Hello all! To those here from my other stories, welcome! I promise I'm not abandoning my previous projects in favor of this (I'm really not). To newcomers, greetings! Welcome to my newest plot bunny! This collection of one-shots was a gift requested by a friend who adores the Horizon Zero Dawn game. After he read it, he insisted I share it with the world, so here it is! These will probably be on the short side, but hopefully still interesting. I will update this as inspiration to edit strikes and not before. Also, if you prefer Ao3 to FF, I (finally) have an account there! I'm SecretEnigma over there, same as over here, so it shouldn't be hard to find (I think). So far only this one-shot collection is posted over there, but I intend to add things to that account when I have time.

Copyright Disclaimer: I do not own Horizon Zero Dawn or any references made in this story. All I own are my interpretation of the characters and my accessibly stealthy play style that Aloy shares with me in this story.

Chapter One: Nil

She was arguably the most beautiful yet baffling thing he had ever seen.

Oh, he did not mean to imply that he was besotted with her, not in the way most men lusted after a woman. But sometimes, when he watched her ghost through the grass in the hunt for her chosen prey, green eyes razor sharp and footsteps quieter than the wind on a summer's night … that's when he wondered if this was how other men felt when they saw the woman they sought to win, if the racing of his heart and the thrill under his skin was what they called "love". He doubted it. He doubted she would appreciate him mentioning such things even more. She was delightfully practical like that.

He could still remember the day he first saw her, a Nora savage jogging down a deer trail of a path, green eyes catching on the bodies of the bandits with a mix of curiosity and wariness. "There's danger ahead girl." He had called out the warning as a mere courtesy, fully expecting to be ignored or threatened.

True to form, her jaw had jutted out stubbornly, "Danger for you outlander. This is Nora land-"

He had interrupted, not particularly wanting to hear the usual hue and cry of the tribe that called themselves hunters, "Yes, yes, yes, trespass is forbidden on pain of death. Strange phrase, 'the pain of death'." He had pointed idly at the bandit lying at his feet, "See? This one's in no pain at all."

When she had asked who the man was, he had seen an opportunity to make her leave. Few had ever stayed to listen to his commentary, and none of those who had stayed still walked among the living anymore. But instead of leaving as he had expected, or trying to make him leave —which was a fruitless notion, but people could be foolish like that—, she had pricked up at the mention of a hunt. It was subtle, but something about the way her chin had tilted and her eyes had sharpened had prompted him to invite her along. He had thought that perhaps she could be an interesting companion for a hunt, to see if Nora were as good at hunting as they claimed, or even to see what it was like to pass on a few tips he had learned along the way.

In a distant way, he had missed hunting in a group —a proper one, not like that foolish tracker he'd picked up a few weeks ago, far too impatient and reckless that one—. Even if he had had to take orders from others back then, during the height of the war, the hunting had been different, the thrill more savored when shared by like-minded company. Those days were long past, but he had thought that pairing up with the Nora girl might be an interesting way to spice up how he went about ending his latest quarry.

But she had surprised him. Outstripped his expectations in every way. She told him repeatedly that she only did it to make the lands safe, but the look in her eyes when the hunt had started, the way her footsteps became silent and her patience endless, told another story. This was no warrior, who sought out honorable open combat above all else, nor was this a coward, only attacking when there was no chance of losing. She was a hunter. A true hunter, who lived for the thrill of stalking and killing. Thrived on the challenge of outsmarting her prey.

Then he learned that she was not just any kind of hunter, she had the second sight.

He could still remember the moment of realization. The span of time when confusion had turned to irritation, then to understanding and, yes, even amazement.

It had been during their first hunt together, starting right after he had pointed out the rocks of Devil's Thirst and teased her instincts with explanations of murderous bandits, their pesky —unless he was looking for a bloodbath, which admittedly wasn't rare— alarm system, and helpless Nora captives to rescue if one felt particularly heroic —her irritation at his flippant responses to her wariness had been very amusing—. She had taken off at once into the evening rain, but not, to his surprise, straight for the camp or the bridge that stretched across the river. Instead, the girl had darted off upriver, padding through the rain-stained grass like a particularly large cat. Only when the bandit camp was almost out of sight entirely did she finally slide down the steep bank and swim to the other side.

He had made a mental note of her cautious nature to keep from complaining —even to himself— about the chill of the river adding to the rain-sodden status of his clothes and weapons. He had added "very cautious" to that mental note alongside the fact that the girl had a nervous habit of stopping and pressing a hand to the jewelry on one ear —good luck charm? She wouldn't be the first— when —once again— instead of making straight for the nearest bandits to kill, she had circled the camp from afar not once, but twice —which entailed swimming the river four more times in the increasingly dark night hours— before settling on an approach to the gate nearest their original starting point that had much tall grass.

Vaguely irked by that time —patience was one thing, but nighttime swims in rivers while it was raining was not a wartime experience he had ever wanted to relive— his irritation had shifted to surprise when the girl unhesitatingly unslung her bow and fired into the dark night at the nearest bandit guard tower. His puzzlement —because she couldn't actually expect to hit someone from this far in lighting like this— was cut off by the faint thud of an arrow hitting home and the slightly louder impact of a body hitting wood. There was no cry for help, no sounds of alarm from the other patrolling bandits. He doubted anyone could have heard the sounds over the rain unless they were listening for it.

Her hand had flickered to her ear jewelry for just a moment as she stared at the tower, then she had unhesitatingly notched and let fly two more arrows into the dark again at rapid speed. There was another pair of meaty thuds to herald deadly arrowheads finding homes in fatal places and two soggy crashes of bodies onto the wet ground. Only then did she move on, with an increasingly baffled and intrigued Nil on her heels.

It wasn't until roughly halfway through their hunt —the stealthiest he had had in a long time, as well as the oddest— that he realized why she kept stopping and darting back into cover at random times. Why she spent entire minutes just staring at whatever wall was in front of them or to their sides, her gaze tracking back and forth with a focus that was purely predatory.

She could see her prey. Somehow, someway, she would see through the walls and observe every action the bandits took, memorize their locations and patrol routes without ever having to risk being revealed. More than that, she could use her second sight to aim through the rain and the night gloom to shoot her chosen target —in the head, always the head, a guaranteed instant and silent death in a way heart or throat shots never were—.

Nil had known men —and women— who possessed exceptional hunting instincts. Who could just tell when there was another presence near, or where an enemy was most likely to appear from behind cover. He had had the pleasure of fighting them and hunting alongside them both, he even prided himself on being one of those people. But this… he had never seen a level of second sight, an awareness, like hers. An awareness so high she could track a target with her gaze even through walls and up to halfway across a bandit camp —though he'd only figured out her range on later occasions, after much observation and carefully masked questions—.

Of course, for all her supernatural skill in the Sight —which it was supernatural, a part of Nil believed, especially after being called to fight an army of demon machines at her side—, she had still been inexperienced in hunting people at the time —people were so much more interesting than machines, much more oblivious, but once they realized something was wrong, they didn't just forget after a period of silence like machines— and so had eventually made a mistake and alerted the rest of the camp to their presence. But by that point, so many bandits had died by either her bow, or his knife, or her knife —lured to it by that eerie not-quite-machine-not-quite-bird noise she made, as irresistible to the curious as the call of sirens to sailors—, that the blur of open combat had been merely short and invigorating rather than long and crowded and dangerous.

He had left the moment the camp was cleared of course —no time or interest in the shaky thanks and bewildered gratitude of people who thought he did this out of the goodness of his heart—, but had been immensely pleased when the girl —Aloy, she'd finally introduced herself as— had tracked him down to where he was waiting and actually spoken with him again.

He had seen the bloodlust hiding in her eyes as she'd approached, dancing and sparking like adrenaline —but so much better, so much more dangerous, so much harder to control— and had been unable to stop the pleased smile as he taught her the first lesson of being an honorable hunter of men, "Feels good, doesn't it? Hold it inside you one last breath, then let it out."

She hadn't acknowledged the wisdom in his words then —or ever, she had such a stubborn mindset about pretending she didn't enjoy the hunt as much as he did—, but he had seen the glow fade from green eyes until the hunter with exceptional second sight was gone and there was only an irritated Nora teenager left behind. She had acted like this was a one time occurrence, he had told her that they would see each other again, and until they did, know each other by their handiwork.

He was the one who was right, of course. And he quickly learned to spot —and yes, to marvel— at the distinctive collection of bandits dead in place, some clearly in the middle of a random activity. Lives ended by a quick flash of the knife or spear or by arrows buried deep in their skulls, —she only ever killed with an arrow if it was a headshot, the girl's level of precision in that aspect was almost obsessive—.

They met up a few more times after that, and Nil learned to appreciate falling into her pace of things, her way of stalking a camp continuously for hours —even, in one notable instance, two whole days without rest— until each and every bandit had been ended as silently as a ghost. His methods usually began stealthy and ended noisy and bloody and thrilling, but there was a certain challenge to remaining unseen and unknown throughout the entirety of the hunt that grew to appeal to him, at least when he could use her unnaturally powerful second sight to his advantage.

She had an odd habit of listening to him, trying to understand him —even though he intentionally irritated and teased her—, which others had given up years ago or didn't bother attempting in the first place. She acted brisk, but he could always tell when she took his advice to heart —advice he offered freely, because it would be such a shame to lose someone that talented to either death or madness—. Eventually, she even gave up trying to convince him that she didn't enjoy it, just rolled her eyes and urged him to hurry up and begin. It was like being in his old squad again, familiar and welcome in short bursts. He became quite fond of her really.

Though, he supposed challenging her to a duel to the death after running out of bandit camps had been a bit presumptuous. He should have at least offered to buy her a drink or three first, or to have a night together. Though he doubted she'd accept the latter offer really, not when she didn't even understand what flirting was —she was such a young, naive thing for a deadly huntress—. Still, he should have at least offered out of courtesy before trying to convince her to battle him.

But she had turned him down and the wound she'd left with her words had cut him deep until messengers had approached him while he was contemplating —not moping, thank-you-very-much— on a high mesa with word of a great battle to decide the fate of all life as men knew it and the red-headed huntress who would be leading the charge.

He couldn't not come when she called. He had grown almost unnaturally fond of her by then, and her apology gift —a battle from which there was almost no surviving, a one-day war in which he could cast aside his usual restraint and just live in the moments of blood and fear and adrenaline— had been magnificent beyond words.

Afterward, she had convinced him to hunt down the remaining Eclipse, bandits in all but name, and he had conceded on the condition she hunted with him.

Because as long as she was around to attract trouble —which she did, life-ending apocalypses didn't happen to just anyone— life wasn't nearly as boring or gray as it used to be.