Welcome to Hekarro Hell

But death never came. In those final desperate weeks, a message had found her in the field, her mother’s handwriting on the outside of the envelope. She was old fashioned like that. Victoria had gone to the Mojave Memorial Museum because the world was ending and Anne Faraday was still her mother, whatever that had ever meant. She had not expected warmth. She had not expected the security team, either, or the way her arms were pinned before she could speak. Her mother watched all of it without expression. Not when the needle went in. Not when the edges of the room began to soften. The last thing Victoria registered before unconsciousness claimed her was her mother’s voice, cold and certain: “You’ll thank me later.” As if stealing her daughter’s right to die with humanity was some twisted gift.

Victoria’s thousand-year slumber ended when the Tenakth discovered her cryostasis pod in the ruins of the Museum. They revered her as an “Old One,” this relic from before the machines devoured the world. But Victoria felt no reverence for herself, only the crushing weight of questions she’d never get an answer to. Why her? Why only her? The tribal humans who’d awakened her seemed like aliens, their customs and beliefs forged in the crucible of a post-apocalyptic Earth she barely recognized. Day after day, she drifted to her mother’s memorial exhibit, a ghost haunting her own past. There, Anne Faraday’s recorded speeches about unity and peace played on endless loop, each word stoking Victoria’s rage until it burned white-hot in her chest.

But it was in this cycle of rage and despair that the world began, imperceptibly, to change her. It was like she fell into an uneasy truce with the world. She learned the names of the warriors and the patterns of the tribe she lived with. She still spent every day at her mother’s memorial, still listened to the speeches and cursed the past, but the hatred no longer burned as brightly.

El tiempo lo cura todo.

Time heals all wounds. It was a phrase that had trailed Victoria from one end of her life to the other, spoken so often that it became as much a curse as a comfort. She could still hear Maria’s voice, gentle but persistent, reciting those words as if repetition alone might make them true. Sometimes Maria would say it with a watery smile, with her arms locked around Victoria’s shoulders, anchoring the fragments of a girl who’d been shattered by the absence of her real mother. Maria was not her mother, not by blood, but in every way that mattered. Her mother’s long shadow stretched over every major moment and minor joy, but it was Maria who caught her when she stumbled. Maria who read her report cards and scolded her for speeding and hugged her tight after every nightmare. Maria who gave up her weekends to drive Victoria to tournaments and school plays and piano recitals, and who was always waiting in the stands, even when Victoria pretended not to look for her.

It had been Maria who walked her through the rubble of her first heartbreak, who helped her move out after the failed engagement. Maria, not Anne Faraday, who made sure there was always food Victoria loved in the house, who dotted every “i” in her birthday cards with a smiley face. Maria had always been the one to stand between Victoria and the worst of herself, absorbing the anger meant for Anne until it lost its edge. “El tiempo lo cura todo,” she would say, even when Victoria threw it back at her, insisting that some wounds didn’t heal. What Maria had never thought to add was that the cure required willingness. And that time, as a healer, assumed you were living inside it the ordinary way. Moving through it in sequence, among people who had always known the same world you had. Neither of which had applied to Victoria for the better part of a year.

Dekka had been among the first to try, though. Victoria couldn’t have said when exactly the New World began to work on her, or whether she’d earned the right to let it. But something in Dekka’s strange humor and hard-earned wisdom had found the hinges of her and swung them loose. Had pulled laughter out of her at moments when grief still had both hands around her throat. They spent hours in the shade of the Grove’s mess hall playing Strike, Victoria losing every match until she wasn’t.

And of all the people in this new world, Ivvira came closest to friendship. Every morning they met in the Memorial Grove, fog still wreathing the ground as the jungle’s humidity thickened the air. Victoria would accept the wooden practice sword from Ivvira’s calloused hands, and they’d begin their dance in the clearing: thrust, parry, circle. Victoria’s military training counted for little here; she stumbled through the forms while Ivvira adjusted her stance with firm hands, nudging her hips into proper alignment. After sparring came running, their footfalls in sync, neither speaking of how the ritual itself had become a comfort.

Then came Aloy and Beta, the twins. Survivors like her, though of a different kind: clones grown from some ancient template of perfection. Victoria couldn’t articulate the strange bond she felt with them, not even to herself, but something in their determined eyes made her both jealous and proud. They carried the weight of humanity’s future as if they’d signed for the package personally. And when she sat with them, especially Beta, the centuries between Victoria’s world and this one seemed to fold like paper, creasing into something she could almost hold.

But it was Hekarro who changed everything. At first she found him terrifying: the biggest man she’d ever seen, his voice so deep it seemed to rattle the bones of her chest. He was direct in a way that left her no room to hide, and there were days she hated him for it. But as she learned his story, as she watched him move among his people with a grace at odds with his brutal reputation, something in her began to shift.

She never meant to fall in love with Hekarro. It happened the way the jungle changed seasons. No single morning you could point to, just a slow accumulation of small things. The way he sat with her anger without trying to fix it. The way he could tell, without asking, when she needed silence and when she needed the weight of someone nearby. He never said he needed her, she doubted he would have known how, but she knew he would have given her anything. When she told him she didn’t regret being woken up, that she loved him, she meant the whole of it.

Her past was still there, but for the first time it felt like it finally behind her.

Victoria had been moving since the sun came up. She climbed the Arena’s maw to the overlook with a bowl of food in each hand, her feet finding the familiar footholds without thought. The stands were already half full despite the hour, guards pooling in whatever shade they could find against the climbing humidity. Around them the repair work went on regardless: cranes swinging, quarry stone stacked in rough columns, an Oseram foreman’s voice cutting across all of it.

Hekarro was exactly where she expected him to be: at the utmost rim of the overlook, still as carved stone, the orange haze of sunrise pooling across the jungle canopy below him. She stopped in the shadow of the old concrete arch and watched the long planes of his back. She had learned to read him by posture alone, and his spine and the set of his neck told her almost everything she needed to know. He was brooding; thinking, planning, plotting, he would say, cycling through a million different words before he’d ever land on brooding. But, that’s what it was, and she loved him for it.

And, as usual, she lost the fight against the urge to close the distance. He did not turn at her approach, but she caught the small shift in his silhouette that gave him away: he had already registered her the moment she crested the stairs and was simply letting her believe otherwise. It was infuriating how attuned he was to his surroundings. Almost as infuriating as the fact that a man his size could move quietly enough to unsettle her.

“You know,” she called out, voice light as she leaned on the battered concrete rail and handed him his bowl of food, “I think they’ve come along a little more… since last night.” Below them the repair crews scurried like ants, dragging battered timbers and stone into some approximation of order, each worker a moving piece in the larger obsession that now consumed Hekarro’s every waking hour.

Hekarro took the bowl without looking at her and ate before he answered. “Your wit is wasted on me this early,” he said. The words were a scold but his voice wasn’t.

She shrugged, unbothered. “Maybe, but Dekka did make me promise to give you grief about it on my way up here,” she said, unable to keep from grinning. “And I am, if nothing else, consistent in giving you grief on her behalf.”

Hekarro’s bowl was on the railing before she’d registered him putting it there. He turned, and with one finger, the gentlest possible pressure, tilted her chin up. She had time to notice how unhurried it was before she stopped noticing anything. She had spent the better part of a year feeling like something poured into the wrong container, and there was a steadiness in him she’d never had in herself, but when he kissed her it was like a current. And she felt, briefly, like she was the right shape for her own life.

The laugh escaped before she could catch it, brief and involuntary, more breath than sound. She was a grown woman who had survived things that would have broken most people, and here she was, undone by a kiss. But Hekarro was still close, still watching her with that quality of attention he had, and it was genuinely difficult to be composed about it.

She cleared her throat, the noise absurdly loud in her own ears. “What are you going to do when we leave next week?” She tried to sound breezy, but the question caught at the end like a hook. “No worriedly watching the workers all the way out in Thornmarsh or the Bulwark. What will you possibly do with yourself?"

Hekarro snorted, the sound coming from deep in his chest as it always did, but she heard the fondness in it. “I suppose,” he said, as if he’d given it real thought, “I shall occupy my time watching you then.”

The heat in her face was immediate and total, and she knew there was nothing to be done about it. She made a noise that was not a word and put both hands flat against his chest, which accomplished nothing except giving her something to do with them.

He kissed her again anyway. For a moment there was no next week, no trials, no future she hadn’t yet managed to ruin, no past she was still outrunning. Just the warm weight of him and the jungle noise below and the orange light coming up.

Aloy disliked crowds, but what she disliked far more was being watched and ever since the Battle for the Spire, the eyes of Meridian had followed her everywhere. Countless times, she had reminded everyone around her that she never asked for this. She was just a person trying to do the right thing, because that’s what Rost taught her, and because too many people in the world would rather turn away. But none of that made it any easier to be the burning center of attention. People stopped to whisper or just stood and stared. She tried not to let it get to her. The people were grateful and she told herself that she should just be gracious and ignore the rest.

She wove between the guards flanking the great staircase up towards The Sun King’s throne room, ignoring their bows. At the top, a familiar figure awaited her: Blameless Marad, Grand Spymaster, a man who was always seemed two steps ahead of any given conversation. It did not surprise her at all that the man knew she was here. Marad nodded as she arrived, his countenance unreadable. He gestured silently toward the sun throne, where Sun-King Avad sat in the heart of a churning court.

The pavilion was chaos. Dozens of nobles ringed the dais, the air was thick with incense. Voices rose in a clamor, each more insistent than the last, accusations and rumors flying over the heads of the less powerful. The word “Tenakth” was everywhere. Aloy didn’t blame them for being angry. Fashav had been beloved, and his death felt like a betrayal. But all the shouting and mourning was just a mask for fear.

It didn’t take Avad long to notice her. He smiled when he saw her, the tension in his jaw relaxing for just a second. He raised one hand and the entire court fell silent at once. A hundred eyes turned to Aloy, and in that moment she wondered if she was about to make things better or much, much worse. 

“It’s good to see you again, Aloy,” Avad said, voice ringing off the stone of the open air pavilion. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

He gestured subtly to Marad, who moved to clear the room, but Aloy shook her head. “Wait,” she said, louder than she intended. “I have a message for you. From the Tenakth. And I think the rest of your court should hear it.”

A few people laughed a brittle, nervous sound. 

Aloy dug into her pouch and drew out a device. It looked like nothing more than just a handful of metal packed together, wires laced with blue and green, one clear flat panel embedded in the center. Beta’s handiwork had the slapdash genius of a last-minute miracle. Aloy set it gently on the polished stone at the center of the dais. She touched the Focus at her temple.

A blue shimmering light split the air. The court gasped as a figure—lifelike in every detail, tinged only slightly with static—appeared above the device. She was tall and wore clothes no one in the room had ever seen before, hair shorn to her skull on one side while the rest fell over her shoulder like a black curtain. 

“Sun-King Avad,” the hologram said, her words halting and unsure at first. “My name is Victoria Faraday, and I am asking Aloy to give you this message on my behalf. And though this might be hard for you to believe, I am an Old One.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Even Avad’s mask slipped a little; Aloy caught the flash of suspicion and fascination before it settled into careful neutrality.

“For almost a year I have lived among the Tenakth tribe. In that time, I have learned much about the people I hope to one day call my own. We are proud, fierce and determined. But above all, we strive for peace, just as much as you do.”

The hologram inclined its head again. “Which is why I am asking Aloy to deliver this message. We know that your court wants retribution for the death of Prince Fashav. He was beloved by many on both sides, and we are all poorer for his loss. However, more bloodshed only dishonors what he stood for. Which is why Chief Hekarro and I want to extend our hand in fellowship. We invite you, Sun King, and your court, to stand beside the tribes of the west as the Tenakth celebrate their Day of Unity. Bring your best and brightest champions and hunters and come share in our traditions so that we may forge a new era of peace.”

The blue light stuttered and vanished. The device emitted a faint hum before falling silent. In the vacuum it left behind, the court exploded into chaos,  a hundred voices battling for dominance. Aloy looked to Avad, who remained quiet in the chaos before he raised his hand for silence. The effect was muted this time. It took several tries, and finally a bellow from Marad, to drag the pavilion back to order.

Avad’s voice, when he spoke, was measured and calm, but Aloy saw the bloodless grip on the throne’s arm, knuckles white as bone. “Is it true, Aloy? Is this…” he paused, uncertain. “Victoria Faraday an Old One?”

“Yes,” she said flatly, not bothering to soften the blow. Her eyes swept the ring of nobles, some of whom shrank at her gaze while others bristled, “Chief Hekarro and I found her in the ruins beneath the Tenakth capital. She was… asleep. I was there when the Chief made the decision to wake her up. Since then, I’ve been checking on her, off and on, whenever I could.”

Avad rested his head in one hand and worked his jaw. “I’d heard rumors from the West,” he admitted, “gossip from traders and mercenaries, tall tales out of Barren Light. I dismissed them as panic or the usual attempts to stir unrest. Aloy, why didn’t you come to us sooner?”

She hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. “Because Chief Hekarro asked me not to. I agreed with him.” Aloy kept her gaze upon the Sun King, lips pressed thin. “The world you and I know is already dangerous, but to someone like her, it’s monstrous. She woke up in a place she didn’t recognize, among people who look like her but aren’t her kin. And Chief Hekarro needed to be sure she wasn’t a threat before he introduced her to anyone, even his own tribe.”

“Typical Tenakth secrecy,” someone muttered, but the words fell flat.

Avad looked to Marad, who spoke up without waiting for permission. “How did she survive?” he asked.

Aloy shrugged. “She says she was put there by her own people.” Aloy paused, searching for a way to explain the rest. “She’s not like us. She understands things about the world that no one else does. But she’s not interested in power. She just wants to live in peace.”

Marad’s skepticism was almost palpable. “And yet she’s attached herself to the Tenakth Chief,” he said.

“She owed him her life. He's shown her grace and compassion in the face of her monumental loss.” Aloy let a note of reproach into her voice. “If he’d meant to use her as a weapon, he’d have done it already.”

Avad nodded, turning the idea over in his mind. “This Day of Unity, is it a genuine offer?”

“It’s real,” she answered, “and it’s the best chance you’ve got if you want to avoid a war.”

Avad glanced to Blameless Marad, whose eyes flicked once to Aloy, then to the inert device still lying on the stone. “The optics of this, Your Radiance, are… delicate. But, this might be the best chance to preserve the peace you desire.”

Voices erupted around the pavilion, but Avad quelled them at once with a single look. “Peace requires courage,” he said, his voice steady despite the white-knuckled grip on his armrest. “My father ruled through blood and terror. I will not dishonor his victims by returning to those ways.” His eyes met Aloy’s. “Tell Chief Hekarro and this Old One that when their celebration comes, the Sun and its court will stand among them beneath the same sky.”

~~

“You know,” Victoria said, her tone light but edged as always with the gentle sarcasm, “I always thought Dekka over exaggerated when it came to your worrying.” At her words, Hekarro surfaced from the labyrinth of his thoughts, the familiar weight of his responsibilities momentarily replaced by a tongue-in-cheek smile. He glanced back at her, amused, and she met his gaze with a quirked eyebrow, as if daring him to protest her assessment.

Victoria closed the gap between them as she joined him at the overlook, her chest pressing against his back as she wrapped her arms around his waist. The warmth of her palm settled against his abdomen, her breath ghosting between his shoulder blades. His posture softened, shoulders dropping as he leaned back into her embrace. "She does, yet now it seems I have two of you to give me endless grief about it," he grumbled, the rough edges of his voice betrayed by an undercurrent of fondness.

She laughed. “But, at least you have me to help keep your mind off things. Seriously, Hekarro, you’re going to give yourself a heart attack if you don’t learn to relax.” Her voice held a cadence of mock severity, but her grip on him tightened with genuine concern.

Hekarro frowned, the foreign idiom catching him off-guard. Heart attack. A sickness, perhaps, or merely one of her metaphors. He suspected the latter, but the effect was the same: a jolt, a small rupture in his resolve.

He reached down and, with deliberate ceremony, brought her hand to his lips. He pressed his mouth against her knuckles, “Speak for yourself,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

She scoffed. “My worries are entirely different.”

He twisted within her arms, catching her gaze and holding it. He rested a finger under her chin, gently tilting her face up until the uncertainty in her stormy blue eyes was impossible to miss. “Are they?” he asked, quietly.

She hesitated. He saw it in the way her shoulders tensed, the way her eyes darted to the side. “I just…” she started, faltered, then tried again. “I don’t understand why Dekka suggested you come along. You’re needed here, and I—“

“Victoria,” he cut in, unwilling to let her diminish herself. “Your burdens are no less than mine. And Dekka’s suggestion was a sound one. Unless you’ve somehow managed to overcome your fear of machines, I need to come along.”

She stiffened in his arms, and for a moment he braced for an argument. Instead, her face fell and she whispered, “Wait, how did you know that?”

He softened, pulling her closer. “Aloy told me. About both incidents.” He felt her forehead press into his chest. He could feel her shame in the way her hands tightened, in the silent tremor of her shoulders. “It is not a weakness, Victoria,” he assured after a moment. “You survived an unimaginable horror.”

She pulled away, and as she did, the white powder and a streak of his own blue war paint clung to her face in uneven splotches. Dark, wet tears spilled down cheeks before she angrily wiped them away with the heel of her hand. 

“It doesn’t do me any good,” she said, her voice tight. “If I'm supposed to be your partner, I can’t just keep breaking down like this. I—” She broke off, took a deep, shuddering breath. “I have to be better than this.”

He reached up and cupped her cheek. “No,” he said. “You don’t. All you have to be is Victoria. Everything else will fall into place.” He thumbed away a fleck of blue paint. “Anyone who tells you otherwise is a fool.”

Her brow furrowed, jaw tightening in that familiar way. Ten above, Hekarro knew she could debate the mountains into moving if she set her mind to it. He pressed his lips against hers before she could launch her first volley. "Save your breath," he murmured. "My path is set. I'll take your trials beside you, and whether the journey ends in triumph or ruin, I remain yours regardless."

Victoria scoffed at him again, but let herself fall silent in his arms. A thousand and one worries could wait for tomorrow. For now, there was only this: her breath against his chest, the weight of her trust in his hands. Whatever trials the Tenakth Clans would demand, whatever rites of passage lay ahead, Hekarro knew with bone-deep certainty that they had already survived the hardest part. They had found each other across an impossible divide, and in doing so, perhaps shown their people a new way forward.