Chapter Text
“Oi!” That bug, the caretaker. Pesky and annoying, he had been calling out to Hornet the whole time she was looking through the local merchant’s wares. “Ahoy!”
She heard someone call this settlement Songclave. It was surprising that it already got a name, considering Hornet rang the bell in the shrine just a few days ago. It wasn’t a decision she really thought through; really, she didn’t think much about ringing the bell at all. Ringing those in the land below the Citadel had proven to be useful, as it turned out they gave her access to the grand gate of the Citadel she stumbled upon just recently, while exploring the Citadel and places around it. She already had access to the Citadel through the exhaust organ, as well as the bellstation. But perhaps having opened that gate might turn out useful in the future.
So as soon as she saw the massive bell in the shrine, her immediate thought was to break it free from the pale webbing that was covering it and holding in place.
Turns out, she accidentally called every still living bug of the citadel to come dragging themselves here – that was what the caretaker said. Later Hornet saw clear evidence of that, as bugs of still lucid mind began showing up around the shrine. Hornet thought it was a good sign that there still were living bugs hiding in the empty halls. After all, this place wasn’t as dead as she at first assumed. Two days passed after the bell was rung, and a couple dozens of pilgrims were huddling around the shrine, making makeshift resting spots for themselves and making the caretaker irritated.
The caretaker, that strange bug, for some reason felt somewhat familiar to Hornet, but she couldn’t quite grasp the reason why. Perhaps, she used to know someone as bad-tempered and wary as he is? For some reason, she doubted that: the caretaker was the type of bug that would be hard to forget or ignore. Especially now, when he had something to say to her.
“Oi! Oooi!” He kept calling, even though Hornet was certain he could see that she was occupied at the moment.
She sighed and gave Jubilana, the recently rescued merchant of the Citadel, a rosary string. She seemed to be quite a greedy bug (like any other merchant in this kingdom), but at the very least her wares were fairly valuable for Hornet. Jubilana snatched the rosary necklace and in return she gave Hornet so-called spool extender she was interested in.
The way Jubilana described it sounded useful if her words were true. Presumably, Hornet could carry more silk with it, which would be especially useful here, in the Citadel. She expected this place to hold challenges for her, and so it did; she had to make sure to prepare before she continued to explore this place.
Hiding the acquired item in a pocket of her cloak, Hornet turned to the caretaker. He locked eyes with her, mirroring her mildly annoyed expression.
“Oi, bellringer!” He called out again, waving to her. “C’mere for a minute.”
So Hornet did.
“What is it that troubles you, caretaker?” Hornet asked politely, reserved.
“Aye, nothin’ troubles me,” he rasped. “Heard you did the savin’ for our merchant there? I’ve seen her about, sneaking and scrounging, even a'fore you was ringing that bell.”
Hornet tilted her head slightly, barely noticeable, observing the caretaker. The bug was quite fond of talking. Surprisingly so, despite his initial annoyance at the idea of a settlement forming here. So far he seemed to be a rarely talkative individual even for this kingdom.
But Hornet didn’t mind listening. Bugs tended to drop rather interesting facts in their routine conversations. Facts that might help her move forth with her task. So she didn’t dare to hurry away whenever a bug wished to speak to her.
“She’s a useful sort, that merchant,” meanwhile, the caretaker continued. “But eh, don’t let her age be foolin', she's still the sharpest mind for a deal.”
“I can see that,” Hornet nodded. “I’ll make sure to not underestimate the bug.”
“Hmph, good,” the caretaker huffed. “If you find some solace in helpin’ out the bugs here, you might wanna see that old board over there. You ring that bell, you help out the place, bellringer.”
“If time permits, I shall do as you said,” Hornet nodded.
“Aye. Wasn’ expectin’ much more of you.”
One more cold, curt nod, and Hornet departed, leaving the settlement.
She didn’t quite mind helping out this little town, especially now when it just barely formed and was in need of protection and supplies. Especially if reward was worth it. But “solace” was not something Hornet was driven by.
Either way, there were more urgent matters she wanted to attend to first. And her main task, to seek out the force that wouldn’t let her leave, was of the utmost importance.
She raised her eyes as she went through halls shining with gold. There, above this Citadel, the source of this silken curse lurks. The hungry, savage beast that thrashes and screams, lacking patience to finally close its sharp fangs on Hornet’s shell; to absorb her powers, her strength, her will. Her silk. The beast was spurring this exciting feeling in Hornet, the feeling that one gets while on a hunt, while about to pounce, while awaiting a battle with a foe that would match the hunter’s strength.
A chance to prove her hunter skills. Prove to whom? That didn’t really matter to Hornet. To whoever’s watching, or to nobody but herself, to nobody but her prey, perhaps.
Hornet descended down, ignoring, or maybe even basking in the pale ephemeral pressure that poured on her shoulders from above. She couldn’t wait to face it, the pale being. But Hornet was patient; before she gets her chance to meet with the creature above the Citadel, she will restore the full strength she once possessed. She will learn more about this kingdom as well.
The bellstation welcomed her with the quiet ever present ringing of countless bells and the soft purring of the bellbeast themself. Hornet gently hopped down from the platform, landing so carefully and precisely, that none of the bells rattled louder than it should, so that Eira wouldn’t wake up just yet.
Despite prioritizing spending her time on working towards her goal, Hornet struggled to fight against her will to stop and observe sometimes. And with bellbeast, she couldn’t pass by without sparing them a few minutes of attention. Not necessarily because they craved it, no; because that made Hornet feel better, for whatever reason. She didn’t inquire too deeply into this matter.
She settled next to Eira’s muzzle and sat unmoving for a second, just listening to their purring. The sound rang softly through the bells around them, creating a quiet, simple music. She gently petted the bellbeast with one hand, while reaching for her needle with the other. Eira purred louder, but didn’t seem to wake up.
Holding the handle of her needle, she strung a thread along the blade, and it shone as she plucked it, beginning to play her little melody she learned in a weaver’s lair above Bellhart.
The bellbeast startled awake, immediately raising their head from the ground and looking around. Hornet watched them, as they focused their gaze on her and listened for a minute. Then, they tilted their head up and began half purring, half softly roaring something akin to a melody.
Hornet felt felt warm and comfortable. Or comforted, maybe. Again, she didn’t inquire too deep into this well forgotten feeling.
Soon the melody was over, and Hornet got up. Bellbeast watched her curiously as she climbed on the planform, passed the bench and leaped into a hatch in the ceiling.
Besides seeking comfort and satisfying her curiosity in observation of beasts of this land, she as well couldn’t wait to return to Phantom and ideally receive some answers for questions that had been buzzing in her head.
Her thoughts kept returning to the silk-shelled creature of the exhaust organ, no matter how much she tried to push them to the back of her mind and focus on the current task. Hornet didn’t plan to visit them again so soon, but her curiosity was agonizing by this point, so she gave in. Whatever. She’s not losing that much time by visiting Phantom. She wasn’t in that much of a hurry anyway.
She crossed tunnels, dark corridors, and soon there was the elevator. It brought her to the main room of the organ, and Hornet entered, cautious and wary.
She heard the music play as soon as she left the dark caves and entered the corridors lined with metal plates. It was the same melody as the one she heard while traversing the Mist: quiet, sad, a little tentative. A little intimidating. Not as intimidating now when Hornet knew it a little better.
The performer stood there, at the organ’s console, playing the instrument. They didn’t turn, they didn’t flinch or move like they did when she first came here, so Hornet doubted they noticed her. She stopped there, at the entrance to the room, deciding to wait for them to finish playing this melody before she interrupted.
Minutes passed. The melody sounded clean and undisrupted. It didn’t echo in an awkward way in the halls below. That probably shouldn’t be surprising, this instrument must have been designed in a way to prevent any unwanted disturbances. The music flowed, filling the air around Hornet, surrounding her, wrapping around her, like a blanket. The melody was oddly… soothing, lulling. Somehow even the sadness and intimidation of the melody began sounding soft and comforting–
“Did you come here to stand at the threshold?”
Hornet blinked. Her mind took a second to exit that entranced state. She gripped around the needle’s handle tighter, realizing it was about to fall out of her hand. With her mind awake again, she locked her eyes on Phantom’s back. They still didn’t turn to look at her.
“Creature.” Hornet said. She sounded perfectly stoic, just as she wanted to. No traces of drowsiness in her voice.
“You may speak, spider, I am listening,” they said.
Hornet stared at them for a little longer. Phantom didn’t stop playing, the melody still flowed through the room, flawless and perfect. It looked like they weren't going to end the melody.
Hornet didn’t care, she could speak over the melody. It was quiet enough, it wouldn’t drown her voice out.
“I came here again looking for answers,” she began.
And then she didn’t continue.
Well, maybe talking to Phantom’s back while they seemed to be preoccupied was kind of odd. Hornet shifted in place awkwardly, uncomfortably.
“Well, what would your questions be?” Phantom asked after Hornet didn’t continue speaking.
“...Are you going to speak while playing?”
This question escaped her before she could stop it, making Hornet flinch at how awkward and confused it sounded.
Phantom turned their head to the side a little, as if surprised by her tone, but then turned back to the keys in front of them. They didn’t falter, the melody wasn’t disturbed by that little distraction.
“I would like to continue, yes,” Phantom nodded. “If you’re uncomfortable with yelling from across the room, feel free to join me here.”
Their response sounded like mockery, and Hornet hissed at it low and quietly, so that the music would drown the sound out. But she walked across the room to Phantom, stopping next to the bench, to the side of the performer. From here she could at least see their mask, the side of it. Not like any emotion was visible through it. Their eyes were focused on the keyboards in front of them, and their claws, thin and fragile, danced on the keys. The movements looked confident; they knew exactly where the next chord would land. A composition rehearsed hundreds and thousands of times over and over again.
“Well, spider?” Phantom spoke after Hornet didn't begin speaking again. “Is something the matter? You’re concerningly quiet compared to the last time you were here, infiltrating my domain.”
Hornet narrowed her eyes. She should focus. The music was distracting her.
“I would still like to wait for you to finish your composition, I’d hate to disturb your performance.”
“What a considerate sentiment to hear from a spider.”
Hornet stared at them, debating whether to wait or just start talking and be done with it as soon as possible. But before she decided, Phantom sighed.
“Fine,” they said, relenting. “Give me a few minutes, if you crave my full attention so much. Sit down if you have to.”
Hornet stared at them for a second longer, convincing herself that retorting wouldn’t be a good idea, and then she sat on the bench, facing away from the organ.
***
Phantom could really stop playing at any point; they didn’t care enough to play the composition until the end. They could start over, they could continue from where they stopped. They could cease playing for a while, it was no different to them.
Phantom just wanted to give themself a bit more time to think before they had to face their uninvited guest.
They didn’t expect her to return so soon after she left them here with their wish ungranted. To be realistic, they didn’t expect her to return at all. They already accepted that they would perhaps have to await another brave enough traveler that would match and outmatch their strength. Another spider, perhaps, if those were still left in the world. Phantom doubted that, but it didn’t make them desperate or sad. After so much time of loneliness nothing felt different to them. Nothing stirred this centuries-old layer of detachment.
Except for this spider.
There she was, back again, present, real, disturbing the air in their instrument. This crimson-red, a stain of an awfully bright color on their monochrome domain. She was ruining the usual calmness, she was disturbing the flow of their melody, she’s noisy and annoying with how lively and ringing her voice was.
She’s back so soon. What was it, a couple days perhaps? A week? There was no way for Phantom to count hours, time didn’t exist among these grey walls. But her absence didn’t feel long at all.
Phantom wasn’t happy about it. Phantom particularly wasn’t happy that her presence excited them.
She sat behind them, on the bench. Phantom did invite her to join them, but her presence now was breaking into their personal space. An uncomfortable new (or long forgotten) feeling they didn’t mind for some reason. The spider was facing away, perhaps sitting on the very edge of the bench, wary, anxious. A bit of her cloak was still visible to Phantom from the corner of their eye, and the vivid red was irritating.
The sound flowed better through the room now that the spider was closer to them. At least one good thing.
They finished the melody. The sound slowly went away, leaking out of the halls of the exhaust organ, sinking in the rotten caverns outside their domain, and Phantom’s claws froze, hovering over the keys. Let the melody finish completely before facing the spider and her questions. They didn’t want to speak to her, now just delaying the conversation.
Seconds, or minutes, or hours passed before complete silence settled in the organ, Phantom was too lost in anticipation.
Then, they turned around, finally facing the spider.
…Only to find her hunched form unmoving. Wasn’t she eager to speak to them?
“Spider,” they said, sounding ever so slightly confused.
She flinched at the sound of their voice, immediately turning to them, blinking. She looked a little bewildered, a little disoriented, but a second passed, and she forced her usual neutral expression onto her face.
Was there something wrong with the spider? Was she ill? Not like Phantom cared.
“Creature,” she said in response. Her voice sounded slightly hoarse.
“So? Did you decide it is time to grant me my wish?” Phantom sat down on the bench, on the opposite side from the spider, so that there was plenty of space between them. They leaned back, propping themself with their arms. Phantom was facing the organ’s console, and the spider was facing away.
She straightened her posture, observing Phantom coldly.
“It will be granted, but not today,” she uttered.
“Ah, how unfortunate,” they laughed, unbothered. “So why did you come here again?”
“I would like to talk to you about the Citadel.”
“Go ahead then.”
The spider was quiet for a second. She now was looking away from them, gathering thoughts, perhaps.
“I believe I have explored plenty of the Citadel,” the spider began. “The empty halls were filled with dead bugs roused to service yet again by the haunted thread. I have sensed a presence above the Citadel, a pale being.”
She fell quiet and looked up at Phantom again. An analyzing, thoughtful stare.
Phantom hummed.
“Well, congrats!” they said. “You survived for this long, that’s quite an accomplishment.”
“You haven’t told me about the pale being when I asked.”
“I have not, you are quite accurate with that statement.” Phantom mocked her. It was delightful to see her eyes squint in exasperation while she was trying to remain a neutral and collected expression on her face. What a spectacle, what a comedic performance.
The spider was quiet for a second, either struggling to find words, or trying to pick ones that would keep this conversation polite.
“I do not see why you’d hide this information from me,” finally, she said.
“But I’m a performer, dear spider. A dramatist. See, the main character of a story must not know everything from the start. Otherwise the writing would be boring. If I gave you directions immediately, it would remove that sweet anticipation of the unknown; the mystery. It would be a crime to do so.”
As they spoke, the spider’s frown deepened more and more. It delighted Phantom.
“I am not a character in your play, bug,” she hissed.
“Why not? Not in all of my stories the main character dies in the end, I promise.”
“Cease it, Phantom,” she used the name she gave them last time she visited. “You have promised to answer my questions.”
“I have promised to answer some of them; there are ones I’m unable or unwilling to answer. Such was the deal.”
The spider stared at them. So much indignation in her glare, it was hilarious to bear witness as she tried her best to lock the emotion away. It took her a second to do so.
“...Fine,” she huffed and looked away.
“See, you’ve figured out the nature of that curse on your own, spider,” Phantom continued. “I bet it took you little time to do so. I see no reason to tell you something that you’d easily find out yourself. You'd be such a clever main character of a play.”
“Who are they?” She asked, ignoring their comment. Her impatience was leaking into her voice. “The pale being. Do you know anything about them?”
“Hm, I believe you will learn when the time comes.”
“So you know?”
“Perhaps, I do.” That was all they said in response.
She stared at them for a bit, then nodded and fell silent again. She was looking down at her needle that was resting in her lap. Claws softly held its handle, tracing mindlessly over the shining surface. A strand of silk lingered, wrapped around the eye of the needle, and Phantom resisted the urge to snatch it.
Their hunger became a part of them a long time ago; at first they stopped noticing it, and soon they forgot about it. How odd of a feeling it was, to see a strand still shining with soul, to have their shell ache for it.
Last time the spider offered to mend their shell after their battle. She allowed them to consume so much of her silk. It was an addicting, intoxicating feeling of relief, one they never felt this strongly. The aches they got used to and stopped noticing over the centuries, disappeared or dulled so unusually, almost unnaturally, in a way that they felt way too present now. That must have spurred this hunger, forced it awake.
Now every bit of their broken frayed shell yearned for that bit of silk around the spider’s needle.
It probably wouldn’t grant them much relief if any at all, but their shell wasn’t listening to their mind.
Yet, they didn’t extend their hand, they didn’t grab the thread.
“Have you known the Citadel in its prime? Before… the haunting, I think?” the spider asked, pulling Phantom out of their thoughts.
They dragged their eyes from the silk strand to her face, and it felt so difficult to do.
“I’ve been there at a point before haunting,” Phantom nodded. “What is it that interests you from that long forgotten era?”
The spider looked thoughtful. Her previous irritation disappeared, forgotten.
“I know that the faith of this kingdom is built around song, but in the Citadel song seems to be all around. The husks sing endlessly as they walk the halls. I found some sort of machine that I must only assume allows me to proceed into a restricted part of the Citadel, and it requires some sort of melody to open the way up. Is there a reason for song to be so important?”
Phantom was quiet for a bit, processing the spider’s words. Well, she was quite fast if she already got to the elevator. As far as they remembered, the elevator itself was rather protected by the constructs of the architects. She must possess quite some strength to defeat them, after all.
“Song is a powerful tool, don’t you think?” Phantom mused. “A song could ensnare hundreds and thousands of bugs and make them follow another’s will, in a way. A song could put a beast into a slumber; a song could give power to a ruler, or it could rob them of it. Perhaps, the Choir had been using it for purposes of that sort.”
The spider nodded, thoughtful again. Perhaps, she accepted the fact that she won’t receive any straight forward answers. Well, she was rather quick with that. What a shame, Phantom would’ve liked to savor her irritation for a little longer than that.
“...Thank you, Phantom,” she eventually said, although rather coldly.
“Say, do you possess the skills to play an instrument or sing a song yourself, spider?” Phantom asked idly.
They were genuinely curious. Even if she would manage to seek out the threefold melody, could it be that the spider would have to take her time to master an instrument or singing skills to even open her way into the Cradle? That would be hilarious.
“I do,” the spider nodded.
Phantom tilted their head in surprise.
“Oh? What is it then? Bells, perhaps? Do you wield a bow? Play strings?”
“A needolin.”
“What?”
The spider gave them a long look, her expression masked so thoroughly, it was even annoying. Then, she raised her needle, and Phantom had to suppress an urge to jolt away, towards their longpin that was standing near, leaned against the side of the organ console. But then the spider stuck the blade’s point into the floor and held the needle’s upper part of the handle, near the eye of it. She summoned a strand of silk, and it shone bright as it was strung up along the blade.
Then, the spider plucked the string, and it produced sound.
“I see,” Phantom nodded. They’d never seen such a tasteless and crude kind of instrument, but perhaps it was only fitting for the spider to have it. “What a unique invention.”
They made sure to sound as ironic and unimpressed as possible, though they admitted to themself, it was a smart choice to make your weapon produce sound. Unfortunately, producing sound was all it could do. There was nothing beautiful about it, only tasteless simplicity. The spider continued to play a melody, a familiar one, long forgotten, but a melody played with an instrument that possessed merely one string was nothing to talk about.
As they savored that thought, the spider continued playing, unbothered.
Suddenly, Phantom felt a tug, a barely noticeable, almost natural one, but it startled them. The strings, the invisible strands that connected them to this web spun by Mother, suddenly shook, touched by someone’s gentle, sly claw. Phantom narrowed their eyes and reached out for their longpin.
“Hold on, spider,” they hissed with a warning. The light playfulness of their voice vanished. “You dare pluck my strings? Cease that immediately, unless you want to be impaled.”
They pointed their longpin at her, their form tense. But still, they didn’t jump up to ready themself for a battle. Phantom did not believe that their sorrowful thoughts would be of much interest to the spider to fight for them.
She glanced at them, a little conflicted, but then nodded. The tension on their strings disappeared, and Phantom relaxed their form a little, although they didn’t put their longpin away just yet.
“As you just demonstrated, song is a powerful tool,” they sighed. “You might want to mind that on your journey, spider.”
“I’ll make sure to do so,” followed a reserved response.
The spider continued playing the old weaver melody for a few minutes, and Phantom didn’t dare interrupt, listening.
“Do you possess the power to… pluck other bugs’ strings when you play the organ? To listen to their dreams?” She asked.
Phantom shrugged.
“I wouldn’t be able to touch the strings of a spider if you were to be wrapped in our web, that’s for sure. And no matter how loud my pipe organ is, it doesn’t give me too much power. Otherwise, what prison would it be, if I still had control?” They laughed, a little bitterly.
The spider nodded in acknowledgement. She ceased the melody and put her needle away. Then, she turned to Phantom.
“Why do you play the organ then?” she asked.
“I don’t have that many other activities to occupy myself with,” they huffed. “It is my task, after all.”
Toiling for centuries, serving their sentence for their sins in useless hopes of absolution that would never come.
The spider stared at them, then she shifted, turning around, scooting to the other side of the bench, now facing the console. She still kept the distance between them, sitting on the very edge of the bench. Phantom hummed.
“Want to play?” they asked with a smirk in their voice. They leaned forward, closer to the keys, to try and look into the spider’s face, see what emotion was there. To catch those sweet traces of irritation that began to show as the spider turned to them.
“That was not my intent.”
“It wouldn’t be polite to refuse an offer,” they said in a silky voice, obviously mocking her.
Oh, and she knew that.
But a second passed, and she blinked, washing away irritation from her face. Instead, there now was a slight squint to her eyes, a little concerning to Phantom.
“Sure,” she said, extending her hand towards the keyboard.
Phanom watched wordlessly as she ran her claws on the keys of one of the manuals, pressing one after another. Then, when she found the right sound, she began searching for the following notes. In silence, Phantom watched as the stray sounds slowly began forming into a melody, the same one the spider played on her needle. The weaver melody. Phantom considered asking where she learned it. Then they changed their mind.
They didn’t interrupt her, just silently observing as the spider was figuring out notes. It was… odd to see her doing so. Last time she was here, she had little interest in staying longer than she had to, demanding them to answer her questions. Today she didn’t seem to be in a hurry at all.
“Enjoying the instrument, hmm?” Phantom asked when they got bored of watching her.
The spider side-eyed them and pressed another key.
“...I do enjoy this little distraction from my routine,” she said.
“Is the spider already tired of this kingdom?” Phantom hummed.
She figured out the first part of the song. As far as Phantom remembered, the rest of the theme went similarly to the first part.
“The Citadel had proven to be quite challenging,” the spider shrugged.
Phantom only laughed at that.
“Well then, I wouldn’t say you’re welcome to visit me for such distractions, but I suppose I can bear your presence for now,” they said.
The spider gave them an unimpressed look, but didn’t say anything.
Phantom continued watching her play. They stuck their pin into the floor, leaning on it slightly. Actually, watching her press the keys of their instrument felt odd. No one ever played this instrument but them. They almost felt jealous. And the spider didn’t even hold her hands right as she played. It wasn’t surprising, of course, but it was about as irritating as the spider’s red cloak.
Their thoughts lingered on the color again as they traced the edge of the spider’s silhouette. How oddly it was contrasting with the surroundings.
Colors were such a rare thing to see here, so perhaps it only made sense that their thoughts kept circling around the spider’s striking appearance. If only it wasn’t consuming all their thoughts.
…Her hand position was actually even more irritating than the color. Before Phantom could think this through, they moved closer to the spider and locked their claws around her wrist.
The spider flinched at that. Phantom themself flinched at that. She stopped playing, instead staring at them in confusion and growing annoyance. They pulled her wrist up a little.
“Relax your wrist,” they said quietly. Those words came out awfully awkward. “Hover your hand above the keys, don’t pull your elbow back so much.”
The spider narrowed her eyes coldly.
“...I didn’t come here to take lessons from you,” she hissed.
“You are playing my instrument,” Phantom responded as coldly as she did. “Your lack of proper skill is irritating.”
Spider yanked her wrist out from their claws and sat back on the bench, away from the keyboard. Away from Phantom, even though she was already sitting on the very edge. Phantom had to push the awkwardness of the situation to the back of their mind to almost force enjoyment for the way the spider recoiled.
“Giving up, already?” Phantom made sure their voice sounds confident and mocking. No awkwardness, none. They even leaned in a little, to show their confidence, which made the spider’s form even more tense. They considered pushing her off the bench, since she was already balancing on the very edge of it. After all, it was the spider who indulged in this in the first place. It’s her responsibility to bear consequences.
…No, they decided against it. For now.
“...Cease this,” the spider hissed. She scratched the surface of the bench with her claws, probably out of well contained rage.
She could get up and leave if Phantom was making her uncomfortable, and for a second the spider looked like she was about to do so, but then she didn’t. Her eyes were locked on them, as if observing, studying them closely. What, did their mask not sit right?
Phantom leaned back, setting the longpin to the side and adjusting their mask, just in case. The spider seemed to relax a little when they glanced in her direction. They expected irritation or maybe even disgust on her face, but instead she looked thoughtful.
There was a pause, a strange one. Phantom thought the spider would be spooked away by their behavior, so much that she would leave the organ. Or at least make sure they maintain proper distance. But no, she still sat here.
No one spoke. No questions followed from the spider.
This silence felt awkward.
Having nothing to do, Phantom placed their claws on the keyboard, beginning to play a melody. This time, they were improvising. Something they haven’t done in a very long while, as there was nothing to inspire them for it.
But now there was this spider.
The melody sounded through the pipes, rolled through the halls. Unusual one to sound here, as it had nothing in common with compositions Phantom usually wrote. It was calm, confident, mysterious – those were the feelings Phantom tried their best to replicate in the chords as they played the spider’s melody.
It took the spider a bit to recognize it, and her little startle of realization was rather amusing. Phantom watched out of the corner of their eye as she perked up as if about to say something, but she probably decided against it. Quietly, she turned to the keyboards, watching Phantom as they played her melody.
It wasn’t perfect. They were improvising chords as they went. Unusually many stray sounds and slip-ups for their performance. With each misplaced chord they were fast to note that mistake, but even so, every wrong sound felt bad, almost physically painful. They weren’t used to making mistakes when they played. Each of their compositions was rehearsed over the centuries to perfection. They hadn't played anything new in a very long time.
And it felt even more odd, because the spider watched. Usually no one watched them practice. No one watched them play.
Could a beast like the spider know anything about music though? Could she even notice their mistakes? Even if she could, Phantom highly doubted she would care.
Still, she watched as they played, tense and cautious for some reason. Phantom wondered if perhaps she was concerned that they would be able to get into her head and listen to her secrets, just like she tried to do just a bit ago? Ah, Phantom would like to, if only out of curiosity and, most importantly, to spite the spider.
They didn’t stop playing, becoming more comfortable with their chords. Then they noticed a little shift, a movement out of the corner of their eye. They glanced at the spider again, only to see her hunched again: her head hanging down, eyes closed.
Phantom blinked in surprise.
So it wasn't an illness. The spider simply fell asleep to their melody.
A song that could put a beast to sleep. Interesting.
Phantom tried to think fast as they continued to play. The spider fell asleep to their music. What could they use this knowledge for?
…They couldn’t think of anything. Perhaps, they could make fun of her for it, but Phantom wasn’t really interested.
Still, that was an odd discovery.
Eventually, they ceased playing. Phantom turned to the spider fully now. The sound in the pipes soon died down, and eerie silence settled in the instrument. But the spider didn’t wake up, didn’t even move. Only her quiet slow breathing was audible as she inhaled and exhaled rhythmically.
“Spider.”
She woke up with a startle. Phantom observed her curiously. Her reaction was similar to the other time she fell asleep earlier: bewildered and confused for just a second, but that disappeared from her face almost immediately, as she turned to the performer with a questioning look. As if nothing happened.
“Are our little conversations so tiring to you?” Nevermind, they will mock her for it. They couldn’t miss the perfect opportunity.
“I apologize,” the spider said, polite as ever. “I must have gotten lost in my thoughts.”
Oh, so she wouldn’t admit she fell asleep. Phantom hadn’t interacted with a living bug in centuries, but it wasn’t this easy to fool them.
…But either way, they nodded in response. They wouldn’t point out her weakness like that. Let her think they believed her.
“Should I expect more questions from you today?” They asked. “Or did you come to have small talks and insult my instrument with your crud playing?”
The spider blinked, and seemingly pushed away her irritation, instead wearing her usual neutral expression again. Phantom could admire how skilled she was at concealing emotions from her face.
“...There is one more thing I’d like to ask,” she said in a reserved tone. Her voice sounded a little hoarse still. She pulled a large rolled up piece of paper from under her cloak and unfurled it, scooting a little closer to them. She eyed them for a second, tense, but then continued talking. “This is the map of the Citadel.”
She pushed the paper to them. Now it was her intruding in their personal space, but Phantom didn’t comment on it. They grabbed the edge of the paper sheet to prevent it from falling, examining the map.
It didn’t look perfect, not at all – Phantom still remembered maps sold at little automated machines all across the Citadel; compared to those, the spider’s map was so poorly drawn that Phantom struggled to recognize some parts of it. But still, they did recognize some painstakingly familiar shapes of corridors they used to patrol so long ago.
“You claim you’d known the Citadel before it had fallen in slumber,” the spider continued meanwhile. “Are you able to locate a place on this map, then?”
Phantom hummed, looking over the map once again. It was largely incomplete. The high halls seemed to be missing entirely, as well as the vaults, the memorium, a large part of the cogwork core, whitewards and the underworks. The spider clearly didn’t explore that much, even some parts of the choral chambers were missing. Didn’t she state earlier that she explored the majority of the Citadel? She didn’t even know how much more of it she never happened to set her foot onto.
Phantom won’t tell her, of course. They might have a chance to mock her vain confidence later, if the spider wouldn’t succumb to the dangers of the Citadel.
“What place are you looking for?” Phantom asked.
“I was told that the Citadel holds valuable materials in a workshop of pinmasters,” she explained. “While I have located the workshop, it seems to be locked without any way for me to access it through the choral chambers' front door. I happened to see through the windows a back door, but I can’t find a way that would lead me to it.”
“I remember the pin shop, it was in one of the main chambers,” Phantom mused. They traced uneven lines with their claw, and stopped at an unfinished drawing of a small room a few levels above the bellstation.
“Yes, this one,” the spider nodded. “Do you know a way to get there?”
Phantom hummed thoughtfully. Their memories of the Citadel were foggy, but they remembered that this shop used to serve both choral chambers and the vaults.
“Are you so desperate to break into this old shop that you came asking me for a way to open it?” They said with clear irony in their voice. They got a reaction out of the spider immediately: she narrowed her eyes defensively. “Pretty sure the vaults lead in this shop.”
“The vaults,” the spider repeated thoughtfully, staring at the map.
She had no idea where it was. Of course.
“Right now the easiest way to get there is probably the stage.” Phantom decided not to wait for the question that was bound to follow. They pointed to a rood above the grand bellway. “Here.”
“This place is closed off, I’m unable to go through,” the spider said.
“Hmm…” Phantom stared at the map, trying to remember what the Citadel looked like when they saw maps for it. “There was a way around, one not meant for average Choir bugs… pretty sure it’s somewhere in lower Cogwork Core.” They pointed to an unfinished shape of a corridor. “Try this path.”
The spider put a pin in the spot Phantom pointed out – the pin was small, circular, golden. Then she folded the map and hid it somewhere under her cloak.
“Thank you,” she nodded. Her tone was reserved and neutral again. “I believe this is all for now.”
The spider moved to get up, and Phantom watched her as she took a few steps away from the console, in the direction of the elevator. But then she paused, turning to them again.
“Good luck writing your plays,” she said rather dryly.
Oh, she cared to say something proper instead of leaving in silence? Was this the same spider that struck a deal with them just a few days ago?
“Well, thank you!” Phantom hummed with amusement.
Before the spider turned away from them, they noticed some traces of nervous uncertainty on her face, as if she was questioning, was that the right thing to say. Interesting.
“Ah and one more thing before you go, spider. My play is lacking an important component. See, the narrator doesn’t know their main character’s name.”
The spider stared for a second. Thoughtful, but not irritated. Just thoughtful.
“...It’s Hornet,” she said after a short pause.
Ha. Haha. For a mockery of a name. A spider named Hornet. A Hornet spider. Whoever gave her this name must love good comedy.
“Goodbye then, Hornet,” they said. “May we meet again and may you grant me my wish.”
But Hornet didn’t move. After a pause, a question followed. “What should I call you, creature?”
“Hm. You called me Phantom,” they responded. “I’m fine with you using that as my name.”
Hornet hesitated for a second, but then simply nodded and turned away.
“Goodbye, Phantom,” her voice rang with a silent echo as she disappeared into the corridor.