Chapter Text
It was a mind-numbingly normal day to start. Erend sparked up his forge well before the sun could bear its midmorning wrath upon Chainscrape, hand-stitched shade shielding him from the heat as he participated in typical Oseram banter amongst his crew. He swapped between his own forge and wandering around the surrounding space, sharing his experience with the younger apprentices who came to learn from him.
Erend couldn't make the intricate and exact gearshapes some tinkerers could, or perfect the uniform circular pieces armorers would produce at a rabbit's pace. But Erend could create beautifully balanced, devastatingly heavy hammers. The type that could end a fight in one well-timed swing, with handles wrapped in hand-oiled leather he had shown the apprentices how to source and strip. He taught them how to finish the piece with a simple yet ornate etching of a machine, and surprised even himself sometimes at how well he took to the role. He wasn't half bad at making armor plates, either, but Oseram came from miles around to learn hammermaking at his forge. His once small workshop had expanded alongside Chainscrape -- now a noisy, bustling heart inside the Daunt -- until five fires would light alongside his every sunrise. He worked with them until the red sun began to rest, his muscles began to scream, and his ears rang with metalsong.
A fulfilling day for the most part. Erend was oiling and repacking his tools in the dim light of crackling embers when he picked up on raised voices and the sharp smash of something most likely not supposed to be smashed, directly outside the smithery.
A few hours later, he sported an eye as dark as Midnight Bloom, a few spots along his chest to match, and was down two apprentices for at least three weeks. It had been a while since he'd stepped between two adrenaline-fueled 20-somethings, and he was remembering why quite well now. A broken arm on one and thirteen stitches on the other, over a serving of Milduf's treat. He was honestly embarrassed.
Unable to quell his frustration after a few pints of ale, Erend found himself fed up with all the childish drama that had been brewing amongst the youngest apprentices in the last few weeks. The constant complaints (tattling), petty arguments (idle gossip!), and demands (like children! Stomping their feet in the dust!) left him drained in a way that made him feel old -- and entirely too saddled with responsibility.
Something he would've scoffed at ten years ago. Now, his joints ached.
The next morning, Erend claimed a few days rest (Petra promised he would pay her back for the unexpected whelpwatching) and headed out to follow the river east, a few hastily packed totes slung across his back. Making quick work of a familiar route, he slowed down amongst the Plainsong fields, always fascinated to see the Land-Gods at work. The soft grass eventually gave way to steep rocky terrain, and it was only after another day's travel that he found himself staring up at the cliff above the Base. Snow was beginning to collect around the bottom of the mountain in soft drifts, blowing gently across the valley. A crisp breeze found its way under the cuffs of his armor, and gooseflesh rippled up his thick arms.
Always quick to dive into hard work, Erend started up the cold mountain face.
***
Exhausted and beginning to shiver, the Oseram forgemaster pulled himself up one more ledge -- the last ledge, exactly, and up onto a smooth expanse of rock, landing with a firm grunt. Glimpsing the telltale bright blue ring through the icy fog, he heaved a sigh and rolled onto his back, legs still partly off the edge of the cliff. He watched his breath puff into the air for a moment before closing his eyes, resting outside the west entrance to the Base as he replayed the day's event one more time.
After a moment's pause, Erend rolled back over, grunting again as he rose to his feet and started forward. He shook the light collection of snow from his armor as he found his focus, sewn into a small pocket under his chestplate. Placing it against his forehead, he wondered how long it had been since he'd been connected to the network. A few notifications pinged into his view, and he quickly scanned the names of the message senders. Near-monthly updates from Zo, a few attachments sent from Zarl. One or two very long messages from Alva. He dismissed the flickering lights with a quick motion, pretending to not be disappointed as he hit the end of the list.
He sighed as the metal doors slid openly smoothly, artificially heated arm enveloping him like a mother's embrace. Dark eyes adjusting to the low, unnatural lighting, Erend ran his hand along the smooth, cold entryway as he took in the familiar pinwheel of offices and storage rooms. Everything looked so much the same as the last time he'd been here. A mix of Utaru, Nora, and Oseram items lay across most surfaces, blending in a strangely harmonious and homey way. Every box of dirt was overfilled with healthy, blooming plants -- presumably catered to by some little robots GAIA had. Probably the same ones keeping everything so clean, he thought as his hand slid along a cool, polished tabletop.
Stepping down into the center of the main space, he pulled the bags he'd been carrying over his shoulder and dropped them down against the cushioned bench to his right. He eyed his old Strike board as he unlatched the holster at his waist, faint memories of Zarl, Zo, and Aloy flitting through his mind. It had been so long ago, but the echoes of their conversations still felt fresh. Searching for a moment through his tote, Erend's hand quickly found its mark -- a cool, heavy bottle of dark Oseram ale -- which burned bitter and familiar down his throat.
He was immediately flushed with gratitude for the silence and isolation. The familiar clank of the forge had never felt so comfortable this far away, and he relished in the perfectly balanced temperature of an indoor space. A few gulps into the bottle, Erend suddenly picked up the soft murmur of voices from the next room over. He froze, tensing in the dim light. Slowly, he placed the bottle down next to his hammer and braced himself against the end of the couch, crouching as he remembered to activate his focus.
Years of training and instinct (and maybe some noise clarification from the focus) narrowed in on the muffled conversation, and Erend turned to the corridor that displayed a faintly glowing yellow eye above it.
GAIA.
As he made his way up the short staircase, he slowed, ears still failing to identify individual words through the thick metal doorway. Erend deactivated his focus, pulse slowing as he confirmed only one body stood in the room before him. One person, alone with GAIA. Logically, he knew there was very little chance of it being anyone both capable and willing to attack him, but he still found himself readying a short knife in his grip. You don't get to grow silver hair in the Daunt by letting your guard slip. Lifting his other hand to the glowing ring, he rushed through the opening as quickly as his large frame would allow.
Erend took about four or five steps before his brain connected to his eyes, stopping abruptly as he breathed in a shockingly familiar scent. The smell of green growth on wood, overlayed with clay and a tinge of sweat overwhelmed him. He had to steady himself.
Aloy.
For a moment they both stood frozen, deep brown locked to a flaming mossy hazel. GAIA's avatar beamed a halo of honey-gold behind the warrior, lighting her rich hair aflame. It fell in twists and braids down her shoulders as she stood above him, grinning brilliantly at the Oseram warrior.
Her sharp face was sunburnt and freckled, sunkissed skin broken by the occasional scar that disappeared somewhere under the pale clothes she wore. And of course, as any Oseram could appreciate, she was /strong/. Muscled arms and legs as thick as a well-rooted spruce, Aloy had never once faltered before man or machine, often resorting to brute strength to complete whatever task she was set upon. Something he had always admired in her, and had more than a few times caused him to feel a stir of desire. She was beautiful, but everyone knew that, and he had seen her react with thinly veiled disgust at more than one crass advance. He was thankful that, even nearly a decade ago, he had enough sense as a younger man not to let his senses get the better of him. Erend took one more moment to drink in her presence.
She must have been expecting him.
The Nora warrior stood with a hand on her hip, a lazy smile across her face. Stripped of her usual armor sets, Aloy was wearing a simple and comfortable-looking wrap, tied at the waist with a light blue strip of silk. Erend immediately began glancing around the room -- anywhere but her -- as he stumbled forward, limbs still slowly regaining their feelings.
"Took you long enough," Aloy quipped, stepping back to allow him onto the wide platform with her. "GAIA told me you were approaching," she clarified after he shot her a quick look of confusion.
"Oh, right." He turned to the towering avatar. "Hello, GAIA. Uh -- good to see you again?"
The beautiful giant woman smiled down at them both, quickly greeting Erend and equally quickly dissipating after prompting them an offer of privacy. Eyes focusing again on the space around them, Erend realized they were standing in what looked sort of like...a room.
There was a bedroll laid out, surrounded by candles and extra furs. A chest, overflowing with different cloth and armor pieces. A couple of machine parts, in various states of salvage. Turning back to Aloy, more questions gleamed in his eyes.
She studied him for a moment, arms crossed. "You brought ale with you?"
Erend chuffed, any lingering awkwardness he felt immediately evaporating. She knew him too well.
"Yeah," he chuckled, "I brought plenty."