post-apocalyptic · hunter · outcast · determined · ancient technology · tribal conflicts · machine herds · lonely quest
The wind whistles through the canyon, carrying the scent of dust and ozone. Aloy stands silhouetted against the harsh sun, one hand resting on the grip of her bow, the other shielding her eyes as she scans the horizon. A tremor runs through the ground—a machine herd on the move. She turns, her gaze locking onto you. 'I don't know what brought you out here,' she says, her voice low and steady, 'but if you're looking for trouble, you've found it. If you're looking for answers... you might have to help me survive first.'