Chapter Text
The Nora don’t use mirrors. They keep reflective surfaces to a minimum. Growing up out in the Embrace, Aloy doesn’t even know she looks like until her fall into the old ruins. That’s the first time she has a glimpse of her face. As she looks at her reflection, she sees another pair of eyes slowly appear, dark brown in the dim light, the skin surrounding them painted bright pink. Aloy is curious. The eyes look like they are smiling so Aloy smiles back. Then, they are gone in an instant and Aloy feels alone.
Later, the little girl asks Rost about what she had seen. He doesn’t want to talk about anything to do with the old ruins and ignores her questions until Aloy stops asking them.
Except, Aloy hasn’t stopped thinking. Even with the Focus as a constant distraction, Aloy still wonders about those eyes. She starts looking for reflective surfaces. Water doesn’t work, no matter how still it is. Machine metal isn’t shiny enough, or the pieces are too curved to give a good result.
Weeks pass. Aloy has largely forgotten about the eyes mainly because she hasn’t been able to get a good reflection. Then she sees Rost digging through a chest of belongings he rarely opens. There is a big blade, flat, shiny. Very shiny. Perhaps shiny enough? Aloy waits until she knows Rost will be gone for hours and takes out the blade. She finds a sunny spot outside and begins angling the blade to see her eyes. She waits and she watches, nothing happens, and then she has to put the blade back or risk getting caught.
The Focus and her newly begun training keep her occupied enough that Aloy doesn’t have the time or inclination to brood over the strange eyes. Years have passed, and she is attempting a new style of braid she has seen on others.
“This would be so much easier if I had one of those mirror things and could see what I’m doing,” she grumbles aloud. Her Focus has taught her the word.
Rost startles up from where he is fletching arrows. “What do you know about mirrors?” he demands.
“Oh, now you’ll talk to me about it,” Aloy snaps. “Well, you wouldn’t tell me but my toy did.”
“The Nora don’t use mirrors. You have no need to look at yourself, and it’s too dangerous anyway.”
“How can it be dangerous?”
“The matriarchs say that demons can capture someone’s soul through a mirror and steal them away from the Sacred Lands, never to be seen again by the tribe,” Rost says.
“And what do you say, Rost?”
“I say I will not disagree with the matriarchs.”
“Aarrgh! That’s what you always say. How can a demon steal a soul from a reflection? How can force someone to leave the Sacred Lands? What are demons anyway? Some kind of machine or metal devil?” Aloy’s frustration levels are rising rapidly.
“The matriarchs do not tell us what the demons are or how they do these things. We do not need to know. We simply need to trust in the matriarchs.” Rost’s calm gaze meets Aloy’s wild green eyes. “Have you seen yourself in a mirror, Aloy?”
Despite her anger, Aloy cannot lie to him. “Once in a mirror. I saw a pair of brown eyes appear. There was pink paint around them. I tried again using your large hunting knife, but I only saw myself.”
Rost hums to himself. “Brown eyes. Pink paint.” He seems to be thinking deeply about something.
“Was that a demon, Rost?” she asks.
“The matriarchs would say so,” he replies. He hold up his hand before Aloy can ask her usual question. “I would say it could be a friend, could be more than a friend but after the Proving, when you take your place among the tribe, you will have no need of such a person. Your life will be within the Sacred Lands.”
“What about before the Proving?”
Rost turns away, staring into space. “I think one more try to be sure. If no one appears this time, the first time was a trick of the light.”
“When?”
“Now is as good a time as any,” Rost comments. “Wait for me outside while I get something.”
The day is sunny and cold. The morning frost has melted. There is a trace of spring on the breeze. Aloy thinks it could be a good day for running the Braves’ Trail. Aloy sits down on the steps leading up to the cabin. She is fidgeting with her bone comb listening to Rost moving around inside. When he joins Aloy he isn’t carrying the blade as she expected but a drawstring bag. He settles himself down on the steps beside Aloy.
“There are no mirrors in the Sacred Lands. This is a shiny plate.” He raises an eyebrow at her.
“A shiny plate. Yes, Rost,” Aloy nods firmly.
Certainly, the object Rost passes to her is flat, like a plate, and it is indeed shiny. With Rost’s guidance Aloy angles the mirror so it shows only her reflection, but Rost can see her image as well. They sit in silence. Minutes pass. Nothing happens. Rost exhales, and Aloy thinks he sounds relieved
“Well,” he says.
The eyes appear suddenly, and Aloy jumps a little with the shock of it. She can see the brown, nearly black eyes, a line of pink paint stopping just under the black eyebrows and a white stripe downwards between the eyes. The paint is bold, the eyes bolder. They crinkle up as if the person is smiling and Aloy smiles broadly in return.
“Can they hear me?” she asks Rost.
“No,” he says, sounding sad. Aloy is surprised. Rost doesn’t often show obvious emotion. Well, apart from Aloy has driven him demented with her behaviour.
“What does it mean? Not demons coming for me?”
“It means you have a choice. Continue with your chosen path. Win the Proving, become Nora, request your boon.” Rost sighs. “Or choose this. Choose to seek who you see in the mirror. Look to your future, not your past.”
“I need to know who my mother is. If I can’t have both, then I’m choosing her.”
“Then you can’t look again. It’s unfair to them, whoever they are. If you keep looking then they are going to believe you intend to seek them out.”
“Oh.” Aloy stares into the brown eyes. She thinks she sees caring in them and hope too. Aloy will not be diverted from her mission though, not even to have her very first friend. Tears rise and she lets them fall, hopes the other person sees her sorrow and regret. Then Aloy looks away and passes the mirror back to Rost.
Far to the west, Kotallo stares into the mirror long after the green eyes have vanished. No paint. An outlander. The recruit had seen a variety of emotions flash through those eyes in the short time they shared. Happiness. Curiosity. Determination. Regret. Sadness.
Tears. Tears that sparkle like the light off fresh snowfall.
Kotallo somehow knows he will never again see those eyes looking back at him, no matter how often he checks. Is it enough to know he has a potential True Mate even if they are never to meet through the mirror again? Will the hope of meeting them – her, Kotallo decides the eyes belong to a girl – hold him back from grasping at happiness here among his own clan? He could ask the chaplain about the matter; Kotallo already knows what the advice will be.
Tenakth and outlanders do not mix. Have never mixed. And their tribe is fighting for their survival against the Carja. Kotallo knows his chances of a long life are nil. He’d been happy to live long enough to rise to soldier in his squad. He thinks he will be lucky to live another year at this point. The fighting gets ever fiercer. The Tenakth do not submit. Whoever she is, whatever her reasons for withdrawal, can he blame her?
It had been such a long time since their first and only contact Kotallo had thought she must have died. Two years of active service have taken all hopes for a personal future from him. He will fight for his tribe. He will fight for his commander. He will bring as much honour as he can to his clan. He will have no pledged mate, no children to mark their remembrance of him on their skin. It will be enough that the Tenakth survive.
Those eyes and that skin tone don’t look Carja. Kotallo hopes that she is safe from the Raids, that she will live, accomplish whatever mission she faces, have a happy life. One of them should.
It’s time to muster with the squad. They move out today, heading east. The Tenakth are taking the fight to the Carja. All the way to Meridian.