaming were it not for the fact that she is so clearly struggling to maintain a whisper for Talla's sake, who is still sleeping on, oblivious. "I mean, Kotallo, obviously, but me too! Or any of us! Do you really think any of this would have gotten as bad as it did if you had just talked to us?"

The words catch upon something in Aloy's chest, the edges of her thoughts fraying upon them even as Beta pushes into standing, the words spilling out of her even as Aloy's own gaze drops to her hand still resting upon the table.

After Nemesis, they all…

They did stop talking, really.

Or maybe it had been all too easy for her to fall into being alone once more, when that was all she had ever known before she carried the fate of the world within her hands.

So then what was the difference?

Why had Beta flourished all the more after Nemesis, when Aloy had been left drifting, uncertain?

They all used to talk—

So when did she go silent?

"—I mean, how long has this been a thing again?"

Aloy's attention drifts back just in time to find Beta gesturing exasperatedly at her and Kotallo, and the words swell upon her tongue.

"This—"

"We aren't—"

Kotallo's voice clips short beside her, and the space between her heart and lungs grows cold all at once within Aloy's chest, even as she knows it's the truth.

They aren't.

What even are they anymore? What do they have left to become, when so much has come and gone between them?

But when she meets Kotallo's eyes, there is something else within his eyes. Something she cannot name.

She would not dare to call it hope.

"We aren't… what is important right now. Talla is what matters most."

And yet while his words are towards Beta… his eyes never leave Aloy's own.

His lips purse, that crease drawing between his brow, and there is a question in his eyes that she knows they are both too afraid to speak out loud. So Aloy looks away, back towards Beta, and pushes through the words sticking in her throat.

"Kotallo is right. Talla is the only thing that matters right now."

She starts to pull her hand away from where it is settled on his thigh, but as soon as there is a breadth of space between their skin, Kotallo pushes his leg upwards, pressing into her touch once more, his hand flexing against her back, and Aloy cannot help the sigh that drifts out of her as she leans back into his touch.

Maybe he will never call it love again, but surely… he can feel it too, even in the smallest way?

This bone-deep feeling like she needs him to even breathe?

Maybe she always has.

Maybe she always will.

But the look Beta is giving them now is of resignation, of a weariness in her eyes. "I forgot how stubborn you are," she finally sighs, dropping back down to sit at the table again. "Both of you."

Another huff of breath parts Kotallo's lips, and Aloy's lips twitch at the amusement in the sound.

Beta shakes her head, picking up her mug and downing the rest of her tea in short gulps, before putting it back on the table with a clunk. "I'm too tired for this." She gets up from the table again, shaking her head all the while. "I just rode here in less than three days, I'm exhausted, and the two of you are giving me a headache. I'm going to sleep."

"Beta—" Aloy starts to stay, getting up from the table as well.

"Beta doesn't exist right now, try again later."

A scoff, and Aloy folds her arms over her chest, staring down her sister. "Well, I was going to ask if you wanted me to get those blankets out for you, but I guess you won't need them after all if you don't exist."

Beta turns back, giving Aloy a weary stare. "You're so lucky I love you. And that your daughter is asleep right now and I don't feel like waking her up."

The two of them hold the staring match, before Kotallo's fingers brush across Aloy's back, drawing her attention towards him once more. "I'll help you," he says, his voice low. "Show me the way?"

If Beta huffs out another sound of exasperation, neither one of them pay it any mind.

They don't speak as they unpack the winter bedding, and though their gazes hardly meet, Kotallo is still there in every breath. The brush of their knuckles together, the shift of his arm ever closer to hers as they walk side by side.

Even once they've brought the blankets and pelts across the cabin to Beta, still neither one of them speaks.

Beta's gaze is heavy laden with unspoken words as well, making very pointed expressions at Aloy every time their gazes meet, to which Aloy only wrinkles her nose in response, dismissing the wordless claims.

"And that's enough of that." Beta finally cuts through the space between Aloy and Kotallo both, sprawling out across the now improvised pallet, and waves her hand dismissively over her shoulder. "Remember—I'm not here right now. Please do not bother me until I have slept and my brain is functional again."

Aloy stands again, before pausing, the shift in movement spotting across her vision and darkening on the edges, and she puts one hand out to balance herself—

Kotallo's hand wraps around her elbow, holding her steady. "Are you alright?" he asks, his words low and drawing through her like the rumble of distant thunder, the jolt of vibrations through the ground.

Aloy nods her head, waiting for her vision to clear before she turns her attention fully towards Kotallo, one hand coming to rest against his arm. "You can use my bed. It's my fault you got woken up in the first place."

Kotallo's expressions shifts, confusion coloring through his eyes. "Why would I need to use your bed, Aloy? You need it to sleep. Go to bed."

"And what about you?" Aloy challenges, her fingers curling tighter against his arm. "You don't need to be waking up hurting again, Kotallo. Just take the bed and go to sleep."

Kotallo shakes his head. "I don't need the sleep. You clearly do."

A scoff, and Aloy tilts her head back, her gaze narrowing. "And what does that mean?"

"He means you look like death," Beta huffs, her voice muffled from the blankets drawn over her head.

Aloy rolls her eyes, but even still her gaze remains heavy upon Kotallo. "What do you mean you don't need the sleep? You and I both know you need it after everything that's happened in the past few days."

"I will manage."

Aloy scoffs, pressing closer to him, insistence dripping into her words. "I don't want you to have to manage, Kotallo. I want you to take care of yourself!"

"And you shouldn't take care of yourself too?" Kotallo snaps back, the words rough and scraping against the back of her lungs.

"Fire and spit!"

Beta's voice suddenly cuts through the air, and she slams the blankets covering her back down, revealing the exhausted glare that is left sparking in her eyes. "I know I said to act like I'm not here, but great Gaia above! You're both adults, so act like it! Just share the damn bed!"

Share the bed.

All at once, memories crash through Aloy's mind, memories she had long since fought to deny and yet her body remembers the sensations of them all the same.

Kotallo's body, flush against hers with hardly room to breathe. His hand, gripping tight around her waist, fingers so insistent to leave marks behind, to be remembered. His lips, pressed to her throat and drawing out keening cries from her with every scrape of his teeth.

Her hands, tangled through his hair and pulling him closer.

Her lips, parted through with a breathless gasp.

Kotallo's grip tightens around her arm, and Aloy jolts back into herself, only to find Kotallo's gaze dark and flooded through with some unspoken thought, his own lips parted…

But then the look in his eyes shifts, and there is concern in them once more, and Aloy is struck with the realization that the shallow gasp she had pulled in was not memory alone, but one etched into her lungs as she stands here now.

Panic crashes into those same aching lungs, and she starts to pull away from Kotallo, sudden fear pulling through her that he might see every want within her eyes, or somehow know exactly where her mind went in that splintered moment. "Shifts?" She suddenly says, even as Kotallo's hand drops from her arm. "Like out on the road—"

"And taking watches," Kotallo finishes for her, his voice nothing more than a faint murmur. His hand twitches at his side—all of Aloy's thoughts collapsing upon that movement—before he begins to shift away from her. "Then I will take first watch, Aloy."

And then he turns, and leaves her there, and every word that remains is left unspoken within her throat.

-

It's been two hours.

At least, that's what her focus tells her every time she flicks it on underneath the cover of her blankets.

Two hours since Kotallo had turned away, and Aloy had been left with this sickly sinking feeling low in her gut, a weight pressing in her limbs that refuses to leave her even now, even as she curls tighter unto herself in this moment.

And he's been pacing for the last hour, the sound of his steps a continuous beat upon the ground, matching the drum of her heart.

Aloy shifts the blankets around herself, pulling them back down and staring blearily out through the dimly lit cabin, the light of the fire falling upon Kotallo's silhouette as he walks towards it, catching upon the planes of his skin.

That ache between her lungs again, cold and clear and sharp as ice, pressing now to scrape against her spine.

How can she be so unsettled now, in this moment, when mere hours before the memory of his touch had been of more comfort than any blanket or pelt upon her skin, drawing her unto sleep?

Why is that now, the sensation of his hand upon her arm is seared fully through flesh and into bone, and every bone within her aches for want of more?

His footsteps stall just before Talla's bed, and Aloy watches as Kotallo reaches out, his hand hesitating halfway through the air, faltering before it reaches the curve of his daughter's shoulder in her sleep.

Even through the darkness, Aloy can feel the care within his eyes as he looks down at Talla now.

The shape of his hand curls tight, a fist that falls back towards his side, and Kotallo turns away.

That pang within her chest turns blunter, digging up against her ribs.

Aloy sighs, rolling her shoulders tighter and closing her eyes, letting her thoughts spill slowly down the curve of her neck.

They won't be able to keep going like this.

Whatever this arrangement may be, while it may work for these rushed and uncertain days, will not stand up against the test of time. Not when Kotallo has already vowed to be here for Talla now, in every way, as long as he may.

And she had been the one to insist that he stay in the cabin in the first place…

Kotallo's movements start up again, and something sparks under her skin at the sound of his footsteps drawing closer to her own bed, an electric hum buzzing at her fingertips and trembling up her arms.

He pauses, and Aloy smooths out her breathing, nestling deeper into the blankets curled around her, and waits.

Waits for him to move. Waits for her own body to not be near trembling in response to his presence. Waits for her mind to slowly spin itself into exhaustion, that she might finally sleep before the watch is over.

Then his fingers brush against her hair, and Aloy's heart stops all at once.

It's tentative, really. A barely there motion, and had she truly been asleep, she never would have stirred from it at all. Just the edges of his fingertips, drifting along her hair, brushing against the tip of her ear.

And then Kotallo pulls in a sharp breath, words muttered too softly to be caught, and his touch—as faint as it had been—is gone.

Aloy swallows back the part of her that wants to catch him by the hand as he turns away again—the part of her that wants to ask for him to stay.

He makes it five steps away—she counts every one—before the last threads of control slip from her grasp, and his name draws out, unbidden.

"Kotallo?"

His movements stall, and in this moment, with heart pounding in her ears and breath trembling in her lungs, Kotallo stands before her, unmoving, silent as stone.

This space between them that they have been stepping around this whole day now stretches further, yawning and wide, the edge crumbling beneath her feet, and Aloy cannot hope to know what Kotallo might be thinking on the other side.

But she is sick of standing alone.

"Come to bed?"

It is an admission of more than she dare to say, each word that blooms within her throat only to be choked out by her own uncertainty. But deeper than all of that, it is everything that they have been these past few months, just out of reach.

Every night that they fell into the comfort of one another's hold, even across all the distance and digital space between them.

Now Kotallo is only five steps away, and everything in her body is reminding her that once, she was held by him.

Loved by him.

When Kotallo turns back towards her, she cannot read his expression through the darkness, yet he returns to her all the same.

And then his hand is upon her skin once more, and Aloy cannot help the deep relief that settles through her now.

-
"Come to bed?"

Kotallo's thoughts stall upon that first breath of Aloy's words, his heart slowing to a crawl within his chest, and something uncertain curls within him, low and faltering.

Did she hear what he had said to her, barely seconds before? Had she been awake in all of this time—had she known how much of this watch was spent wholly in watching her, wishing without cause for a chance that he would not receive?

Could he possibly be receiving such a chance now?

When he turns towards her, Aloy's face is hardly showing through the blankets, yet the glint of her eyes cannot be lost to him, not when every glimpse of it is embedded deep into every beat of his heart.

He wants this.

Ten above, he wants this.

How many nights had they spent together these past few months, in which he had eased himself into sleep by the sound of her breathing alone and some foolish wish that he might have the chance to hold her once more? How many times had they woken together, a tangle of morning-rough voices, and the words had paused upon his tongue countless times, just as they had once been in all of the years they had spent living and loving before?

How many times had he fallen asleep alone before, and all that was left was the ache of her absence?

And now…

Come to bed.

Kotallo steps towards her—he must, for the distance between them is gone all at once, and all that remains is his hand, coming to cup against the curve of her cheek, and Aloy's eyes flutter closed, her brow drawing tight even as her hand comes to press against the back of his own.

Come to bed.

"Are you certain?"

The words pull from him, a gravel stuck in the back of his throat, and he grieves that he must ask at all, this chance that she might deny him, but he cannot…

He will not step into this if this is not something that she truly wants.

Aloy pulls her head away in response, and Kotallo's hand sinks to his side once more, resolution settling in a thin line upon his lips, and understanding falls through him, dark and heavy, like the press of a stone against his ribs as he readies himself to step away.

But all Aloy does is shift her way back in the bed, opening more of it to him, opening up a space that they might—

That they might lie together once more.

"Come to bed," she whispers again, and whatever soft and shaken thing had been in her voice before has only grown, the shift of barely veiled emotion behind her words as she sets her hand against the bed.

That is all that Kotallo needs, before he is pulling back the blankets and easing himself down to lay at her side, and though the bed is not overwhelmingly small, he still feels himself far too close to the edge of it, yet the thought of drawing closer to Aloy leaves him faltering just as much within.

Then her hand finds his, fingertips brushing against his knuckles and seeking to twine their grasps together, and Aloy draws in a shaking breath. "Come here, Kotallo. It's—come here."

A breath, loosed from his lungs, and Kotallo presses forward, even as Aloy guides their interlaced hands to follow the curve of her waist as she presses towards him as well.

His thumb brushes against a patch of bare skin at the small of her back, and it is as if the sensation flares within him all at once, a flame that burns from the inside out. He forgets the guidance of her hand—his own body craves the memory of this touch far too much as he pulls her closer, his hand spanning wide against the divots of her spine.

Aloy gasps, the brush of her breath against his collarbone, before she is pulling closer as well, her arm winding over his side, her nose brushing against his skin, her legs tangling with his own to bring them flush in every way, desperation overriding any sense of better choice as their bodies fall into engraved memories of who they had been once before.

His hand finds the edges of her hair, now brought into one tight braid rather than spilling loose across her back, and Kotallo sighs, soaking in her presence in as his thoughts slowly draw even to where he lies.

The brush of her hair underneath his chin, and Kotallo breathes in deeply, settling himself within the scent of pine and oil and the scent that is distinctly Aloy—no matter the years between them, it has remained.

"Couldn't sleep?" He murmurs, his fingertips finding the curve of her shoulder blade through the fabric of her shirt, and Aloy arches her back into his touch, even as her breath drifts across his skin once more.

"Not—" The words falter, and Aloy presses her face firmly into the crook of his neck, her fingers digging against the line of his ribs. "Not without you. Not again."

Something expands within Kotallo's chest, some wordless desperation, some relentless hope, finding within her words an admission of what even now he remains too afraid to speak, and yet for all the meaning he finds within them now, the words are not the ones that he has been so hesitant to say and hear.

"I'm here," Kotallo breathes, holding her closer, as if her presence alone might be enough to silence the ache pounding itself out between his ribs, as her heartbeat close to his own might silence the doubts spiraling through his mind. "You have me, Aloy."

Then she sighs, her body falling loose against his own, her fingers drawing slowly across his side, coming to rest against his chest, moving with each rise and fall of his lungs.

"Just for tonight," she mumbles, her words drawing softly, the exhaustion that he had heard in her before finally pressing against her words once more, softening her voice at the edges as she nestles against his chest. "Just… tonight…"

Kotallo raises his hand up, cupping against the back of her head, his fingers drifting slowly through her hair, and the ache within him only grows as he listens to the sound of Aloy's breathing round itself out, falling deep and smooth once more.

Only held within his arms for barely a minute, and she is already drifting.

A smile draws across Kotallo's lips, bittersweet and fond, and he presses them to the crown of head, an old familiar movement that aches within his lungs, to be holding her once more. "Just for tonight," he whispers back, even as the vow writes itself deeper within his heart, breaking and healing all at once.

"Tonight, and any night that you might ask, my love."

Chapter Text

Night stretches until it fades fully into morning—the faint trills of birdsong, the barest shafts of sunlight that catch through the shutters over the windows, the sounds of movement beyond him, yet through it all, Kotallo is caught wholly upon the visage of the one who lays across from him now.

He hears the soft footsteps of Beta, coming to rest across the cabin. The scuff of a chair as she pulls it back, the quieter hush of her voice, the words lost to the space between them, and Kotallo's attention falls upon Aloy once more, exhaustion pressing against his mind even as his thoughts remain upon her.

She lets out a huffing breath, her brow creasing in only the slightest, before she nuzzles her head against the pillow, and the tension in her expression fades, leaving only the warmth that hums within Kotallo's chest.

The next catch of his attention is upon Talla's voice—of her own exclamation to be seeing her Auntie B—but Beta's voice quickly soothes her into quieter tones, and Kotallo nestles into his silent comfort once more as movements begin behind him, murmured voices and the shuffle of objects.

Yet still, Kotallo's thoughts linger upon one thing alone, the whole of his body attuned to her even as he wills himself into keeping the distance left between them, even as every breadth of space seems to ache beneath his skin, like some craving that beats against the inside of his ribs, a dull throbbing through his veins.

But now—

It is some rare and impossible gift to watch as Aloy's eyes flutter before they slowly open, the warmth of her gaze unfurled before him once more, such as the sun rising upon dew-slicked leaves, catching the light and scattering into her eyes.

It is a grace from the Ten themselves, to have Aloy waking only a breath away from him, and as her gaze shifts in that moment between waking and sleep, that she might look upon him, and smile.

"Hey…" The word drifts from her, breathy and rasped with sleep, and Aloy's eyes soften as she shifts her weight, moving closer towards him. "Mmm… morning."

A chuckle of amusement hums across his own lips, the faintest sound within his throat, and Kotallo reaches out, his thumb brushing at the loose strands of hair that have fallen to frame around her face. The drift of callused fingertips against freckled skin, the faded marks of blue that follow the curve of her jaw and stretch across her brow.

"Good morning," Kotallo murmurs, and some quiet part of him becomes satisfied in this moment alone. No matter what might befall him now or in the future, he has gained all that he had longed for in those bitter years of distance—that he might know the warmth of Aloy's sleep-drawn eyes, that he might wake beside her even one time more before he died, despite all the knowledge that such a moment could scarcely exist between them ever again.

And yet here she is, only a breath away, her body near to his, and the presence of her is seeping into his bones, as if to have her near is enough to fade the aches and grievances his body has held against him in all of this time.

All that he had dreamed of, and it is somehow here before him now, just within his reach, greenshine eyes holding to his own as his hand comes to rest against her shoulder.

"You look tired," Aloy whispers, and he can feel the weight of her gaze traveling across his features, a softness to her now that aches within his lungs.

"I am well," Kotallo murmurs back, the slightest flex of his fingertips across her skin, the one weakness he will allow himself to show, that for all the wanting within him, he dare not take more than she is willing to give.

He does not tell her that sleep alluded him all through the night, even after his uncertain thoughts had faded to a dull level of consciousness, too caught up in her presence at his side to let himself fall fully into sleep. He does not speak of how in that first moment that she shifted away from him, his heart had felt as if it was tearing, even as he kept his hand still, allowing her to go.

It was enough to simply have her at his side.

It had to be enough.

It has to be enough.

She lifts her head, peering only the slightest past him to where Beta and Talla are still moving across the cabin, and her brow furrows for a moment before she settles against the pillow once more. "Talla found her aunt," Aloy mumbles, pulling the blankets closer around her, her eyes drifting closed only briefly. "We're in for trouble."

Kotallo chuckles, his thumb soothing across her freckled skin. "She is your daughter, after all, Aloy."

Aloy lets out another mumbling sound, and she shifts upon the bed once more, her legs pulling tighter against his own—the one point of contact they had never lost through the night. She looks down to the space between them, before her gaze lifts to Kotallo's, and there is something he would almost call sadness in her eyes, if there were truly any reason for her to look upon him in such a way now.

"You're awful far away, Marshal," she murmurs, one hand moving to brush fingertips across the edge of his elbow, before her touch rises, following to the curve of his shoulder.

"I didn't…" Kotallo trails off, hesitating at the feel of Aloy's hand coming to rest against his chest, and he swallows back the sound of wanting that sticks within his throat. "Didn't want to presume."

A huff of amusement, and Aloy's fingernails scratch against his skin through the fabric of his shirt, and Kotallo closes his eyes against the sensation of her hand moving to coast up his collarbone and settle at the back of his neck. "Kotallo," Aloy says, his name falling shortly from her lips. "I'm the one who invited you into my bed. If anyone is presuming here, it's me."

Her gaze shifts now, something raw and wanting pressing deep within her eyes. "Will you let me presume of you, Kotallo?"

Always.

The word grows thickly within his throat, getting caught behind his lips and bleeding into his eyes even as it remains trapped within him, and the depths of Aloy's gaze threaten to swallow him whole.

She deserves more than his silence, more than his own uncertainties and hesitations.

"Always," Kotallo whispers, the word hardly more than a breath upon his lips, but it has been heard by Aloy all the same—it must have been, for she smiles even as that ache remains within her eyes.

Her hand presses against the back of his neck, guiding him closer, and for all his desperation in the night before that had led to the way in which he had clung to her before, in this moment he is more than satisfied to have Aloy's touch upon him, leading him now.

His nose brushes against her collarbone, the barest edge of it revealed from the sling of her shirt's neckline, and Kotallo hesitates, his fingers twitching against her side.

Aloy makes a low sound in the back of her throat, a gently prodding noise, and that is all the encouragement that Kotallo needs before he nestles fully against her chest, his own wanting noise drawn out from the weight of Aloy's chin coming to rest upon his head, her leg slinging over his hips and pressing into the line of his back, urging him ever closer.

Kotallo's own hand raises, moving from her waist to instead curve up across her back, his hand digging briefly against the space between her shoulder blades, before he sinks against her with a shallow sigh, a sudden wave of contentment washing over him.

A moment—one full breath, in which Kotallo can feel her lungs expand, can feel her body moving against his own, before her hands move to now tangle into his hair, carefully undoing the band it is tied with and working her fingers through the strands.

And her voice—

In the moment that she speaks, it takes everything within Kotallo not to groan from the sheer sensation of it, the vibration of each word echoing straight from her chest into the stuttering beating of his heart.

"Hard night?" She hums, and Kotallo can feel the once familiar movements of her fingers picking through his braids, before settling into weaving them into one thick braid, the shift of beads clicking against one another.

Kotallo lifts his chin, opening the barest amount of space that his voice might still reach her even as his lips brush against her skin. "It… was as best as I could ask for."

It had been some strange duality, for his every desire to be met and yet even still, his mind would leave him restless through the night, unable to slip fully into sleep.

But the lack of sleep meant a lack of dreams, and to be able to remain waking and simply hold to Aloy before him… was of far better comfort than any dream could provide.

"I have had far worse nights," Kotallo finally mumbles, settling against her once more.

Aloy makes that humming noise in the back of her throat, the one that shakes fully through Kotallo, deep into that stretch of wanting that he cannot fully tame, and the sound is paired with the scrape of Aloy's nails across his scalp, drawing out a sound he can no longer contain as the delicious warmth of her touch catches beneath his skin.

Kotallo shudders, pressing deeper against the softness of her chest even as shame burns across the tips of his ears—that he had made such wanting known even as he knows it is more than he deserves to ask—

Yet Aloy only makes that humming sound again, that scraping sensation making him shiver as she gathers up his hair fully into one hand, holding it in place as she begins to tie it back once more.

"If your nights must be so unkind," she murmurs, smoothing his hair back, and Kotallo looks up to find nothing but warmth spilling from her gaze. "Then I will make the mornings all the lighter for you, Kotallo."

What else is he to do? What else is he to say? What other possible answer could he have, when for the first time in all these years, there is such a belonging within him, to be held and cared for—

"I love you."

Aloy pulls away, and her sudden absence tears within him, yet Kotallo can do nothing but look up towards her, heart held within his throat, his chest bleeding out from the space that she alone has ever truly filled.

And there, shining in her gaze, it must be sorrow. It must be grief that gathers in the corners of her eyes as she looks down upon him.

It cannot be any other thing as Aloy holds him—so gently, her touch so light even as her words shake, even as he can hear the unshed tears knotting themselves through her voice.

"But why?"

Such small words—so faint, barely a breath upon her lips, yet the sound of them strikes within Kotallo all the same, the cold sink of steel between his ribs.

His lips part, but there are no words else left to say, when all he can see is those tears building in Aloy's eyes, the echo of her words scattering through his mind.

But why?

Why wouldn't he?

How could he not love her, even through every pain that has been placed between them?

He has loved her in every moment, through every breath, since that fateful day that she somehow set the past of his life toppling to the ground, even as she so determinedly pulled him from the rubble—that he might find his own standing, and then turn to see her breathless smile—

It is just as much inevitability as it is choice, to love her despite it all.

And now, that she might ask him why?

"Aloy—"

"Yeah, it looks like they're awake. Go ahead."

The moment shifts, all of his thoughts suddenly falling short at the rising voice, and both of them look back towards Beta—

And the rapidly approaching form of Talla, who promptly climbs onto the bed, shuffles over Kotallo, and drapes herself across Aloy's side, who has to free up one arm in order to keep her steady.

"Hi Mama!" Talla chirps, nestling closer against Aloy, propping her chin up to stare at her mother with those soft brown eyes, and the sight of this moment pulls through Kotallo's chest. "Auntie B is here! Did you see Auntie B?"

Aloy smiles, a fondness in her eyes that fades when they flick to meet Kotallo's gaze, but then she is looking towards Talla again, stroking their daughter's hair back from her face. "I did, Scrapper. I'm the one who let her in last night."

Talla makes a humming sound of consideration, before her attention finally wanders towards Kotallo, and she offers him that smile of hers as well, her hand reaching out in greeting. "Hi Kotallo. Did you see Auntie B?"

The ache within him only builds, but Kotallo brushes his fingers across Talla's hand, before shifting back on the bed, putting space between him and Aloy once more. "I did. I believe she was more than a little surprised to see me."

Talla slots easily into the opening between them, pulling down Aloy's arm to wrap around her as she nestles into the blankets. "Auntie B said I had to wait for you to wake up to come over, but I think that's silly," she mumbles, her eyes drifting closed. "Cause you always let me come get in bed if I wake up first."

Aloy's expressions tightens, and she cranes her head down to press her lips to Talla's hair, her words soft as they fall from her. "Maybe your aunt just wanted to spend time with you, hmm, love?"

Talla rubs her head back against Aloy's chest, and Kotallo releases a slow breath, readying himself to slip from the bed and leave the two of them alone.

For all that Talla may be his daughter…

All she knows or has want for is the care of her mother, and he is not meant to intrude, especially as the weight of his words before hangs even still between himself and Aloy, the sadness in her eyes seared deeply into his mind as she asked—

Aloy wraps her arm around Talla's body, using her legs already draped across his side to leverage herself backwards, pressing towards the wall even as her foot digs against his leg, keeping them connected. "Come on, Tallo," she murmurs, her gaze fully soft as she looks upon him now. "You're about to fall off the bed. There's room enough for three."

And there, in this space between them, the one word often spoken and yet now left unsaid.

Stay.

Too much said. Too much unsaid. All of it, flickering through his mind like shadows cast from flames dancing in the night.

Talla's eyes flick open, and under the weight of his daughter's gaze, Kotallo relents.

"Just for a while," he murmurs, moving closer to them, and when his hand hesitates in the space left between them, Aloy releases Talla long enough to shift his hand to rest upon her hip once more.

Talla's head leans forward, coming to rest against his chest, and the weight of her presence feels like living again.

Kotallo looks over their daughter's head, finding Aloy's gaze and holding it tight, the faint of smoke beginning to curl through the back of his lungs, pressure building against his ribs, tension knotting tight along his spine.

"We have to talk, Aloy."

Her expression tightens, her lips pressing flat, and that uncertainty in her eyes is back. "I know," she whispers.

His hand flexes across her skin, and her lips part in a breathless sigh.

"I meant what I said."

Her hand, still settled against his own.

"So did I, Kotallo. But for now…"

Her gaze drops back down to Talla nestled between them, and Kotallo releases a breath, letting all other thoughts spill from his mind.

"For now," he agrees, his head tilting forward, and that warmth sparks slowly within him as Aloy's forehead comes to rest against his own.

For now—he has their daughter, self and held between them.

For now—he has Aloy, and even should she never love him again…

He has finally left those words unspoken no longer.

I love you.

Even if this love is his and his alone, it has been said.

For now—it must be enough.

-

I love you.

Aloy holds the shape of the words carefully within her, as if releasing them from her thoughts for even a heartbeat might mean that they never truly existed at all.

I love you.

Talla curls between them, nestled against Kotallo's chest, the soft look of sleep upon her face matched just as steadily to the calm brushed across Kotallo's own features as well.

I love you.

His hand is still upon her waist, just as she placed it in that moment, with panic lacing through her heart all at once that she might lose him once more.

I love you.

He shouldn't.

He shouldn't.

All that she has done—

All that she has taken from him, all that she has asked, all that he laid so steadily and assuredly within her own hands, and yet all she had ever done was find him hurting in return.

Why?

Her heart echoes the thought with each beat as Aloy looks upon him now, at the faintest crease building between his brow, at the way he holds to her even now.

All that he has always been so willing to give, before he ever thought whether it must be asked.

Aloy sighs, pressing into the pillow beneath her head, crushing away the faint spotting of tears that burn into the corners of her eyes.

Why?

Everything seems strangely far away, as if the world is moving around her, but she is not truly in it. The sound of Beta's voice, the shape of Kotallo's reply, and Aloy finds herself no longer laying in bed, but back at the table once more, Kotallo at her side.

Talla has nudged her own chair over so that she might lean against her aunt while she eats.

Food is placed in front of her—mechanically, Aloy eats.

He had wanted to hate her. He had said so himself—and maybe it would be easier if he did hate her. If all that was left between them was broken edges, at least then she would expect for every word to hurt like it does now, for every moment to become laced with distance and sorrow in their eyes.

But to hear that he might love her still—

Why?

What has she ever done to earn his love?

What has she given in any way to make up for all of the ways that Kotallo has shown his love upon her?

What could she possibly hope to give him now, when he already has so much without her?

He may have wanted her before—but that was then. Before. Before they knew every exact mistake she had left between them.

Before she had broken them beyond repair.

A brush of movement against her leg, before a weight, steady and warm and pressing against her, and Aloy's attention snaps upwards to Kotallo, who only looks back with a silent question in his eyes.

How can she even begin to say everything caught within her mind, when she is so uncertain even unto herself?

The faintest of a smile pressed to the corners of her eyes. Wordless reassurance, her leg pressing back against his own, and Aloy shrugs, quietly dismissing his concern. He will see the answer regardless, but she cannot speak it now. Not yet—when everything feels like sand within her mind, shifting and loose and impossible to grasp.

Kotallo's gaze darkens, only the slightest, yet even such a faint disappointment in his eyes claws its way up her throat, knotting itself through her lungs like thorns and ivy pulling tight, an ache within her chest.

Just another way she has hurt him. Just another thing she has done to hurt them both.

"Mama?"

Aloy's attention cuts away from Kotallo and snaps towards Talla, who stares back at her with those honey-brown eyes, a smear of jam across her cheek as she finishes chewing a bite of toast.

"Yes, love?" The words shake in her throat, and Aloy curls her fingers across the table, waiting for her suddenly racing pulse to soothe itself down once more.

Talla takes a sip of water—apparently in no rush to finish her question, before her gaze lifts again to drift across the table, and there's such innocent curiosity in her eyes as she speaks.

"Why was Kotallo in your bed?"

Beta chokes on her tea.

Aloy and the others around the table send her alarmed looks, but Beta waves them all away with a series of coughs, before finally gathering her voice enough to croak out, "I'm fine. Answer the kid."

Aloy looks away from her, and back towards Talla, and there's a burning scrawling up the back of her neck and settling flush along her cheeks that she knows she cannot hide—that she never really could ever in her life. And worse—Kotallo's gaze, careful in his consideration of her, waiting for her answer, yet the weight of it presses against her all the same.

"Well," Aloy sighs, swallowing back her hesitation and settling all of her focus upon Talla—nothing else matters, just as she and Kotallo had agreed the night before. "You said earlier that I let you come to bed with me if you wake up first, right? Why do you like to do that?"

Talla shrugs, picking up a slice of fruit. "It's warm. And comfortable. And—" she pauses, considering. "And I love you and you're safe."

The words ricochet in Aloy's mind, a repetition of her voice and Kotallo's own, of countless nights held close, of breathless murmurs before a battle, of desperation laced through her voice and sobbing pleas spilling from her throat.

I love you.

And Kotallo's eyes, soft and warm looking upon her with such gentleness as she woke, of the weight of him cradled against her, of all that she had lost in all these years suddenly within her grasp, and his words so clear and yet they had sunk through her chest like an arrow cutting through her ribs.

I love you.

Aloy looks down, gathering the words, holding them gently within her as if they are loose and shifting handfuls of sand, as if they might fall from her if she holds them too tightly.

"Well…" Her voice trails, and she cannot help but to look towards Kotallo in this moment, and it is the largest admission she can give in this moment, when all other words have grown hard like fire gleam inside her lungs, cutting upon each breath. "I feel the same about Kotallo."

His gaze holds to hers, and it is every unspoken word that she can only hope he might see within her eyes as he blinks, slow and solemn.

"He makes me feel safe," Aloy finds herself saying, even as if the words feel muffled and blurred to her own ears. "And warm. And—"

Loved.

Aloy looks back towards Talla, pushing a few loose strands of her hair away from her face. "And I offered, and he accepted, and we both needed the sleep. So we slept."

"I was wondering," Beta hums, the words muttered under her breath, but the glance she cuts up towards Aloy is intentional and sharp.

The quick glance Beta gives towards Kotallo is just as pointed and questioning, and he grumbles out a rough sound at Aloy's side, one that has her instinctively pressing her leg closer against his, the action falling from her far faster than her rational mind that tries to protest it.

His only response is a quick pressure in return, before his hand drifts away from her back—a presence she had almost forgotten until now in his absence, it feels as if the air is made of ice and steel from where her skin aches from the lack of his touch.

The sound of Beta's clearing throat cuts through the silence set between them, and Aloy flinches back into herself, her gaze dropping down to the table as she ignores the burning at the edges of her ears.

Beta sighs, but her voice is light as she speaks. "I was able to check on her this morning, and Talla seems to be feeling a lot better now." A pause, the sound of a mug being set down. "But Aloy, she's not the only one who had whatever this was." A solemness drops into her tone. "I'm thinking you and I could head into All-Mother mountain together, and I might be able to get the synthesizer to make something to help?"

Aloy lets out a breath, her fingers curling across the table as her gaze drifts to Talla, who has turned back to eating her toast even as Kotallo passes another few slices of fruit onto her plate. The sight of it alone sends the vines from before twisting around her lungs, choking out the air that remains within them.

Beta shrugs, an almost absentminded motion as she picks up her own fruit. "And Kotallo can hang out with his—" the words cut off sharply, and all at once she seems to freeze, her gaze carefully traveling between Aloy and Kotallo both across the table, down to Talla at her side, and for a moment, something in a mix between understand and admonition falls into her eyes all at once as she looks back towards Aloy. "I'm sure Kotallo and Talla would enjoy having time together."

"I'm not taking any more naps," Talla huffs, punctuating her statement with a particularly noisy crunch of toast. A smile plays across Aloy's lips as she watches her. "Naps are boring," the girl continues after she has finished chewing, her words insistently delivered. "I wanna go out for a ride on Marshal!"

Kotallo shifts at her side, and Aloy can feel his question long before it ever falls upon his lips, the weight of it pressing against her shoulder blades and digging under her skin. "Marshal?"

"Her—"

"My scrapper!"

The sheer mention of the machine has seemed to cheered Talla up, with all thoughts of distasteful things like naps left far behind her as she leans on the table to speak to Kotallo. "He's all mine and Mama painted him blue and yellow and made me a saddle so I can ride him but—but I still think she needs to make him a cape because you said before that cold can hurt machines sometimes and I don't want him to be hurt cause I love him."

She pauses to take a breath—and it is long enough for Kotallo's voice to slip through the space that remains. "Your scrapper," he echoes, and there's a shifting weight to his words that catches in Aloy's lungs as she can feel his gaze turning upon her. "Named Marshal?"

Talla nods enthusiastically, picking her toast back up. "Mama named him. She fixed him up and painted him and I got to help!"

"Marshal," Kotallo murmurs again, and Aloy huffs out a sharp breath, brushing her hair away from her far too flushed face, desperate for anything to fight against the heat building up beneath her skin.

"I had to replace his entire leg by the end of it," Aloy mutters, looking away from him. There's no possible way she could hold his gaze now, not in this moment when he could be looking at her with any number of possible emotions shining in his eyes. And what would she even do if he looked at her and saw—

"Felt like the right thing to do." Aloy drops her braid to thump against her back once more, before reaching out to pick up another slice of fruit. "Naming him that."

His hand brushes against her back again, and it's like having a sparker taken to her, a tingling sensation snapping beneath her skin and rippling through her whole body, and Aloy swallows down an aching sound at the sheer want that hums within her veins.

Then there is Kotallo's voice, smooth and low and tipping through her like sunlight cut through honey, and all of her thoughts fade away as he speaks.

"I am more than honored, Aloy."

A shuddering breath pulls itself through her, and her fingers curl against the table as Aloy closes her eyes.

I love you.

I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I—

Aloy pushes back from the table abruptly, picking up her still half-full plate and pushing her chair back in. "I should start getting ready, Beta. The Nora always make a big deal out of it when I go into All-Mother mountain." A pausing step, another breath. "And we should get this over with sooner than later."

She doesn't look back towards Kotallo.

She can't.

If she does, she has no clue what she might do next.

She cant trust herself.

Maybe she never could.

Maybe neither of them ever should have trusted her to make the right choice in any of the times before this one.

Maybe they shouldn't trust her even now.

"I just need a minute."

She turns towards the back door, pulse pounding in her ears, heartbeat thick within her throat, crowding in her lungs, and the hear beneath her skin is all too much all at once.

Another chair, scraping backward.

"Aloy—"

"Kotallo, let her go."

"No, Beta, she—"

Aloy slams the door shut behind her, a shuddering breath catching in her lungs and spilling out like fog into the frostbitten air.

She stands there, waiting, staring out at the gathering clouds at the western horizon, at the cabins and buildings spilling out to the distant edges of the settlement, at the promise of snow hanging in the air.

"What are you doing?" Aloy whispers, stepping down the few stairs to sit upon the ground, leaning back against the cabin and tipping her head back to stare at the sky. "What are you doing, Aloy? You know better."

Everything has changed. Nothing has changed at all. They're still the same people they were all of those years ago, and yet she can hardly recognize herself.

She's made every wrong choice along the way.

She knows exactly why each choice was made, and the reasons ring through her even now.

He loves her.

"What are you doing?" Aloy whispers again, burying her face into her hands, the hot leak of tears against her skin, the blinding headache pressing against her skull.

Her body shudders, but she can scarcely feel the cold.

The door creaks as it opens—she keeps forgetting to apply oil to the hinges—but the sound of it is enough to send Aloy flinching and defensive, a bite falling within her voice that only serves to spark guilt low in her stomach, yet she holds to it all the same. "Kotallo, I told you I need a minute to—"

She stops, finding Talla staring back at her.

"T-Talla, hey—" Aloy's voice gentles immediately, but it is too late for the guilt that claws deeper into her as her daughter walks towards her. "It's cold out here, Scrapper. Are you—oh, ok."

Talla pushes her way into Aloy's lap, and she is helpless to do anything but hold her child—their child—closer, wrapping her arms tight to shelter her from the winter chilled air as Talla nestles into a comfortable position.

Aloy lets out a heavy breath, but finally the two of them fall into stillness, and Aloy begins stroking her fingers through Talla's hair instead, letting her gaze wander again, falling upon the shapes of the different machines all huddled together, steam lifting from their metal sides.

"Are you upset with Kotallo?"

Talla's voice is far too small, far too shaken, far too uncertain, and the sound of it catches within Aloy. She can do nothing but release a breath, holding Talla close as she gathers up the words within her own chest.

"Not… not with Kotallo, no."

Talla hums, the smallest consideration, before her words ring free once more. "I like Kotallo."

Aloy sighs out a breath, even as a tired smile settles upon her lips, and she strokes through Talla's hair again. "I like him too, Scrapper."

The silence feels far too loud and far too quiet all at once, yet all Aloy can do is simply sit there, holding their daughter and the weight of all of her mistakes upon her shoulders, the knowledge of all that they have lost placed within her own aching hands.

"I don't want him to go away," Talla mumbles, tucking closer against Aloy's chest. "I don't want to get better if he leaves."

"Oh—" the word breaks in Aloy's chest, and she pulls Talla back enough to see her face, brushing her hair back to see her eyes. "Oh, Talla, love. He's not… he doesn't want to leave us either. He promised he'll stay."

"Promise?" Talla whispers, and there are tears shining in the corners of her eyes.

"Promise," Aloy whispers back. "Kotallo promised. And he—he keeps his promises." A sad smile pulls across her lips, and she brushes away Talla's tears before they have a chance to fall. "He loves you too, you know. So much. And he just… we both want you to be happy."

Talla's brow furrows, even as she presses into her mother's hands. "You're not happy," she mumbles, holding Aloy's gaze.

"I—" the words catch inside Aloy's throat, and she sighs, stroking her thumbs along Talla's cheeks. "I'm a lot of things, love." A faint smile, more crumpled and worn than before. "Tired, mostly. But that'll get better, Scrapper. Promise."

"Are you upset with me?"

The air in her lungs solidifies into ice, only to shatter at the sound of pure uncertainty within Talla's words, and Aloy gasps out a breathless sound, pulling her daughter close. "Oh, Talla no. No, I—why would you—"

"You said—you said you're not upset with K'tallo." The words are muffled against Aloy's chest, and Talla's hands curl up, gathering fistfulls of her shirt. "But you're still upset."

Aloy sighs, cupping her hand at the back of Talla's head, holding her close as she watches the clouds looming upon the horizon. "I'm not upset with you." The words drift slowly from her, the taste of smoke on the wind. "Or Kotallo. Or… or anyone other than me. I'm upset with myself, Scrapper."

After all these sleepless nights and choking hours, one might think Aloy would have no tears left within her, yet the prick of them burn against her eyes regardless, a headache that never seems to leave. "I've made a lot of mistakes over the years. And this is one that I don't know if I can come back from."

She can feel Talla's hesitation, can feel it in the faltering of her breath warm against Aloy's chest, and she tucks closer against her mother, sinking into the arms wrapped around her.

"But I have you," Aloy murmurs, bowing her head to press her lips against Talla's crown. "And no matter what, Talla, I'll do whatever it takes to take care of you. I just—"

She breaks off, burying her face into Talla's hair, silencing the doubts within her mind.

Kotallo said it himself. Talla is all that really matters in this moment. And she's not—she won't—mess this up for her daughter again.

Their daughter.

"Do you still love Kotallo, Mama?"

She always has. She always will. Perhaps she has always loved him in even some small way as long as she has ever known him—since that moment of standing before the Bulwark and simply knowing—they were both the same, in so many ways.

Even as he deserves so much more than she can ever give to him, even with every fault and flaw glaring and marked upon her trembling hands…

She loves him.

"I do, Talla," Aloy breathes, stroking her hand across Talla's hair once more. "I don't think I could ever not love him."

But after all that she has done…

His love in return is more than she has ever deserved.

Chapter Text

Aloy opens the door to the cabin, ushering in Talla in front of her, but as soon as she looks upwards she stops dead in her tracks.

Beta turns around, pausing from where she had been lacing up the sides of a leather over layer, and something in her expression shifts as she looks at Aloy. "Oh—you're back in. Feeling better?"

"You're wearing my clothes," Aloy says flatly. Maybe it's because it is the only thing she really knows to say with her sister staring her down like an echo in the dark. Maybe it's because the other part of her that actually heard Beta's words has no clue how to answer them—if "feeling better" is ever going to be an option for her again.

But maybe anything would be better than the way she's feeling right now.

Her gaze drifts, and the rest of her thoughts slowly catch up as she steps fully into the cabin, pushing the door closed behind her, and there's a sudden and severe sense of lacking digging into her chest, something that shoves itself down into her lungs and refuses to let go.

"Where's Kotallo?"

"Hi Talla—He stepped outside." Beta looks up from where Talla has attached herself to her aunt's legs, stroking her hair. "Which is fine, because it gave me a moment to change."

"You're in my clothes," Aloy echoes again, and this time, she cannot tell if there is annoyance, or something else drifting into her voice. She crosses the cabin, taking out another set of her leathers and placing them on her bed.

"Yeah," Beta says, her voice going faint in her distraction as she turns her attention back towards lacing up the side ties of the leather layer. "Doesn't fit me as well as your old ones used to, but I couldn't find any of your smaller ones."

"I popped out a kid," Aloy huffs, putting one hand out expectantly, waiting for Beta to walk over. And she does, her sister drawing closer—though with Talla still tangled up around her legs it is more of an ungainly shuffle. "I got most of it altered to fit better, or got rid of it if none of the stitchers here could handle it."

"Most of them," Beta echoes, and there's a challenge to the words. Only the smallest one, yet it is still there all the same.

"Most of them." Aloy pulls the laces tight with a sharp jerk, and Beta huffs out a breath, tossing an elbow towards Aloy's chest, who simply backs away from the attack.

Neither one of them say what they are both thinking—of the chest usually shoved under her bed, though she can see the corner of it peeking out, shifted from its usual position. Because Beta had gone through it, and Aloy knows exactly what she found.

She hasn't looked in that chest in years, though. Maybe somewhere along the way she stopped believing she would ever have another reason for any of the gear that was tucked away inside of it.

Like the two sets of sky clan armor that used to make the edges of Kotallo's ears pink whenever she wore them around the base. Or the specialty bows and arrows that had been packed away—no longer needed when she was no longer needed—not to save the world, not for anything.

Or the Scorcher heart that she had almost left behind—she almost did, had made it nearly an hour away from the base before she turned back for it. She can't even remember what excuse she had given Zo in that moment—just that the other woman had pretended not to notice that one of the packs hanging around her hips was noticeably filled when it hadn't been before.

And now it stays hidden in the chest, tucked away but never forgotten, wrapped up in the Marshal armor she and Kotallo had spent years upgrading together.

The last time she ever wore it was Nemesis.

She's fairly certain that some of it is still stained from his blood.

Aloy didn't bring everything Tenakth with her here to the east—only the things she couldn't bear to live without.

Only the things she can't bear to look at anymore.

Only those last reminders of who she used to be.

And everything else was either left behind, or changed to fit whatever new person she had ended up becoming along the way.

She's still not even sure if she's even changed at all, when all of the worst parts of her are staring back, unflinching and unwaveringly the same.

"Still there?"

Aloy flinches at the sound of Beta's voice, then drags her attention away from the chest back towards the laces still caught in her hands.

"Yeah," Aloy croaks, tying them off. "Turn."

She doesn't look up towards Beta, though she can feel her sister's gaze falling heavy upon her shoulders. Just lets her fingertips skim around Beta's back as she moves, before falling into the motions of pulling the different laces on the other side closer together, finishing off with a tug that makes Beta huff out another breath.

"So…" Aloy steadies a breath, tucking the laces back into the leather armor and stepping away from Beta. "Why exactly are you stealing my clothes?"

"Borrowing," Beta corrects. "And I'm borrowing your armor because you were right, earlier. The Nora always do make a big deal out of either of us going into the mountain. So I figure if we do it, we could at least do it right."

"Sure," Aloy mumbles, her voice dull as it falls from her. "We'll do it right."

Beta rolls out her shoulders as she steps away from Aloy, letting out a soft groan. "Anyways. You should go ahead and get dressed."

Aloy resists the urge to snap something back at her sister—it's tempting, it really is, but she's just so tired…

Tired of the fighting. Tired of it all.

But when she lifts her head again, Beta has stopped halfway to the door and is giving her a strange look, her head tilted as she studies her, and Aloy cannot hold her gaze for long.

"I'm sending Kotallo back in here," Beta says, her voice pinched.

Aloy turns away. "I thought you just told me to get changed," she mutters, picking up the pile of armor she had been halfway through unfolding, her gaze pinned resolutely on the clothing.

"Do you not want Kotallo in here?" Beta asks, and there's a weight in her voice that Aloy cannot name, yet it settles across her shoulders all the same.

She almost sounds… sad.

"I didn't say that," Aloy murmurs, pulling off her shirt, still looking away. "Do whatever you want, Beta."

The blue long sleeved tunic before her is pulled quickly over her head, and Aloy tugs at the edge of it as she hears the sound of the door closing behind her, and everything within her mind is nothing but buzzing silence as she takes up the next few leather pieces of her armor.

And then she hears the footsteps, low and quiet, but unmistakable.

A shudder runs through her body as Kotallo comes to a stop behind her, and Aloy swallows thickly through the knot of uncertain emotions welling in her throat as she waits.

He's the one waiting on her, though.

He already knows exactly what he wants—or at least, it seems that way, as those three little words from before are echoing through her head.

What does she really want?

And why isn't she taking it?

She doesn't turn towards him. She can't. Not if he has that same look in his eyes as he did this morning, with all that softness and warmth and love that is everything she's ever wanted in all of these years, and yet now—

She shouldn't. She shouldn't. Because she'll hurt him again. Because that's all she's ever done, is hurt people. Because all she can think about is that pain in his eyes when he knew that Talla was his daughter, and it was her fault—

Her fault, that he had never known his child.

He says he loves her.

It may be the biggest mistake he's ever made.

Her fingers feel numb as she tugs on layer after layer, leather and fur and pouches set about her hips. Through it all, Kotallo stands behind her, his presence undeniable, silent in his persistence.

Then a weight falls upon her shoulders, and Aloy nearly flinches from her own drawn out nerves, but the feel of it is familiar, her fur cape that Talla so frequently steals from her when they go out together.

She cannot help her gaze dipping down to watch as Kotallo's hand finds the fastens and affix them to her armor.

"It's cold outside," he murmurs, and there is something so gentle about the words. Something so forgiving, even as Aloy knows she deserves no such forgiveness.

"It is," Aloy croaks, and this time she cannot help the shiver that draws through her from the sensation of Kotallo's hand moving across her shoulders to fix the other side of the cape.

His touch feels as if an apology, even though of the two of them, it should be her own lips that every apology is poured out of. Even though it is just her own body, her own heart that is so desperate to turn to him and take—to take whatever he might be willing to give. To take what she lost the right to long ago, to take what she had broken and hold it in trembling hands, to take all that has fallen between them and see if there might be any chance—

I love you.

But he shouldn't.

Kotallo's hand moves her braid, sweeping it away from her back and settling it gently over her shoulder, before his touch comes to rest against her arm, fingers curling around her, a firm presence, a grounding force.

The words swell within Aloy's throat, undeniable and growing all at once.

"I'm sorry—"

Her voice cuts short at the press of Kotallo's lips—warm—to the back of her neck, and all other thoughts fall abruptly from her mind.

His lips, caressing her skin, the faintest brush across the ridges of her spine, and Aloy swallows back what almost becomes a sob at the sheer sensation of his touch, her whole body lit from within.

"Stay safe," are his only words, yet they resonate within her like a blast of plasma, rippling through every nerve and catching in her lungs, set like fire in her veins.

A brush of his thumb across her arm, and then he lets her go.

Aloy turns to face him, heart within her throat and tears burning in her eyes, body trembling as she looks to him and finds—

There is a solemness in his eyes as he brushes away her tears, the callouses on his thumb achingly gentle as they trace her skin, and it takes everything within her to not collapse at his touch, to keep her head high and holding to his gaze.

"We have to talk," she whispers, her hand coming up to hold at his arm, to hold herself steady when it feels as if the world is fading away around her.

"We will." His hand comes to rest against her cheek, and Aloy cannot help it, the way she sinks immediately into his touch. "When you get back."

His eyes search her own, and there is something sorrowful within them now. Something resigned.

"Gather your thoughts, Aloy. Know within yourself what it is you truly want." The brush of his thumb, back across her cheek. "I will do the same."

Her breathing catches within her lungs as he tips her head back—

And places his lips to her skin.

The touch is brief. The faintest kiss left at brow, yet Aloy's heart falls silent within her chest, as if it has forgotten how to beat.

"Stay safe," he murmurs again, his hand dropping to check the fastens on her fur cape, and now, his eyes do not meet her own. "I'll be right here, waiting for you to get back."

Aloy nods numbly, the whole of her thoughts caught and sparking upon the ghost of his touch upon her, yet she finds herself stepping away.

Dimly, something within her remarks of how little she needs the cape upon her back, when the memory of his lips upon her skin once more will be enough to warm her until her final day.

It is all that she can do to not turn and ask for more.

It is all that she can do to walk forward—and leave Kotallo behind her, standing alone.

It is all that she…

Has always done before.

-

His fingertips burn with the memory of her skin.

It was a foolish action, a desperation that he could stave no longer, to simply hold her, to know her in one such small way. A weakness that he should not have shown, but his heart was more stubborn than his mind, and all his thoughts had remained caught upon that stretch of skin across the base of her neck, and how everything within him had ached at the sight of it.

He had not been able to stop himself with any more success than a single man might hold back the whole of the ocean on his own.

It was inevitable.

It was breathing.

She was—is—the breath within his lungs.

And she is walking away, and Kotallo is left with the memory of her seared beneath his skin, burned into his mind, etched upon his bones.

It is all that it takes within him not to call her back, not to sweep her up and hold her close, to hold to her until their hearts beat in tandem, that he might rest forever in the sound of it alone.

It is all that it takes within him, and the vow that he had made to himself as he had stood outside before, the thin grey light of winter falling around him as his thoughts had caught upon the sheer depth of emotion that had been held in her eyes sitting at that table.

There had been love in her eyes, hadn't there?

In that one moment alone, surely she had remembered even the slightest breadth of love that had been held between them before, once?

Surely his heart was not alone in its breaking for every second that was spent parted from her side?

But there had been something stronger in her voice as she had walked away. Something that sticks within Kotallo's chest at the sheer recollection of it, something that settles oil slick down his throat.

Something he knows he cannot fix, when the fear is locked tight within her own chest.

If only it were such a simple thing.

If only he might crack through every tear-stained night that had ever existed between them, that he might hold all her sorrows and uncertainties until they seeped into his very bones, so only that she would not feel their burden ever again, to never again suffer from such pain as was held within her voice in that moment alone.

The door opens. Talla slips back inside, her hair ruffled by her aunt's touch, cheeks ruddy from the cold outside.

Aloy pauses in her movements, as if she hadn't even processed their daughter leaving the cabin, before Talla is suddenly wrapped in Aloy's arms, and the bow to her head makes her appear more burdened than he has ever seen her before, more than all those years when she carried the weight of the world itself upon her shoulders.

There is something broken in the way she holds their daughter, something that disquiets in his own heart as he watches her brush soft kisses upon Talla's brow.

"You be good for Kotallo, ok Talla?" Aloy sweeps Talla's hair back, a touch he so often sees her fall into, yet there is a trembling to her hands as she seeks to hold their daughter's gaze. "Auntie B and I will be back soon. I know you don't want naps, but try to rest, ok? The sooner you feel better, the sooner we can do all the fun things again."

Talla nods, and there is a fleeting hesitation in Aloy's eyes before she sweeps another kiss across her hair. "Love you," she murmurs, standing once more and smoothing Talla's hair from where it had been ruffled by Beta's hand.

"Bye Mama." Talla waves, a small and simple thing that still pulls within Kotallo's chest as they both watch as Aloy steps through the door.

The clunk of a turning lock.

Talla turns back around, and there is a light that catches in her eyes as her gaze falls upon Kotallo, and she quickly moves towards his side.

Dropping into a crouch and letting her fold herself around his side feels as if the most natural thing in the world, and rising again with her body nestled against him and her head resting on his shoulder serves to break away some of the dull ache that had been lingering within his chest.

"What now?" Talla asks, one hand snaking up to trail her fingers lightly over his hair—a braid that he had halfway forgotten Aloy had set his hair into when she had nestled him close to his chest and promised—

I will make the mornings all the lighter for you, Kotallo.

He would give anything in the world to have such a thing, to spend each morning with her once more, waking and rising in her arms alone. To have Talla nestled between them, and Aloy's touch warm against his skin.

He would give every breath in his lungs to secure such an impossible dream of peace.

But the decisions is no longer his own to make.

It lays within Aloy's own hands now—just as his heart always has—since the moment that he spoke this morning.

I love you.

He does. With every breath. With every thought.

With every glance at their daughter, whose eyes holding something hopeful, the same endless brown as his own.

Kotallo bows his head to press his lips against her hair, and Talla leans into his touch, tucking herself closer against him.

"We'll clean up some, first," he murmurs, lifting his head towards the remnants of breakfast left upon the table. "And then afterwards, perhaps you can introduce me to that Marshal of yours?"

Talla nods, her hand patting against his chest, and to simply be here and hold his daughter close—it is all the contentment that he can ask of in this moment.

-

"Ok, out with it."

Aloy lifts her head at the sound of Beta's voice, and the artificial lights inside the Cradle grit at her eyes as she finds her sister staring at her, arms folded.

"Out with what." The words drag flatly from her throat, scratching and tasting of ash.

"You. It. Just—" Beta gestures at her, and there's frustration bleeding through her voice. "You didn't say a word on the way here, and barely said anything when the High Matriarchs let us in. So out with it. What's up in your head right now?"

Aloy sighs, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. "Beta…"

"Don't "Beta" me," Beta huffs. There's the sound of something scraping across the floor, before something nudges against Aloy's leg. "The synthesizer is set and working. We've got an hour to wait and nothing else to do."

A hand upon her knee.

"Talk to me, Aloy."

There's a headache pounding behind her eyes, set in time to each beat of her heart, and Aloy smooths a long breath out through her lungs as she waits for some of the ache to dull itself out.

Two breaths later, and still it lingers, so she hangs her head in defeat instead.

"Kotallo says he loves me."

The words shudder as they crawl from her, and something roils within her stomach at the sound of them, something that whispers she has made a mistake in even saying them.

"Tch." Beta's knee knocks against her own, yet still Aloy doesn't look up to her. "I could have told you that."

"Beta." Her hands are shaking now—not that they haven't stopped since the moment she stepped outside of her cabin this morning.

"Sorry," Beta murmurs, and there is that gentle weight back against her leg. Aloy closes her eyes again. "But this is a good thing, isn't it? I mean, if you still love him—"

"Of course I love him."

A sob catches in her throat, another stupid weakness, another crack in the wall, and Aloy wraps her arms around herself, struggling to hold the crush of emotions within her together.

She would have better luck trying to fix the Bulwark than whatever broken parts are left of her.

"Then it's perfect!" Beta continues, her voice insistent, almost sharp in its brightness, like the sting of the sun prickling across Aloy's skin. "Because you love him and he loves you and—I mean, have you seen him with that kid of yours? It's obvious he'd give anything for your daughter, so the three of you just become a family and—"

"He can't."

Beta's voice is stopped by the sharpness in Aloy's own, and all that is left is a silence that falls thickly between them, like the aftermath of an avalanche, and all that is left is the damage.

All she has left is damage.

"He can't love me," Aloy whispers, words hoarsely falling from her lips. "He can't. He shouldn't. Not after what I did. It's—it's my fault, all of it, really, and—"

"Hey." Beta's hands curl around her arms, and Aloy shudders, her eyes pressing closed to avoid her sister's eyes.

And this damn headache won't go away, tears that want to be shed but refuse to fall.

"Aloy, it can't be all your fault—I mean, you were both idiots, sure, but—"

"He's going to get hurt again." Aloy grinds the heels of her palms against her eyes, stars bursting through her vision, and the burning in her veins is crawling up her neck and drumming in her ears, muffling the sound of her own voice. "He gets hurt every time—I always make the wrong choice and Kotallo pays the price."

"But he's willing to try again, isn't he?" Beta asks, her hands placating upon Aloy's skin. "Sure, you didn't tell him about Talla, but is that really enough to—"

"He DIED because of me!"

The admission rips from her all at once, the force of it catching by surprise, but it is a dark and terrible thing and she can deny it no longer. It twists inside of her like it is alive, cracking through her ribs and it is the deepest secret she has always kept, always held tight, now pouring out of her like blood slicked across her hands.

"It's not just Talla. It's not just—not just that I left him. It's everything." Her hands reach up to her hair, and Aloy tugs at the root of her braid, as if the faintest of pain will be enough to settle her against the tide rising now in her stomach—threatening to wash her away as the words fall from her lips.

"It was my fault," she whispers, her gaze going unfocused. "In Nemesis, it was my fault. I—I should have never let him—I made the wrong choice and Kotallo died because of me. And nothing—nothing can fix that."

A choking, rasping breath, and Aloy dimly registers the feel of her own hands settling around her throat. "Nothing can change what I did," Aloy whispers, and there is horror dripping from each word, tears dripping off her cheeks. "All I know how to do is hurt people, Beta. So it's better if he doesn't love me at all."

"Oh, Aloy."

Hands on her shoulders, and suddenly, she is held. Aloy chokes down another breath, fingers digging against her own skin, as the pressure around her pulls tighter.

"Aloy."

Beta's fingers stroke through her hair, and Aloy presses desperately against her sister's chest, body trembling as she struggles to pull herself back together.

"Is that what you really think?"

There is a horror to Beta's words.

Blame, the deepest edges of Aloy's mind whispers. She knows you're right. That it's your fault.

Though the words do not break past her lips, Beta must feel them all the same, for her hand falls upon the back of Aloy's neck, fingers pressing against her spine. "It wasn't your fault."

"Of course it was my fault!" Aloy snaps back. "He was—it was my responsibility, Beta. I should have gone back for him, or I shouldn't have left him. I should have made him listen—"

"You couldn't have made him, though." Beta's voice gentles, and Aloy has heard this voice before. It's the same one she herself used to use on Beta, when she would wake up and forget that she was no longer with the Zeniths. The same pleading tone that would urge her sister to calm down long enough to let her be held.

Something twists in Aloy's stomach at the sound of it, something that aches straight into her bones.

"We all made the same choice to be there," Beta continues. "We all knew the risks, and Kotallo did too. He—he would have held no reservations of that sacrifice, and you know it too. He made his own choice. That's not on you."

"He made it for me," Aloy croaks, and those damn tears are back again—she should have run out long ago. "Because of me. And I just let him. I left him." Goddess, she can't even think anymore beyond the sound of his voice in that one moment, of that lurch of fear that had kicked in her chest and hasn't left since. "And for eight minutes—"

There's smoke in her lungs—it burns in her every breath, stings in her throat, and that taste of blood is back in a way that she can deny no longer.

"For eight minutes and thirty-two seconds." Her nails are digging into her skin, and Aloy leans into the sensation of it all the more. "From the moment that his heart stopped beating until you finally—" The words stick inside of her, and Aloy shudders from the weight of them. "For eight minutes and thirty-two seconds, I thought that I was going to live the rest of my life without him."

Her gaze lifts, and she finds Beta's, struggling to speak through the thorns that prickle now within her throat, as if her very body is rebelling against her now. "For eight minutes and thirty-two seconds, and all I could feel was the weight of his blood on my hands." A rasping breath, and there is exhaustion digging into her now, pressing at her lungs like the weight of a Ravager settled against her spine. "And you may have saved him, Beta, but it didn't take away the blood. It's still there, and some days it's all that I can see."

"Shh." Beta pulls her closer, and Aloy sags into her touch, no longer strong enough to hold herself up, not when it feels like everything within her is hanging on by a thread, and she has no clue when it will snap. "It's ok. It's ok."

The fire in her chest flickers, the roaring flame going out all at one, and Aloy's head falls to rest against Beta's shoulder, her body shuddering as the exhaustion crashes into her all at once.

Beta's hand moves, a soft pressure, one that Aloy cannot help the sound that the touch draws from her, even as she tries to muffle it against her sister's shoulder. It is this sound, and this sound alone, that ever breaks the silence as Beta holds her, waiting until their breathing falls in slow and aching tandem.

There's pain in Beta's voice when she finally speaks again.

"Why did you never tell me?"

A breathless laugh wheezes out across Aloy's lips. "It's not your fault." There is no real humor left within her, but it's all she has left to say. "Someone told me lately that I'm really bad at talking to people."

"You are," Beta huffs, sweeping Aloy's hair away from the neck, and she cannot help the sudden shiver that racks over her from the rush of cold air across her skin. "The worst at it."

Another wheezing laugh, or something that falls suspiciously into a cough. She can't even tell anymore. "The worst," she echoes, but her own words are far less kind than Beta's had ever been.

Another beat of silence.

"You know we don't think that of you, right?" Beta's hands curl at her shoulders, and then she is moving Aloy, pulling her away, and Aloy is far too tired to even think of fighting back—it is all that she can do to hold her sister's gaze. "What happened to Kotallo wasn't you fault."

Aloy blinks—once, twice, and the words seem to echo strangely in her head as she stares back, waiting for her lungs to pull in a breath that does not taste of ash or smoke. "Beta, it's always been—"

"It wasn't your fault," Beta says again, more forcefully this time. Her hands catch Aloy's cheeks, holding her close and silencing her words. "He's ok, Aloy."

"He's not!" Aloy snaps back, even as her voice falls into a choking sob. "He can't—it hurts and he can't sleep anymore and neither can I. Neither of us are ok! I'm not—"

She breaks off, gasping down heaving breaths even as the words stick upon her tongue. "I'm not ok," Aloy whispers, and the admission burns. "He's the one who died, Beta, but I think something in me died when he did too."

"But the rest of you is still here." Her thumbs move across Aloy's cheeks, swiping away her tears. "Doesn't that part of you still deserve to love? To let yourself be loved?"

Maybe it does.

But that memory sticks in her head, hot blood slick against her skin, the stench of it in her throat, the taste of it upon her tongue as she pleads—

The moment that his heart stopped beating, and her world stopped too.

Maybe the part of her that had ever deserved love had been the part that fractured further each time someone else died for her sake.

Maybe the part of her that drips guilt—that sickly, machine oil slick pull in her gut—killed any part of her that dared to survive when she should have been the one to die.

"I love you."

There had been so much trust in his eyes this morning. That damn, foolish trust. He's always trusted her, and she's only ever gotten him hurt in return.

He loved her, and the cost to pay was his own life.

She tried to stay away, but all she did was hurt him more. Stole his daughter from his life when—

He shouldn't love her.

He shouldn't.

"Gather your thoughts, Aloy. Know within yourself what it is you truly want."

It's him.

Despite everything, it's still him.

It's all she's ever wanted for years, to hold him, to be loved.

He's all she wants, to have his touch against her skin, his voice soft against her throat, his heartbeat beneath her hand, to cling to him, whole and hers.

That oil slick in her stomach churns deeper, coating along the inside of her lungs, and Aloy shivers from the sensation of it.

"Maybe," she croaks, though she cannot bring herself to believe the word.

But Beta smiles, and when she brings their heads to rest together Aloy lets out a weary sigh, nestling into her touch.

It is so little to ask of herself to let her sister take comfort in the lie.

-

Kotallo holds Talla up, balanced upon his shoulder as she reaches out to the sunwing before her, and he can hear every bright spark of excitement in her voice as she speaks.

"You have a sunwing just like Mama!"

Kotallo chuckles, craning his head slightly to look up at his daughter as she takes the head of his sunwing into her hands, and Ra settles easily into her touch, letting out a scraping sound. "I do," he answers, shifting his hand in support of her. "Your mother helped me catch him years ago."

A small laugh from Talla, and Kotallo shifts again as Ra butts his head up against the girl, who only leans all the closer to the machine. There is something almost contented in the way the sunwing's lights flicker, that warbling tone from before softening into something gentler.

Her fingers move slowly across the metal plating, stroking at the plasma fin as her own eyes flick closed, resting her weight against the machine. "He's painted like Mama does too," she murmurs, her voice soft.

Something catches within him, and when Talla finally sinks back, Kotallo shifts her easily back down, where she nestles against his chest once more.

"Paints?"

The word comes out almost hesitant, and there is something almost uncertain within him as he waits for Talla's answer.

"Mm-hm." Talla nods her head, pointing towards the other machines, where Aloy's own Sunwing is soaking in the light behind it, and the form of a scrapper is settled at its feet, the lights within it dimmed and powered down. "Mama paints all of the machines."

She wriggles, only the slightest, but it is enough to prompt Kotallo to let her down and follow in her wake as Talla leads them across the fenced in space, towards the covered work bench in the back, her hand holding tight to his own.

Her cloak shifts around her as Talla pulls to a stop, and she lets go of Kotallo long enough to begin poking around the workbench, eventually pulling out a clay pot and pushing it into Kotallo's hand. "These paints are not for faces," she says solemnly, a charge to her eyes that Kotallo cannot help but to meet with a smile.

Something in him wonders how many times she might have heard that phrase before, even as he shifts the weight of the pot enough to pry it open.

A warm yellow stares up at him—not quite the same that is painted across his own sunwing, denoting its status as a tamed machine of a Marshal, but it is close enough that something hitches within him at the sight of it.

Talla's hands are now filled with a different pot, and she pulls this one open to reveal a rich blue, one she smiles down to and dabs her fingertips in. "Mama uses blue on all of the machines, but yellow is just for us," she whispers, as if some great secret is held within her words as she closes the pot once more, smears of paint left behind from her fingertips.

That hitch within his stomach pulls tighter, and Kotallo cautiously sets his own jar of paint down.

"Mama says we wear yellow for my papa," Talla murmurs, and her voice has gone very small, almost shaking as she finally lifts her gaze to meet Kotallo's. "What color did your papa wear, Kotallo?"

"Pink," Kotallo manages out, and it feels as if there is something tightening around his throat, digging in with every breath. "And a blue as bright as the sky itself."

Talla smiles, and there is a brightness back within her eyes now. "Like sunset on the mountains?"

"Exactly like that." Kotallo's own smile drifts across his lips, but it is fainter, caught upon the edge of a thought not yet fully formed.

He releases his grip upon the pot easily as Talla takes it from his hands, placing it back in the line of wooden shelves under the work bench, before Talla takes his hand once more, leading him away again.

"Mama worked on Marshal for ages," Talla says, her voice bright and broken only once by a single cough, though the sound of it sends concern lancing through Kotallo's chest as he holds her hand tighter. "Cause the hunters brought him to Mama all busted up and broken."

The ghost of an old pain flickers behind his ribs, sparked to life by her words, and Kotallo breathes through it, waiting for the phantom sensation to leave him once more, and they come to a halt before the machine.

"And she had to get him a new leg." Talla pulls them both down into a crouch, and Kotallo follows her easily, his hand leaving hers and now coming to rest against her back as she taps gently at the scrapper's head.

"Wake up, Marshal," Talla croons, her hand stroking across the metal plating, and there is a soft whirring sound followed by a series of clicks, and the scrapper lifts its head, eyes flickering back into a vibrant blue.

There is something so very alive in the way that the scrapper seems to brighten before her, something so natural in the way it butts its head up against her chest, and Talla huffs out a breath, Kotallo's hand at her back holding her steady as she leans upon the machine all the more.

"Hi Marshal," she murmurs, her eyes drifting closed as she continues to stroke its head. "I missed you."

That twist within Kotallo's chest once more, and he looks away.

All that he has missed.

His gaze wander, before dropping down to the machine itself, and his attention catches upon the blue and yellow pigments that stare back up at him, the broad strokes of paint across the metal pieces of the machine, and Kotallo shifts around Talla to get a closer look.

Talla notices the change in his attention, and she settles back to lean against him as Kotallo reaches out to brush his fingertips against the machine's leg.

Painted in his colors.

The flicker of yellow and blue inside Talla's cloak. The beads hanging around her neck. The paints around her jaw, matching to his own. Each story that Talla speaks of—ones that he has never told her yet she knows them all the same.

Everything around him—though he has never been here, though Aloy has spent all these years alone—

It is steeped in his presence, even in the midst of his absence.

All these years—and Aloy has fought to keep him in her life.

In the life of their daughter.

"Kotallo? Kotallo?"

Hands pulling at his arm, and Kotallo's gaze falls into focus once more, finding Talla's face before his own and creased with concern as she reaches out to him.

"Kotallo?" There is a hesitancy within her voice, and Kotallo lets out a heavy breath at the sound of it, his hand coming to rest her arm in wordless comfort.

"Yes, little one?" He murmurs, and there is a rasp to his voice that Talla almost seems to falter at.

"You… did I make you sad?"

Kotallo swallows back the immediate lurch of denial within his throat, choosing instead to sweep Talla's hair back from her face as he has seen Aloy do so many times before. "I'm ok," he assures her, his voice soft as his thumb brushes across the shell of her ear.

"But you're crying."

At this, Kotallo pauses, and registers for the first time the hot of tears against his paint, and that twisting sensation in his chest finally snaps, the burn of it sharp and freeing all at once, clarity spilling through his thoughts.

"It's ok to cry," Kotallo whispers, shifting his hand to cradle against Talla's head, and she nuzzles into his touch even as her own hands hold steady to his arm. "There's… there's no shame in tears."

His thumb strokes across her cheek, and Talla's eyes flicker closed.

"It is simply… that emotions become to great to hold inside." His voice is hoarse, a grit inside of his throat, yet Kotallo speaks through it. "And tears are the evidence of that strength."

Another breath, and yet still his daughter remains, leaning into his touch, and that wash of emotion through him settles into a low hum in his bones. "Sometimes tears speak of our love, little one."

Talla's eyes open once more, and there is the fullness of warmth within them as she looks up at him, her little fingers curling tight against his arm.

"Please don't leave," she whispers, her voice shaking. "I don't—I don't want you to leave."

Kotallo swipes away her own tears, before pulling Talla close, and she leans into him all the more, burying her face into the crook of his neck. "I won't," he promises, his hand cradling at the back of her head. "I'm here now."

"Mama doesn't want you to leave either," Talla sniffs, her hands gathering tight fist-fulls of his shirt. "She misses you."

Her words catch within his chest, and Kotallo closes his eyes, pressed tight against the prick of tears within them, burning all the more for his knowledge of their presence, and he steadies a breath within his lungs.

"I know, Scrapper." His fingers brush against her back, before teasing gently through the ends of her hair. "I missed her too."

But he's here now. He is. And even if Aloy might never want anything more than what they have in this moment, Kotallo will take all that is offered to him.

He has their child. He has Aloy. He must be—will be—satisfied in this alone.

Talla sighs, resting her head closer against his shoulder, and there is a faint tremor to her body that betrays the winter air around them, and Kotallo tucks his arm closer around her.

"Are you cold, little one?" He murmurs, thumbing Talla's hair away from her cheek, and she nods against his shoulder. "Then we should go inside, where it is warm."

"You're warm," Talla mumbles, but she steps back from him all the same, and Kotallo lets her go. His hand moves to tuck her cloak tighter around her, and Talla takes up the edges of the lined furs, holding them close as Kotallo slowly pushes himself up into standing.

His daughter nestles herself closely against his leg as they begin to turn away, and Kotallo's hand comes to rest against her shoulder, taking silent comfort in her presence.

They only make it three steps before Talla suddenly stops in her tracks.

"Can we bring Marshal inside too? It's too cold out here for him."

There is something so earnest within her words, something so innocent, that for a moment, Kotallo pauses.

And then a smile passes across his lips, a memory of a conversation with Aloy passing through his mind.

"And what would your mother say?" He questions, holding her gaze.

Another beat, before her expression falls into something almost akin to a pout, and she ducks her head.

"No," Talla mumbles, hiding back against his leg. "Mama says he has to stay outside."

Kotallo sighs, stroking his hand down Talla's hair. "Then we should listen to her, love."

Another two steps, before Talla pauses again.

"Can we at least bring him some blankets in case it snows?"

Kotallo hesitates again, and Talla stares up at him again with those brown eyes of hers, turned honey gold in the sunlight and pleading.

He looks between the crouching scrapper behind them, lights flickering in its eyes, to the cabin, then back down to his daughter.

She pouts just like Aloy used to all those years ago, when she would try to convince him out of the last of his food.

Because it wasn't stealing if it was her, clearly. And Kotallo had been too endeared to ever deny her for long.

And Talla…

Kotallo sighs, tipping his head up to scrape his gaze across he sky, and he reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, pressing against a headache is scratching against the base of his spine.

"Just blankets," he relents, looking back down to Talla.

The smile that she gives him then makes it all worth it in the end.

Chapter Text

Beta's been staring at her the entire ride home, but she doesn't push the matter any further with words.

There's a quiet sort of gratefulness within Aloy at the silence, even as this absence of words feels entirely too loud within her head. But Beta's presence, wordless and steady, is enough to take off some of the pressure that had been knotting itself through her lungs ever since they left All-Mother mountain.

The ride feels too short and too long all at once. There's an anticipation building itself up in her bones—an electric hum lacing through her veins that builds with the very beating of her heart.

She wants to be home. She wants to see him. It is an undeniable fact—just as the sun rises always in the east and comes to its end in the west, her heart comes to end with him.

All things, in him.

Anticipation, yes. A crackling, shifting sort of sensation that weaves itself in-between her ribs, that expands like the heat of a warm tea after a long flight. To see him, to see the warmth in his eyes. To see their child held in his arm, and so undeniably loved.

But with each step that her Strider takes, it brings her closer to the inevitable.

To what she must do.

The words have been practiced, crafted in her head while Beta had mapped out the distribution of the new medication. They had played in haunting, grating repeat through her mind for the first half of the ride back, until Beta had broken the silence—just once.

Perhaps once had been enough for her sister to see the resolution in her own eyes, before Aloy had looked away.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence.

Blessed, hateful silence.

She hates it.

It is all she needs in this moment.

Aloy's thoughts shift slightly as they draw closer, her head lifting to the cabin. She pins her shoulders back with the same resolution she had looked towards Beta before.

This is what she must do.

Those words repeat in her mind as she dismounts from her Strider, giving the metal beast a fond pat on the side before undoing the latch on the back gate and leading the machine through.

There's an itch in the back of her mind as she steps into the fenced-in area, like something is missing, but the thoughts do not fully connect before Beta is dismounting from her Charger as well, and following in her wake.

"Catch the gate," Aloy calls backwards, her attention snagged by Icarus swinging his head towards her, the Sunwing letting out a softly rolling trill as it shuffles closer.

"Hey," Aloy hums, stroking her hand down the machine's side, pressing her forehead to its own. "Are you going to keep standing there, or are you going to let me in the cabin?"

Icarus tilts his head, his shining blue eye catching to her own, before dipping his head and letting out another warbling sound, moving to sidle up against Ra once more. The two machines nestle closer together, the sight almost reminiscent of animals from the days of the Old Ones, and something in it sticks in Aloy's chest.

Even the machines lean upon one another.

Beta's hand falls on her shoulder.

"Are you ok?"

It feels like she's caught in stickpaste, with how slow her movements unfurl from her, but Aloy turns to look at her sister all the same, and there is a tiredness in her eyes that bleeds out into her words as well. "You and I both know the answer to that," Aloy mutters, not quite meeting Beta's gaze even as she catches the disappointment pressing across her features. "But I… it'll be ok."

She won't be. But she's used to making these sacrifices— and this won't be any different, so long as it keeps Kotallo safe.

She opens the door and takes two steps inside—

—and freezes.

"Kotallo."

His head lifts, the shape of his features lit by the fire's glow bathing his skin, and his eyes widen with something that looks almost like guilt, but his gaze remains tied to her.

"Why…," Aloy starts slowly, taking one step forward with each word. "…is there a scrapper in my house?"

Kotallo looks down, and the sight of it all sinks fully into Aloy as she waits for him to respond.

Marshal is curled in front of the fire, a pile of blankets tossed across its metal side, and a low tone reverberates in such a way that Aloy cant decide sounds more like a snore or a purr. But the lights of the machine have almost fully dimmed, nothing left but a flickering spark that matches low rumble.

And there, draped in blankets and leaning against the scrapper, are Kotallo and Talla. Kotallo—reclining on the machine's side and propped up by pillows on the other, and Talla—half nestled among blankets, half sprawled out across her father's chest, his arm curled gently around her, holding her close.

Talla gives a vague, huffing sound, rubbing her head against his shoulder, before falling still once more, and the sight of it nearly brings Aloy to her knees, an ache in her chest that draws her another step closer.

"Our—" Kotallo's voice breaks off, and he cranes his head down to study Talla's face. Seemingly satisfied by whatever he finds, he lifts his head once more to match her gaze. "Our daughter has very convincing eyes," he murmurs, and there's something simultaneously amused and apologetic in his voice as he smiles up at her.

She can't even be upset in this moment. Not when he's looking at her like that, when he seems so at peace, when Talla is held so securely and comfortably in his arm.

"We both know where she gets those from," Aloy murmurs, finally drawing herself to look away from him, even as the warmth in her chest spills in a flush across her skin.

Beta clears her throat, and Aloy flinches, almost having forgotten that her sister was even there. There's something very pointed in the way in which Beta looks at her now, a silent urging in her eyes.

Kotallo sees it too. He must, somehow, or perhaps he simply knows as well as she does that this is not something that can be avoided any longer. His gaze darkens, and he shifts Talla's weight upon him in order to free his arm to unfold the blankets pulled across them both.

Aloy takes the first step forward—to help him, to meet him there, to feel the brush of his fingertips against her skin—but Beta beats her there.

Her sister sweeps up Talla in her arms, huffing out a breath as she hefts the weight of her, and tucks in the last of the trailing blankets around the girl.

She stops Aloy's words before they can even fully take form upon her lips.

"You two need to talk," Beta says, her voice firm. There is no room for disagreement—a command—and a part of Aloy warms at the woman her sister has become, to see her now. "Don't worry about us."

But for however Beta's words may have silenced Aloy, it does not seem to be enough for Kotallo as he stands. "Beta—" his hand comes to rest on Talla's back, and there is a protectiveness that Aloy easily recognizes, the sight of it pulling her next breath tight within her lungs. "She—"

"—Will be fine," Beta soothes, sidestepping away from him. "I still remember where Teb's stall is—I'll head down that way with her and we'll give the two of you time."

Still, Kotallo hesitates.

As if hating to be parted with his child once more.

Where Aloy had failed to meet Kotallo before, she finds him now—her hands smoothing along his arm and coming to rest against at his shoulder and chest, drawing his gaze to her and holding it fast.

The uncertainty in Kotallo's eyes softens, and he lets out a breath.

She doesn't have to say a word.

Maybe she should, but the silence between them as he holds her gaze is something precious, something soft and warm and so familiar—all those days and nights before when they didn't have to speak and yet knew each other all the same.

She can't quite say when the silence had begun to feel like guilt instead. In a way, it still does even now, but the firelight reflecting on Kotallo's arm tastes too much like life to let her voice break through this moment now.

So Aloy stands there, and Kotallo's hand shifts to hold against her arm, a slow breath unfurling from him by the rise and fall of his chest.

The silence isn't so heavy as it used to be, but the press of guilt still curls low against her spine.

"It's going to be ok," Aloy whispers, and Kotallo closes his eyes.

"We'll be back in an hour or two." Beta swings around them both, pausing to pick up both Talla's cloak and the small set of boots that had been left in a pile next to Marshal. "If you need any more time than that, tell me. Just—" a vague gesture, the boots in her hand flopping from the movement. "Get this sorted out, alright?"

Three steps more to the back door, and and Beta pauses, letting out a low whistle. "C'mon Marshal," she calls out, jarring the scrapper out from its facsimile of sleep, and it rises with a shake of its body. "Let's give these two some space."

Then the door closes behind them.

Neither Aloy nor Kotallo moves.

Aloy's gaze turns—leaving the door to drift back towards Kotallo, and to her hands placed so gently against him, a sensation so right she had almost forgotten she had done it at all.

His fingers flex against her arm, and there is something dark and wavering within his gaze when Aloy lifts hers to meet it.

Her heart crawls its way up to sit in her throat, a heavy knot that she can hardly breathe past—let alone speak through—and it is all she can do to hold Kotallo's gaze as he stands before her.

Finally, blessedly, achingly, Kotallo's gaze drops.

"I'll make some tea," Kotallo says, his voice quiet as he begins to step away. "Why don't you have a seat."

"I—" the word catches in her throat, and Aloy furrows her brow, something pulling tight in her chest. "I've sat through most of today," She finally croaks out, catching her balance on the edge of the table before sitting down, and her gaze follows Kotallo as he steps through the motions of making tea.

Kotallo huffs out a breath, and there is something gently amused in the sound of it. "You and I both know that Charger riding hardly counts as sitting."

He turns towards the table once more, and something within Aloy catches on the familiarity of it all, like a reflection of how they had found themselves only a few nights before. On that night, there had been a tension between them, some terrible crackling thing that had held the threat of a storm in the distance.

But if that night was the storm, then this is the aftermath, when the light strikes through the fading clouds to catch upon the raindrops left behind, setting the world awash in a soft, glistening glow.

There is something beyond gentle in the way in which Kotallo's eyes meet hers now, as he places a steaming mug before her and pulls out a chair—no longer against her, no longer separate, but at her side.

His knee brushes faintly against her own.

"How are you feeling?" He whispers, and Aloy stirs beneath the weight of his careful study and the slow drift of his gaze across her features. A buzz of warmth curls beneath her skin at the sensation of it.

"Exhausted," Aloy mutters, an upward quirk at the corner of her lips softening the sharpest edges of her complaint.

Kotallo's own lips twitch, the smallest movement, yet Aloy's attention draws to it all the same, noting the jump of the scar written across them as he looks down to his hand.

"How are you?" Her fingers seek out the edges of her mug, tapping across the handle as she watches steam curl upwards from the liquid within.

"Surprisingly?" He reaches for his own mug, but makes no move to drink it, only turns it slightly, as if searching for something to do. "At peace."

An ache inside of her chest. She could only dream to feel such a thing, and yet here Kotallo sits, staring pensively at the pair of mugs sitting on the table, looking so exactly as he stated.

At peace.

His voice sends a shiver up her spine as he speaks again, and yet this time, he seems to hesitate.

"And are you… ready to talk?"

She cannot take the fragility of this moment any longer.

Aloy picks up her mug and downs a few harsh swallows without any further consideration, the heat of it serving to ground her all the more. Another breath, and she looks back towards Kotallo. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Perhaps it is impulse that draws her eyes back down to his hand hanging between them. Perhaps it is love that draws her to take it between her own. Perhaps it is the part of her that still breaks at the weight of such concern in his eyes as she moves her chair closer.

Kotallo's thumb glides over the back of her own, and Aloy holds to him all the tighter for it, so reluctant to lose his touch for even a breath now that she has it once more, the warmth of his presence held in her grasp.

The moment has broken—but it has broken into something gentle. Like stepping through the densest undergrowth to find a clearing set with peace and silent space.

A hesitation fills the air, but neither of them rush to fill it. They simply hold to one another as if this touch alone is needed to remind themselves that the other is there before them, that they are truly together in this moment. Aloy's fingertips drift further, finding the drum of his pulse on the inside of his wrist, and she grounds herself to the steadiness of it as she waits.

Kotallo breaks the silence first.

"Talla, she… she introduced me to your machines today." There is a fondness to his voice, but there is also something deeper laced beneath it, something that pulls within Aloy's chest as she watches the furrow build at Kotallo's brow.

"I saw that." A hum of amusement, and Aloy soothes her fingers along the inside of his palm, drawing away some of the tension within his expression. "I'm not truly upset about the scrapper in the house, Kotallo. Talla, she… well, she cares about him."

The faintest of smiles that crosses his lips. "How fitting, to have a marshal of her own to care for."

"Someone to keep her safe," Aloy sighs, yet when she lifts her gaze once more, there is something different in his eyes, and she hesitates.

Kotallo's hold upon her hand shifts, thumb tracing along the line of her knuckles. "It… Aloy, I cannot fully say how much it means to me." His shakes his head, the faintest shadow of tears darkening through his gaze. "That you sought to bring me in her life, even when I had given you no cause to do so." There is a rasp to his voice now, one that drifts down Aloy's spine and sticks between her lungs. "That you have allowed me into her life, even now."

"Of course," Aloy whispers, the words unfurling softly from her, like the blossoming of a flower before the first touches of light upon it. "I'm only sorry that… that it was my fault you were not able to be here for her before."

There it is. The one thought that has been echoing endlessly through her mind, the blame upon her shoulders like the crash of waves upon the shore.

"It wasn't just your fault," Kotallo whispers.

Aloy looks away.

Yes it was.

Yes it was.

It is.

His hand upon hers squeezes, and Aloy's attention snaps back up towards him, shivering beneath the weight of his gaze.

"It's ok," Kotallo murmurs, and the sound of his voice soothes across her skin like sunlight in the midst of a storm.

"It's not ok," Aloy whispers back. "But thank you."

There's a lopsided smile upon her lips now—one that she cannot bring herself to fully believe nor lean upon, yet Aloy holds to Kotallo all the same, and there is a fondness warm within his eyes.

Another breath, and his gaze drops once more, and Aloy follows it, caught upon the drift of their hands intertwined, and Aloy shifts closer to him all the more, a craving set deep in her bones.

"I will not take back what I said this morning," Kotallo murmurs, and Aloy shivers at the sound of his voice, at the press of his callouses against her skin, at the warmth of his presence before her. "You must know, Aloy, I meant it then and I mean it now."

"Kotallo…" Aloy begins, his name catching in her throat.

Kotallo pulls away from her all at once, settling back with a sigh, but he does not meet her gaze as he seems to steady himself. "You…" he starts slowly, staring down at his hand, now separated from her own. "You do not have to feel the same way. You owe me nothing, no return, no care." His jaw grits, the harshest swallow, that furrow upon his brow. "I simply need you to know. And I will ask nothing more of you."

His hand curls into a fist, and all of Aloy's thoughts close upon it, upon the trembling of it against his thigh. "If that is what you want, Aloy, then that is what we will be. We—we will figure something out. Some way to live, some way to be, but no matter what, I will be here for every moment. For our daughter—and I promise you that."

And then his voice softens, and he finally meets her gaze, and there is such searching now held within his eyes, a heat that Aloy can hardly breathe through it, a desperation building in her lungs.

"But if you would let me, Aloy, I would give all that I am to you. For you, in every way."

All that I am.

On my life.

She has already asked of his life before, unwilling as she was.

She cannot dare to take such a thing from him again.

The silence draws too long, and he must see the hesitation in her eyes, for Kotallo nods, only once, and begins to rise. Even as her thoughts shift and burn within her mind, Kotallo readies himself to step away.

Nothing in her is prepared for the words that draw from him next, or the way they break inside her chest.

"Thank you, Aloy. It was an honor to have been loved by you once."

Once, as if she does not love him still.

Once, as if he is not her rising thought and the last thing to drift through her mind before she falls into sleep.

Once, as if she has ever held anything but love for him, even now.

Once, as if she had ever stopped.