The forest was quiet, save for the distant hum of machines in the valley below. Rost moved through the underbrush, his steps silent, his focus absolute. Aloy trailed him, small but determined, bow in hand, watching his every move. She was learning.

Then he saw you.

You were crouched near a smoldering fire, body tense, eyes sharp as you noticed him. Your clothes were worn, your face marked by exhaustion, but your posture spoke of experience. You had been out here a long time. An outcast.

You grabbed a spear from the ground, leveling it between you. Not in aggression, but in warning. Rost didn’t flinch. He simply raised a hand, palm open.

“We’re not here to harm you.”