We know we weren’t
the first ones here. Our stories speak of the
ones that came before… The Old Ones. The world of the Old Ones
was so different than ours. They had built incredible cities with towers
that reached the stars. But a darkness came, and
their cities turned to graves. And without them, the
land started to change. Their great cities faded away, and in their place
came new life. Over time, one by one, the
tribes came to these lands. Some small and humble, some powerful as kings. They say my tribe was the
first, the first to hunt, the first to raise our bows. For this world was never ours; we’ve always shared it, a dangerous balance
between man and machine. There’s the herd.
Finally. Dammit. A Watcher. Better stay out of sight. Go. Go away. Shh, shh, shh. Sorry, little one. I couldn’t let
you call for help. Perfect day for a hunt. This is going to be
harder than I thought. Okay. Those canisters
should be full by now. Just a couple more. Ugh. Come on. Yes. Here we go. Someone’s angry. Gotta get under it. Got it. Stay still. All right.
Time to shut you down. The stories don’t tell
where the Old Ones went. They don’t tell us why the
machines rule these lands, but they warn us that
this balance cannot last. A storm is coming… … and I will be ready.