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 maes 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 fotten knowledge, a pce where maes and data from the old world were kept in pristine dition. Here, away from the prying eyes of the Banuk and the distras of the outside world, Adal was free to learn without limitation. But uhe love-filled homes of other children, his ce 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 mae’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 plication of affe. There was no warmth, no f presen the bunker—only a mentor who valued intellect over emotion, a father figure who didn’t uand the value of love.

  Adal’s fasation with the maes grew stronger each day, but there were moments when he wondered what y beyond the walls of the bunker. A child, after all, has questions. He turo Sylens oentatively asking, “Why ’t I see the world outside?”

  Sylens barely spared him a gnce as he adjusted the coordinates of a holographic dispy. “You are better off here. You will learn more than you would among those who ot uand these maes.”

  That was the answer Adal had e to expect. The world was cold, and it was best to see it through the lens of logid reason.

  Meanwhile, oher side of the world, uhe shadow of the Nora tribe’s sacred nds, 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 bee at the gates of the Nora vilge, 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 t mountains surrounding their home.

  Aloy would nod, her wide eyes taking ihing arouhe 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 thae on.

  Aloy wasn’t alone in her isotion, though. Every two days, Ana—Rost’s daughter from a previous marriage—would visit. Ana wasn’t an outcast, so she was allowed to walk freely among the Nora, iing with the other children and the tribe’s guardians. To Aloy, Ana 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 ruly belong to.

  Though the two were different in many ways—Ana’s bright eyes and carefree spirit starkly trasting Aloy’s solemn gaze and ind—they shared a bond that transded their differences. Ana would often bring small tris for Aloy bits of jewelry made from bones or feathers, and on occasion, stories about the Nora tribe and their sacred traditions.

  Oernoon, as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the open pins, the sisters were sitting just outside the makeshift hut Rost had built for them. Aloy was trag patterns in the dirt, her fingers moving absentmindedly. Ana eaking about a ret hunting trip she had been on with the Nora warriors, but Aloy barely heard her. Her mind was elsewhere, caught between the world Ana 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 s the two girls.

  “What’s this? The outcast pying with a Nora?” Bast scoffed, his face twisted with childish arrogance. “Don’t you know you don’t belong here?”

  Ana, always the protector, stood up. “Leave her alone, Bast. You don’t have to like it, but you will respect her.” She pced herself between Aloy and the stone Bast had already raised in his hand.

  Bast, his face flushed with frustration, gred 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, Ana’s quick reflexes saved her—she stepped forward, taking the blow herself. The storuck her forehead, causing a sharp pain to ripple through her, but Ana’s eyes remained focused on Bast, cold and fierce.

  “Don’t you ever do that again,” Ana 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.

  Ana turo 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 boween them was unspoken, but it was strohan any words could vey. Aloy’s eyes followed Ana as she disappeared back toward the vilge, 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.

  ---

  Adal and Vagra’s First Enter

  Ba the frozen nds of the Banuk, Adal was experieng his own form of isotion. But unlike Aloy’s, Adal’s world was a sterile one, filled with maes and knowledge rather than wilderness and survival.

  Adal moved through the Banuk market, his small frame weaviweealls, his eyes locked oricate pieces of old-world tech that were dispyed. 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 maes, the old-world teologies that had once ruled the earth. Here, in this pce of erce, Adal saw the remnants of a lost era—pieces of the world that Sylens had failed to fully expin to him, but that Adal was determio uand.

  It was here, among the noise and hustle of the marketpce, that Adal met Vagra.

  She was an Oseram, her dark hair tied ba a messy braid, and she was hunched over a pile of metal parts, her small hands w quickly. Adal noticed her fasation with the same kinds of pieces he had been examining, and he walked up slowly, unsure of how to approach.

  “What are you w 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 manipute the maes’ signal patterns. It’s not perfect, but I think I’m getting close.”

  Adal’s eyes widened. “A signal maniputor?”

  “Yeah,” Vagra said, leaning in closer, l her voice. “Something that make maes 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 simir maes, but never anything this advanced. “I want to help,” he said, without thinking.

  Vagra ughed, a clear, high sound. “You’re a kid. What do you know about maes?”

  “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 maes, would begin to create something new—something that would shape the future in ways her could yet prehend.

  ---

  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 ter, or perhaps even maes that could ge the world. But her Adal nor Aloy could have known that their paths, though shaped in different ways, were destio cross, for the mae-filled world they inhabited was one of iable vergence.

  And somewhere, far above the clouds, the signal still hummed—waiting to be heard.