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The Knight moves around cautiously, dispatching any infected husks and vengeflies before one could even notice it. Typically, the Knight would ignore such beings traversing along the abandoned crossroads; to eliminate all those against its way was simply too time-consuming. But the flower it holds hidden beneath its cloak was one that would crumble with the slightest amount of pressure, so the Knight plays it safe, knowing how many times it failed in doing so.
The Knight was not one of a sentimental nature, in fact, it’s questionable if it was capable of feeling any genuine emotion at all. It understands logically why bugs react to certain stimuli, like the timid girl’s relief and indebtedness from being saved deep within Fungal Wastes, or the trembling of the friendly cartographer situated at the entrance of the unsettling Deepnest, but the Knight does not feel such things itself. Anger, joy, and sorrow were unknown to it.
And love was a concept it only vaguely understands. To bring a gift to the grave of a lover, despite being a pointless venture, was an act of love. To mourn the deceased was an act of love. To cry out at the absence of a loved one was an act of love. At the very least, it understood this: love is a bond that ties bugs together, a bond where bugs cared for each other unconditionally with nothing expected in return.
But perhaps it would be a lie to say that the Knight had not changed even a little bit since the start of its journey. Increasingly, it finds itself doing things that did not matter to its mission simply because it wanted to see the outcome of it.
For example, the very first flower personally delivered by the Knight itself was to Elderbug who did not offer any reward. Nonetheless, Elderbug’s reaction certainly left some sort of mark on the Knight. To see the normally melancholic bug perk up was not unwelcome.
“Little did I know, one young bug was taking my words to heart and would repay my kindness.”
Gratitude… was this also an act of love? Could the Knight become fond for another? Admittedly it was not something it thought about at the time, but even the Knight did not understand its nature completely.
Curiously, it had brought these Delicate Flowers to everyone it had met in its journey. While most rejected, some had accepted, with varying levels of satisfaction. Perhaps, the Knight just wanted an excuse to visit these bugs before the end of its journey. A final goodbye.
There was still one bug the Knight had yet to give; one that had assisted in its journey many times. It wonders the reaction she would have. Would it be one of bemusement? Of delight? Or the usual indifference?
At last, the Knight has reached its final destination.
The Temple of the Black Egg.
Hornet was still there, waiting for its arrival. When the Knight holds the flower towards her, she is taken back from it, losing the words she wanted to say.
Of course, she had seen the flower before. It was a specimen of Queen’s Gardens, one she had often seen during her time while she was under the White Lady’s care.
It was almost nostalgic; the sight of the flower taking her back to the time where the queen had taught her the intricacies of the gardens’ flora, to the time where Isma and Ze’mer had given her a flower crown as a reward after her daily training with Dryya, and to the time where Ogrim and Hegemol had draped a blanket of flowers over her while she was napping.
But it was also from a time that was now a bittersweet memory.
That’s not what surprises her, though. She should be used to it by now, but the little ghost always seems to impress her, one way or another. Its actions almost seemed like a confirmation that the little ghost could not be completely empty, if she were to assume it understands what it’s doing, and that the king’s plan had been flawed from the beginning.
Then, she hopes it will take that path.
“… It is best if you keep it for yourself, little ghost. For I have no use for it,” she says at last, and the Knight withdraws its hand in response. It was a cruel thing to say, but she was being honest. Like the Knight, she too was not one for sentimentality.
The Knight expected that reaction from her. It hangs its head low for a moment (and Hornet wonders if it was disheartened), and then paces back and forth across the room with the flower still clutched in its hand, stopping randomly before moving again. It takes a moment for the normally perceptive Hornet to process what the Knight was doing.
“If you wish to discard it, outside is enough.”
The Knight pauses at her words before shaking its head. Though the Knight could not feel frustration, bringing the flower was a time-consuming task. There was no one left to give the flower to, but to have it rot in the crossroads felt like a waste.
Or was there no one?
“…?”
The Knight stops right in front of the entrance, staring ahead into the vast emptiness with only orange mist seeping away from it. Just a little off to the edge, the Knight carefully props the flower upright against the egg until it is satisfied with its placing.
“…You truly are an intriguing one. I must admit to speculating what goes on inside your head.”
The Knight locks eyes with Hornet for perhaps the last time before turning its back towards her, nail in hand, and into the shadows.
Before the Knight could step into the point of no return, it hears a faint voice echoing off the walls.
“I’m sure it'd appreciate it.”