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the-golden-chronicler · 1 year

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Next in Line

Mere days after Regalla's final defeat and subsequent recruitment at The Grove, here lay Aloy, on the cold, hard ground next to an untended campfire, in the middle of what used to be San Francisco. She had been called many things in her life. Outcast from and Seeker for her home tribe, the Nora. Savior of Merridian. Destroyer of the Bulwark. Champion of the Grove. A living ancestor. The reincarnation of Elizabet Sobeck. A friend. A sister. Perhaps soon, an aunt, should Zo allow her to be that close to her child

Tonight, she merely called herself tired. She'd spent the days since knocking Regalla's daylights out, tying up loose ends across the Forbidden West and preparing her gear, her mettle and her appetite for the real fight. The last charge on the Zenith's base. The fight that would determine the future of all life on Earth. That would see Gaia; her mentor, and Beta; her closest sister, rescued and brought home safe, more importantly.

Living as she did, mostly out in the wild, She'd become rather accustomed to sleeping fully clothed and geared. She admitted it was exactly comfortable in the slightest, but leaving herself exposed to the elements and any passersby, be they human, machine or animal, would pose a great deal more danger and uncertainty if she wasn't ready to change locations or at least nock an arrow at a moment's notice. As she carefully expeditioned her hands through her thickly braided hair and rested her head on them, she felt at ease with herself. Come what might, she thought, soon, it would all be over.

As she attempted to close her eyes and allow herself to drift to sleep, however, she felt a strange, ethereal warmness start to envelop her arms. She curiously pulled them out to look at them and saw that they were glowing and sparkling a bright gold kind of color that hurt her eyes against the calm darkness of beach underpass. And they were fading. The more her arms glowed the less of them she could see. It was spreading. As she sat up to investigate she discovered that this effect was beginning to cover more and more of her being the more it went on. It wasn't just her body either. Her clothes and her gear pouch were afforded no sympathy. She stood up and watched as her entire being glowed and glowed and she saw less and less of her environs.

In what amounted to less than one minute, Aloy had spectacularly vanished from the world she'd worked so hard to protect.

And an imperceptibly eternal moment later, she reappeared, in another world.

With a sword to her throat. "Hanss up, or taste my blade." It's wielder said, firmly.

Aloy did as she was told.

It appeared to be about midday. They were standing on some sort of carved stone platform which was overgrown with plant life. A firm carpet of grass, moss and weeds. It was easy to see this because, despite her previous surroundings, where ever this was, it appeared to be about midday. There was a wide, gushing waterfall in the far distance, and just past halfway between that and where she was standing, was an island among the lake into which said waterfall poured. On this island stood a statue, of the woman whose sword was currently staring rather intently up and down Aloy's jugular.

Rolling hills also met this lake at it's banks on either side of the waterfall, and carried with them some peculiar looking objects. A city in a bottle sat bolt upright and bustled with life, and a bizarrely shaped green lantern lilted to one side, seeming to have burnt out some time ago.

The woman with whom Aloywas standing and to whom she was trying not to be rude by soaking in her surroundings, was Caucasian with black hair, wearing a thin looking outfit comprised of blue and read dyed leathers with brass and gold highlights. Aloy admitted the boots were cute, but decided against saying so just while this person was also wearing a stern look on her face and firmly holding her sword aloft.

What with one thing and another, Aloy felt it was safe to assume, she wasn't in the Forbidden West anymore . . .

To Be Continued . . .

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