Chapter Text
She stands at the foot of the stone steps that mark his grave, her fingers tugging along the seams of her tassels. She’s trying to muster up the words to speak, but her tongue twists tight with shame. It is not as if anyone will hear her, though. The night is eerily quiet, more so than she is used to. There are no night birds singing in the shade of trees, not even the whisper of wind that passes through the forest beyond.
The hair on her neck stands on end. She is being watched.
A dark shape emerges from behind Rost’s gravestone, like a living shadow. And as it passes over the candles the Matriarchs had lit before Aloy had climbed all the way up, their flames snuff out, replaced with trails of smoke. Aloy finds herself staring into the bright, luminescent eyes of the familiar creature, its usual, sinister grin absent in its features.
“Spirit,” she calls out to the Gengar who, in tandem with Rost, raised her from infancy. “Are you here for him as well?”
The creature nods ever so slightly, before taking her hand in its short claws, as if it is seeking comfort in her touch.
“I know, Spirit, I know,” she says as she places her own hand on top. There is a wetness in her eyes, but she blinks them away before they can fall. “He was right, you know–” her breath shudders– “He’s gone where we can’t follow.”
The Gengar looks to her, unblinking in its permanent glare. But she knows the sadness in that gaze. It turns back to the gravestone, and lays its paw upon it. Its spines shudder. A tear falls onto the snow-dusted rock.
Silently, she places her palm against its soft spines, tracing it down in a comforting motion as she brushes the fur underneath. This creature should not be a stranger to loss, for it has to be much older than her, perhaps even as ancient as the Old Ones. And yet, as the shadowy body trembles against her hand, she knows.
They have both lost someone tonight, and there is no way for either of them to bring him back.
Some time passes as they stand before the grave without another word. Midnight clouds hang overhead, and snow begins to fall.
Then, Aloy takes its paw again, and it regards her.
“Join me, Spirit,” she invites it with a sober tone. “You’ll be lonely here if you stay. I can’t–I won’t come back here, you know? Not for a long time.”
At first, she believes it will refuse, for the way it frowns even deeper is calculating, concerned. But then, its paw shifts, so it properly grips her finger, the only part of her it can wrap its entire fingers around.
And it nods.