Chapter 2
The dim light of the repurposed bunker flickered above Adal's head as he quietly worked, hands moving across the metal surface of the old-world machines scattered around him. Sylens, ever watchful, stood off to the side, a figure of cold precision, overseeing the boy's work with the same dispassionate gaze he reserved for everything else in the bunker.
Sylens had created a haven of forgotten knowledge, a place where machines and data from the old world were kept in pristine condition. Here, away from the prying eyes of the Banuk and the distractions of the outside world, Adal was free to learn without limitation. But unlike the love-filled homes of other children, his was a place of sterile intellect.
"Focus on the design, Adal. The rest will follow," Sylens' voice broke the silence, sharp and deliberate, like the click of a machine's gears.
Adal, no older than seven, nodded without looking up from the wiring he was repairing. He was not a child to Sylens, but rather an apprentice, a vessel for knowledge to be filled without the complication of affection. There was no warmth, no comforting presence in the bunker—only a mentor who valued intellect over emotion, a father figure who didn't understand the value of love.
Adal's fascination with the machines grew stronger each day, but there were moments when he wondered what lay beyond the walls of the bunker. A child, after all, has questions. He turned to Sylens once, tentatively asking, "Why can't I see the world outside?"
Sylens barely spared him a glance as he adjusted the coordinates of a holographic display. "You are better off here. You will learn more than you would among those who cannot understand these machines."
That was the answer Adal had come to expect. The world was cold, and it was best to see it through the lens of logic and reason.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, under the shadow of the Nora tribe's sacred lands, another child was growing up far from the warmth of her bloodline.
Aloy's life was different, marked by love but also by the harsh realities of being an outcast. From the day she had been left at the gates of the Nora village, the tribe had cast her aside, viewing her as an unwanted child of unknown parentage. But Rost, the gruff and loyal outcast, had taken her in, raising her as his own.
"Stay close, Aloy," Rost would say, his voice low, a firm hand on her shoulder as they navigated the dense forests and towering mountains surrounding their home.
Aloy would nod, her wide eyes taking in everything around her—the trees, the animals, and the ever-present sound of the wind through the leaves. Rost taught her everything: survival, hunting, the ways of the wild, but he did so with the kind of quiet strength that suggested a deeper love for her than he often let on.
Aloy wasn't alone in her isolation, though. Every two days, Alana—Rost's daughter from a previous marriage—would visit. Alana wasn't an outcast, so she was allowed to walk freely among the Nora, interacting with the other children and the tribe's guardians. To Aloy, Alana was more than just family; she was the sister she'd never had, the one who could give her glimpses into a world Aloy could never truly belong to.
Though the two were different in many ways—Alana's bright eyes and carefree spirit starkly contrasting Aloy's solemn gaze and curious mind—they shared a bond that transcended their differences. Alana would often bring small trinkets for Aloy bits of jewelry made from bones or feathers, and on occasion, stories about the Nora tribe and their sacred traditions.
One afternoon, as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the open plains, the sisters were sitting just outside the makeshift hut Rost had built for them. Aloy was tracing patterns in the dirt, her fingers moving absentmindedly. Alana was speaking about a recent hunting trip she had been on with the Nora warriors, but Aloy barely heard her. Her mind was elsewhere, caught between the world Alana spoke of and the one she was forced to live in.
A sudden voice broke the quiet—Bast, a young Nora boy, appeared from behind a nearby rock, his eyes filled with disdain as he sneered at the two girls.
"What's this? The outcast playing with a Nora?" Bast scoffed, his face twisted with childish arrogance. "Don't you know you don't belong here?"
Alana, always the protector, stood up. "Leave her alone, Bast. You don't have to like it, but you will respect her." She placed herself between Aloy and the stone Bast had already raised in his hand.
Bast, his face flushed with frustration, glared at the two girls. "She's nothing. Just a mistake."
Without warning, the stone flew from his hand, aimed at Aloy. But before it could hit its mark, Alana's quick reflexes saved her—she stepped forward, taking the blow herself. The stone struck her forehead, causing a sharp pain to ripple through her, but Alana's eyes remained focused on Bast, cold and fierce.
"Don't you ever do that again," Alana said, her voice steady despite the blood beginning to trickle from the wound on her forehead.
Bast, stunned, backed off, muttering curses under his breath as he fled.
Alana turned to Aloy, her face softening. "I'll be fine," she said, wiping away the blood. "But you should get home back to Rost before anyone else sees."
Aloy hesitated for a moment, then nodded, a feeling of gratitude swelling within her chest. "Thank you."
The bond between them was unspoken, but it was stronger than any words could convey. Aloy's eyes followed Alana as she disappeared back toward the village, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. The world outside might have its dangers, but it also held something Aloy would never have—acceptance.
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Adal and Vagra's First Encounter
Back in the frozen lands of the Banuk, Adal was experiencing his own form of isolation. But unlike Aloy's, Adal's world was a sterile one, filled with machines and knowledge rather than wilderness and survival.
Adal moved through the Banuk market, his small frame weaving between the stalls, his eyes locked on the intricate pieces of old-world tech that were displayed. The people around him barely noticed the child—too caught up in their own dealings—but for Adal, the market was a treasure trove of possibilities. Sylens had told him stories about the machines, the old-world technologies that had once ruled the earth. Here, in this place of commerce, Adal saw the remnants of a lost era—pieces of the world that Sylens had failed to fully explain to him, but that Adal was determined to understand.
It was here, among the noise and hustle of the marketplace, that Adal met Vagra.
She was an Oseram, her dark hair tied back in a messy braid, and she was hunched over a pile of metal parts, her small hands working quickly. Adal noticed her fascination with the same kinds of pieces he had been examining, and he walked up slowly, unsure of how to approach.
"What are you working on?" Adal asked, his voice quiet, but filled with curiosity.
Vagra looked up, surprised, but then smiled. "Just a little project. I'm making something that can manipulate the machines' signal patterns. It's not perfect, but I think I'm getting close."
Adal's eyes widened. "A signal manipulator?"
"Yeah," Vagra said, leaning in closer, lowering her voice. "Something that can make machines respond differently. We could use it to make them work for us, you know?"
Adal's thoughts began to race. He'd heard rumors of similar machines, but never anything this advanced. "I want to help," he said, without thinking.
Vagra laughed, a clear, high sound. "You're a kid. What do you know about machines?"
"I know a lot," Adal replied, his voice firm. "Maybe more than you think."
And so, a new partnership began. Adal and Vagra, two children bound by a shared obsession with the machines, would begin to create something new—something that would shape the future in ways neither could yet comprehend.
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As Adal and Vagra began their work, the first sparks of creation started to form—ideas that would lead to a glider like the one Aloy would use years later, or perhaps even machines that could change the world. But neither Adal nor Aloy could have known that their paths, though shaped in different ways, were destined to cross, for the machine-filled world they inhabited was one of inevitable convergence.