Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Quirrel was . . . tired. He hadn't always been. He’d felt good as new when he first entered Hallownest again, if a bit confused. Everything had been new, fascinating, a mystery. He'd met new people on his travels and discovered new places and reminisced about what this kingdom would’ve been like in its prime, and it was incredible.

But now that some of his memory had returned, well . . . His mind was less focused on what he was discovering now and more on what he had lost. And it was devastating.

Queen's Station. He once wondered aloud about what it was once like. The masses of bugs moving to and fro. The sound of the bells and the stamping of stag beetle feet, so powerful they shook the ground. Perhaps the ringing of the bells he heard while there with his small friend wasn't simply his imagination but a distant memory, on the edge of being unlocked.

Well, whatever it had been then, he could certainly remember it now. He hadn't appreciated it in the past what with how crowded it had been, but now, seeing just how empty it was . . . He couldn't help but feel a deep sadness. He couldn't help but feel a deep sadness for all the places here. They used to be so energetic, so full of life, but now they'd been infested with that light. Sickness had infused itself in them. And he mourned.

Quirrel no longer wanted to explore, to rediscover these places just to see how much they've broken down. It exhausted him.

Monomon. She had been a parental figure to him, a friend, family. They'd spent long nights working together in the archives. She trusted him enough to be her final protection, and while he was honored, it seemed cruel that just as he started regaining his memories, just as he began to remember her, he would immediately lose her again. Just as he'd lost everything else.

He'd already told his friend what to do, and once they did it, then he had no reason to stay here. Not in the archives, and not in the kingdom. He remembered, while his memories had still been lost, how his curiosity and excitement in discovery had driven him on outside of Hallownest. Oh, how innocent he'd been of the troubles of this world. Perhaps he could return to that state of being after all of this was over, because despite the dangers of the outside world, it would still be better than this. After all, ignorance was bliss, was it not?

After a few moments, he realized that the creature in front of him had still not moved, and he frowned. He'd told them not to hesitate. He’d reassured them that Monomon wanted this. While he very much appreciated their unwillingness to kill her, he didn't want this dragged out any more than it needed to be, and this was an important task regardless of his own feelings.

“. . . Is something wrong, my friend?” Well. Other than the fact that he was asking them to kill an uninfected intelligent being, something he’d never seen them do before. Were they unable to bring themself to do it?

His thoughts were cut short when they held out their dream nail towards him, handle pointed forwards as if they were offering it to him. His shell froze, his hemolymph running cold. He could almost hear his heart beating loudly within him. No. No, he couldn't do it. It was hard enough just sitting here and watching it happen, letting it happen, there was no way he'd be able to carry out the task himself.

He swallowed thickly and attempted to keep his voice steady, though he found that he couldn't quite accomplish that feat in this state. “I . . . I'm sorry, friend, but this . . . This is . . . This is a task you have to carry out on your own. I cannot . . . help you any more than I already have.”

They seemed alarmed at his reaction and his words and quickly shook their head.

. . . Oh. Had he . . . had he misunderstood? It seemed to be so. As he considered that possibility, relief flowed throughout his shell. “Don't scare me like that, friend!” He stopped, then sighed. Normally he tried to keep up a calming presence, but that moment of panic threw him off.

He looked away, a bitter smile hidden beneath his mask. “Sorry. Bit of a rough day. With the return of some of my memories and the state of this world . . .” He left the thought unfinished and turned back to them. “What were you saying?”

They seemed to have recovered quickly from his outburst. Rather than just offer him the dream nail this time, they touched his mask right where his mouth would be, then pointed at Monomon, then shook the dream nail.

Quirrel paused. “You . . . want me to talk to her? With the dream nail?”

They nodded, and he felt a bubble of hope rise up in him. To be able to see her, to talk to her one last time, to tell her how much she meant to him and how much he loved her and how much he was going to miss her. Perhaps . . . Perhaps he could try.

He hadn't even needed to say anything. His friend seemed to know his decision and they placed the dream nail in his lap and sat off to the side to watch. Quirrel picked it up and turned it over in his hands. It felt so strange, unfamiliar. How did one even use it? Was it like any other nail, or was there something specific he had to do with body and mind?

He stood up and tried swinging it in front of his teacher. Nothing happened. His friend tilted their head. He tried a few more times without any difference before the other got up and showed him how to do it, facing away from the dreamer so they wouldn't enter her mind until it was time. Obviously no words were needed to activate the device as they were able to do it without a voice, but even when Quirrel copied their stance exactly and willed himself to enter her mind, nothing happened.

He sagged, resigning himself to the failure of their plan. “I'm sorry, friend. Perhaps I simply do not have the gift.” He'd heard of that, at one point, that only a select few could wield the device the moths used to enter dreams. He wasn't certain whether it was true or not but evidence certainly seemed to be supporting it now.

The knight refused to take no for an answer, though, and they paused for a few moments before grabbing his hand and pulling him along with them.

He made a startled noise but followed along behind. “Friend! Where are we going?!” They weren't able to answer and he wasn't sure they would have even if they were, but it seemed he was going to find out soon enough.

They exited the archives and expertly weaved their way through uomas and oomas. They reached Queen's Station, but the little one didn't stop there and instead continued onward into the fungal land beyond, bouncing on mushrooms and dashing over puddles of acid. It didn't take long before they got to a small cave with a single bug sitting inside, the ground strewn with corpses. He seemed to notice them, though his milky white eyes suggested that it was not sight that clued him in on their presence.

“I see you've brought a friend, but I've still got nothing left to show you. What more do you want?” His voice was creaky and he seemed malnourished. Quirrel wondered when the last time he ate was, but unfortunately he didn't have anything on him to give him. He made a note to carry more food with him on his way out of the kingdom in case he encountered anyone, and perhaps he could stop back here before he left to provide him with a good amount.

The knight started gesturing to the other but it soon became apparent that he couldn't tell what they were doing. With his friend unable to speak and this bug unable to see, it was hard for them to communicate, and neither of them seemed inclined to use touch as a way of communication, either.

“Wait, friend, let me translate for you.” There was no reason not to, after all, and the knight seemed to think this important.

Hearing his words, they turned to him and rummaged within their cloak before pulling out a charm that looked distinctly like the masks of those living in Deepnest. Quirrel took it and looked at it closely. While he didn't recognize the charm itself, there were some familiar markings on the back (ah, the benefits of working in the archives). “A companion charm?”

They nodded and sat down on one of the empty husks, fiddling with their cloak until they had replaced one of the charms they were currently wearing with the one summoning a weaver. No, three weaverlings .

Quirrel lifted his head in realization. “So you have a weaverling companion charm. I assume you want to do something with it?” They'd been pointing at him while trying to communicate with the other bug, so whatever their idea was had to have something to do with his talking to Monomon, though what exactly he had no idea.

Luckily they weren't done explaining. They slid off the bench, took their dream nail, and swiped it over the husk they'd been sitting on. They pointed at themself, then the weaverlings, then the husk. And then they pointed at him.

“. . . Oh.” He was starting to get an idea of what they were planning, and he honestly wasn't sure what to think. Since he wasn't able to use the dream nail, then going into the dream world with his friend would be a good next plan, but if he had to connect himself to a charm to be able to do that . . .

He wasn't sure. From what he'd read, charm making in and of itself was a difficult task, and companion charms were particularly difficult. He wasn't sure what would happen to the creature bound if it was made incorrectly and he certainly didn't want to be forced to stick with a stranger if the charm was stolen. But he also deeply wanted to talk to Monomon one last time.

“What do they want?! What do they want?!”

The scratchy voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he glanced over at the knight. “Ahm . . .” They took another charm out of their cloak, one that seemed poorly made, and pointed at the other bug. His heart sank. Not only would it be a difficult and dangerous task, but if that charm had been made by this bug, and his friend wanted him to make the one they were thinking of, then that meant it would be made by a charm maker who couldn’t even see what he was making, which could bring a whole host of other problems. But it wasn't like he’d found anyone else alive who was a professional charm maker. Even Salubra had just been a collector. “. . . I believe they want you to make a charm for us . . .”

“What? So greedy, that one! It will require geo, much geo . . .”

Quirrel hesitated, then spoke, and while he spoke to the bug, he was also staring directly at his friend. “. . . Well, give us time to think it over, and then we'll confirm whether we actually need it or not.” And if he had the ability to even make it in the first place. “I'm sorry, but they did not inform me until now.”

The knight stared back for a moment, then nodded in understanding. Good. This wasn't something he could just dive into. He needed time to think.

“There's something I need to look up in the archives. Give me a day.” He should be able to find where the files were stored relatively quickly - the archives had an excellent organizational system - but he wasn't sure how long it would take him to look through it all and come to the decision itself. It all depended on whether and how his questions were answered.

He had three major concerns. The first was what happened to the creature bound if the charm wasn't made correctly, only worked partially, or was distorted and worked in a way not originally intended. Would it hurt him? Would it make him a mindless bug? Could it kill him?

The second was what would happen if the charm broke. Could that kill him? Or simply injure him? Or would he not be affected?

The third was what happened to the creature bound when the charm was not equipped. Would he be free to move around as he wished, to simply just stay where he was and be free to go about his daily business? He noticed his friend sit back down and remove the weaverling charm. With it, the weaverlings that had just been running around all disappeared. Where did they go? Back to where they came from, or were they stuck inside the charm forever? He didn't know. He'd have to see if the answers had been recorded.

Thus, he started back to the archives, the small knight following at his heels. Well, he might as well further inform them as to what he was doing as they weaved their way through mushrooms and pools of acid. “This isn't something we can just rush into, my friend. Charm making is quite the difficult task, especially for one so powerful as you're suggesting. And I'll admit, I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea of being attached to a charm. You realize that, right?”

As often happened, he got no true response from them. He just had to hope that they understood. “I'm going to look up all I can about it in the archives,” he continued. “You could help if you'd like. In fact, it would go much faster if you did, though I'll leave that choice up to you.” Again, no response, but he hoped that the fact that they kept following him meant that they would help.

Apparently it did, because when they got back to the archives, the knight immediately set about looking through the acidic tubes. A small smile graced Quirrel's face as he watched them press their mask up against the glass. A glance into the liquid within told him that what he was looking for wasn't in this one, but his friend was staring at it with such intensity that he had a feeling they hadn't realized. It was understandable; while the method of organization itself was excellent to those who were taught how to read it, it wasn't exactly intuitive to a first-time Reader. Quirrel gave them a short lesson in how it worked, and as an example explained what this tube in particular contained, then moved on to the section in the archives about charms.

While it didn't take long to find where the information he needed was, it did take quite a while to actually read through it. Thankfully, many of his questions did seem to be answered, and there were even answers to questions he hadn't yet thought of.

For example, while the bearer was wearing the charm, he himself would be filled with a strong urge to do whatever the charm required. In this case he believed they only wanted the companionship aspect and not the fighting aspect, so he didn't mind that. He'd also be forced to stay in close proximity with the bearer and would be teleported back to them if they were separated or went outside his range. Again, something he didn't entirely mind given the fact that they were only going to use it for a short while.

Relief flowed through him when he discovered that he would be free to go about his normal business when the charm wasn't in use and that he wouldn't be badly affected should it break. It would just free him from the binding, and in that case, perhaps it was good that the charm would be so poorly made; they could break it immediately afterwards and he wouldn't have to deal with it any longer.

There was also the fact that any intelligent bug that was to be charmed had to be willing in order for the charm to fully work. Any reluctance would weaken it or cause it to fail altogether. Which meant that if they were to do this, he would have to be entirely sure of his decision. He didn't want a weak charm that wouldn't even let him go into the dream with his friend in the first place, no, he had to fully accept what would happen.

That was just for his side of the binding, though. For the physical side, if the structure of the charm itself was not made correctly or had gotten damaged without breaking completely, then it could have unwanted side effects. Rather than simply give him the urge to stay by the knight, it could make him obsessive, being unable to even let them out of sight and feeling extremely anxious if he wasn't by their immediate side, or limit his range to only a foot around the bearer, or cause him to be extremely jealous if they paid attention to anyone other than him, or only ever focus his own attention on them. If they’d wanted him to protect the knight as well, then there was a possibility that he would actually attack them instead.

There were plenty of ways this could go wrong and Quirrel didn't like any of them, but luckily the binding only occurred after the construction of the physical charm itself. In other words, they could check to make sure it was made correctly before making the bond.

Still, he had no idea how many different attempts at making the charm that that bug would be willing to take or how much geo they would have to pay for it. They might be forced to accept a lesser version of the charm.

Quirrel slumped over, fingers slipping beneath his mask to rub at his eyes. Either way, they had spent all day pouring over the information in the tubes and he was growing tired. He still felt more than apprehensive about allowing himself to be charmed, especially with such risks, but . . . perhaps he could try it? He would think it over again after a long night's rest.

The knight seemed to have noticed his exhaustion and walked over, watching him.

Quirrel gave them a tired smile. “I think we should stop here for the night. It's getting rather late and I think we've learned all that we needed.” The question was where to sleep. While there was a bench in here to sit and rest, neither it nor anything else in the archives was conducive to sleeping well , no matter if he'd seen the knight sleeping on benches or not. But then outside they would be exposed to uomas and oomas accidentally drifting into them and stinging them. Not the best place to stay, either.

Actually . . . Queen's Station wasn't far from here. It was safe and had plenty of greenery that they could use as bedding, so it was probably the best bet. Making up his mind, Quirrel stood up and started heading out. “Come on, friend. Let's find somewhere to rest.”

After making sure the other was following them, Quirrel started threading his way through the jellyfish in the canyon with expertise and he and the knight reached the bottom of the canyon without incident. When they entered the station, he started gathering up all the leaves and moss that he needed to make a soft bed on the rock floor, but he paused when he saw the knight start to head to the bench below them.

“. . . Friend?” They stopped and looked up at him, and he took that as his cue to continue. “I know you're rather partial to the benches around the kingdom, but aren't they a bit uncomfortable to sleep in? I believed we could make bedding with the greenery here.”

The knight was still for a few moments more, but then they returned to him and started cutting down vines with their nail. Quirrel smiled a little and continued to work with them.

He'd never spent so much time with the knight before now. Usually they'd only encountered each other on their individual paths through Hallownest for just a few minutes before the little one darted off to continue their journey. As such, now that he'd spent so much time with them, he had started to notice little things here and there about them.

He only had minimum knowledge about vessels, but he'd heard that their minds were blank so that the infection had nothing to take root to in them and they could perfectly contain it. Seeing just how much that was true was jarring to him. They barely reacted to anything at all and they struck foes down with ease, yet despite their lack of reaction, they were incredibly knowledge-hungry. He would have called it curiosity, but was that possible in an empty shell?

Well, empty or not, Quirrel couldn't help but treat them like any other bug. They were quite the curiosity and one of the only others he consistently came across in his travels. He felt a sort of camaraderie towards them. Besides, while they didn't react to most things, they did react to some. A tilt of the head here and there, or their alarm when they realized he'd thought they wanted him to remove the seal. He wasn't quite sure whether that was how vessels were supposed to be or if, perhaps, this one wasn't quite as empty as they were supposed to be.

They laid out the foliage in an alcove of the station and crawled into it. His friend was asleep within seconds, but Quirrel was having a bit harder of a time, his mind filled with thoughts and worries about being charmed and what it would mean for him. But eventually sleep overtook him, and he dreamed.

“Quirrel. Could you bring me those tablets?”

“Of course, Madam.” The pill bug in question hopped up onto the shelves, scaling them with ease as he picked out the ones Monomon had pointed towards. Gathering as many as he could without damaging them or risking losing his grip, Quirrel jumped back down and offered them to his teacher.

He’d only started the apprenticeship recently, but he was already loving it. It had been a bit nerve-wracking when he first started, to respond directly to the Teacher herself (he often wondered why he was chosen over anyone else), but this job was perfect for him. Methodical, detail-oriented, and the added benefit of journeying around the kingdom. It was amazing. Not only that, but the Teacher herself turned out to be rather amiable and gentle, which calmed him down pretty quickly. Ever since, he’d been fascinated by the work, listening intently as she taught him and doing everything in his power to remember and learn.

Monomon must have noticed how intently he was watching her transcribe the documents because he suddenly heard a soft giggle coming from her direction. Snapped out of his concentration, Quirrel looked up at her curiously, noticing she was holding the end of a tentacle to her mask. “Madam . . . ?”

“I’m sorry, Quirrel.” She let her tentacle fall, but the bug could tell she was still smiling beneath her mask. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

He spluttered a little, taken aback by the comment. “P-pardon?”

“You’re adorable,” she repeated. “How deeply you get into this. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I . . . thank you?” He honestly wasn’t sure how to take the compliment, but an uncertain smile graced his features beneath his mask. At least she was pleased with him.

“Why, you’re very welcome.” She chuckled a little before turning back to her work, her apprentice watching once again.

Quirrel awoke with a painful longing in his chest. That dream . . . that memory had only really been the start of his apprenticeship, of his friendship with Monomon. They’d grown much closer over the years and he missed her deeply.

. . . And now he had the chance to talk to her one last time. He knew it would only make the goodbye that much more painful, but he couldn’t help wanting to see her again, and besides, despite the risks, being charmed didn’t seem extremely dangerous, and it wouldn’t last long so long as the broke the charm afterwards. Perhaps . . . Perhaps this was a risk he was willing to make. After all, once his friend replaced the Hollow Knight, there would be nothing left for him in this world anymore. What did he have to lose?

He turned around and found the little knight still sleeping, a soft smile appearing beneath his mask. Now they were the adorable one. Gently, so as not to disturb them, he rested a hand between their horns, then carefully stood up and sat down at the edge of the platform. This place had become so empty since the infection . . . It weighed on his soul. They were in a dying kingdom, and there wasn’t much they could do except keep it in stasis. It would be impossible to even rebuild with all these infected husks down here, much less make it as grand as it used to be. No, that had been the Pale King’s doing. No ordinary bug would be able to return it to how it was.

A soft tip tapping of feet behind him drew Quirrel’s attention and he looked in its direction. “Good morning, friend,” he said as the knight sat down beside him. They must have awoken soon after he did. He hoped he wasn’t the one that caused it. Heavens knew the poor thing needed as much rest as they could get.

“. . . I’ve made a decision.” Well that certainly got their attention if the fact that they looked up at him had anything to say about it. He hesitated, though, speaking cautiously. “. . . I’ll go along with your plan, but on one condition: we have to break the charm afterwards. I don’t want to be charmed forever.” There was no response for a second, but then Quirrel got a slow nod. Good. It was decided.

“Well I suppose we should make some breakfast before heading back to that charm maker, then.” He stood up, but then paused and looked down at the knight. “Er . . . do you even eat?” He wasn’t entirely sure. He knew they weren’t quite bug, rather something more ethereal, but he wasn’t sure whether that meant they didn’t need to eat or not. They didn’t eat anything yesterday, but then, he was so caught up in his research that he didn’t either.

When he didn’t get a response, he figured he’d just have to make something for them just in case. What might they eat, though? Different bugs preferred all sorts of things. Some only ate plants, some ate lesser bugs, some ate fungus. He himself tended to prefer plants and, if there was nothing else to eat, sometimes non-sentient bugs, but only after he’d already found them dead and decaying. It wasn’t uncommon among the citizens of Hallownest, and there were some who ate far worse things. Besides, he found such things had a sweeter taste once they’d already started breaking down, and they were easier to get to. And someone had to clean up all the dead matter, after all. As for his friend, well, he supposed he’d just have to get a little bit of everything for them. Or let them get their own food if they wanted, as it seemed they just got up and started following him as he started foraging. Perhaps that would be best, actually. “Well, if you do eat, I don’t know what it would be, so you could get your own while I get mine?” Again, no response. He was sure they understood, though, so he continued along with the assumption that they would do whatever they needed.

In the end they never gathered anything and only followed him around, but still, it was nice to have company. In the back of his mind he realized that what they were doing would soon be reversed; he would be the one following the knight and keeping them company.

There wasn’t really anything present to add to what he’d gathered, so he started heading back to the charm maker, nibbling on some damp leaf litter on the way. Despite being born and raised in the City of Tears, the Fungal Wastes spoke to him. Really, it had everything a pill bug like himself would need. Dark, damp, plenty of food around? He might have settled down here had his drive for discovery not pushed him elsewhere. But who knew? Only bits and pieces of his memory had returned. Perhaps he did used to live here at some point.

It wasn’t long before they came upon the charm maker once again, who hadn’t moved from his spot. His head perked up as they came close enough to smell. “Have you made your decision, then?”

“We have, yes,” Quirrel responded, sitting down on the floor. Along the way here, he’d picked up a few food items based off what he’d seen in this room, hoping that it would be the type of food this bug ate. Upon offering them out to him, the charm maker snatched them up and devoured them so quickly it caused Quirrel to blink. The poor thing. He didn’t even give him a thank you, but he decided to ignore that, especially if he had been starving. “We were wondering if you knew how to make companion charms?”

The old bug hummed in thought. “A tricky thing, you ask me to do. But I suppose I could . . . if you give me geo.”

“Naturally. What is your price?”

“Mmmm . . . 10,000 geo.”

Quirrel stared. That much, just for a charm? Sure, it was a companion charm, but he was sure even companion charms never costed that much. His friend was nonplussed, however, and immediately dished out the required geo. He looked at them in surprised. How had they gotten so much, and why would they be so willing to spend that much just to help him speak with Monomon?

“Right!” the charm maker said. “Now we can start. Where is the creature to be charmed?”

Quirrel gave a hesitant smile and raised his hand, though he knew the other couldn’t see it. “Ah . . . That would be me, actually . . .”

The other bug looked surprised, then leaned towards him in contemplation. “Rrrrrrrm, a tricky business you ask me to do, and one that can alter your life forever. Are you sure you want to risk it?”

It would be the last chance to turn back. But Quirrel had already made up his mind.

“. . . Yes.”

****************************

The process took a few days and it wasn’t helped by the fact that they did indeed have to repeat it a few times, the charm maker demanding more geo in increasing amounts each time. While Quirrel stayed with him to help with the charm, the knight went off to gather more geo in case they needed to try yet again, and once again he marveled at how willing they were to help him.

While the actual magical binding wasn’t required until the end, Quirrel did have to provide some genetic material from the very beginning that would be incorporated in the charms creation. Something about it connecting with him better. Resigning himself to this, he’d been carefully cutting off some of the small sensory hairs around his shell. It didn’t hurt, but he didn’t like having his senses diminished either. Luckily not much was needed.

After about five different tries, they finally made one that looked like it was, at the very least, made correctly, even if still incredibly fragile. Upon witnessing the failure of so many, though, Quirrel had started to worry that the spell used to bind him would be of similar quality, and the consequences of that could range drastically. Thankfully his friend had showed him how well the other charms they got from him worked, and he was reassured that while the charm maker's craftsmanship was no longer the best, his spellwork was still up to par. He supposed one didn’t necessarily have to see in order to cast a spell. Either way, now that it had been made, it was time for the binding; all three of them were present and Quirrel was incredibly nervous.

The charm maker must have noticed it in some way, because he clarified their intent one more time. “Are you sure you want to do this? It will not work well if you have doubts.”

He hesitated. This really was the last chance to turn back. But no, he wanted to do this. He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, releasing his anxiety along with it. “. . . Yes. I'm sure. Bind me.”

At those words, the other bug placed the charm in Quirrel's hands and told him to hold it to his chest, close his eyes, and put all his focus on it. Obeying, Quirrel couldn't see what the charm maker was doing, but he could hear the words being said. The spell had two parts to it, the first said by the charm maker and the other said by himself to seal it. He had already memorized it, so when the first part came to an end, he spoke clearly and with intention.

To myself I bid you bind,

A charm affecting body and mind.

To stay with the bearer I'll be inclined,

And them I shall never leave behind.

Quirrel felt a tightness in his shell as he finished speaking, similar to what he used to feel as a child before molting, and an intricate design of glowing light threaded itself through the air. Upon fading, he felt the pressure dissipate. He let out a slow breath and opened his eyes. “Then it is done?”

The charm maker nodded. “It is done.” He cackled. “Enjoy your new life as a charm!”

Quirrel rolled his eyes, though the words still got to him. Had he made the right choice? Well, it was too late now. He reminded himself that they would destroy the charm after the talk with Monomon and he would be free. Nothing to worry about.

“Come on. Let's go back to the archives.” Rather than follow him out, however, the knight sat down on a husk and immediately started replacing one of their charms with the one just made. He sighed, but supposed they wanted to check to make sure it really worked before leaving.

As soon as the charm was fastened, Quirrel felt an urge in the very core of his mind. He needed to stay with his friend. He needed to. It didn't remove any of his intelligence of course and he knew this sudden need was due to his charming, so he started feeling it out a little. How far could he go before he was forced back to their side? He started moving away, but hesitated as the distance grew longer. He . . . didn't really need to test it to its limits, right? Just this was good enough? Yes, just this would be enough.

He started walking back to the knight, but then stopped, looking back to how far he'd gotten. That . . . had been the effects of the charm, hadn't it? Messing with his mind, keeping him close to the one wearing it? Fascinating, and a little disturbing. He didn't want to try it again. He supposed he'd just have to go along with it and stay by the knight's side whenever they were wearing it.

He walked the rest of the way back to his friend and gave them a little tilt of the head, an uncertain smile beneath his mask. “Well, it certainly works, my friend, I can tell you that. Though I'd prefer you don't wear it until necessary.”

Understanding his request, the knight took off the charm and hid it beneath their cloak with the others. Good. Now they could head back to the archives.

Quirrel waved to the charm maker as they left, and though the walk was short and without incident, a nervous excitement filled him the entire way. If this charm worked correctly, then he'd be able to see Monomon again, to talk to her, to say goodbye, for the last time. He spent the entire time mentally rehearsing what he wanted to say, though how much time they'd have he didn't know. Not that he even had much time to think about it now, though. They were already there.

Once they got to a safe point in the building, the knight stopped to put the charm back on, and Quirrel once again felt that urge to stick by his friend’s side. They made their way to the Teacher and he took a moment to collect himself before heading in. Without so much as a warning, the knight dream nailed Monomon and Quirrel felt his feet go out from under him.

When he regained his footing, it was in a place that he could only assume to be the dream realm. Pale oranges and pinks obscured his vision in the form of mist and fog and what looked like the symbols of dream catchers floated in the air. Giant horns towered over them in an arch, penetrating the sky above. To put it simply, it was awe-inspiring.

But all thoughts of the place itself faded as soon as Quirrel saw the jellyfish floating over one of the platforms. “MONOMON!” He ran towards her, nearly stumbling along the way but quickly righting himself before he could collapse, and when he reached her he immediately fell into a kneel. “Madam, I-!”

He was cut off by a soft giggle and a tentacle gently touching beneath his chin, raising his head up, and from the inflection in her voice he could tell she was smiling. “It’s alright, Quirrel. I know.”

Upon hearing those words, Quirrel made no hesitation to pull his teacher into a hug, burying his face into her. His vision started getting blurry, but he paid it no mind. He was just glad to be able to be with her again. She was just as he remembered, and he leaned into her touch as she wrapped her tentacles around him in a hug.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but any pre-prepared words he’d intended to share were forgotten in the embrace. Just staying here, being with her, was enough. “. . . I missed you. So much.”

“I know.” She pulled away from the hug just enough to see his mask, brushing a tentacle alongside it and wiping away the tears that were flowing out, unable to be contained. “I’m so proud of you, Quirrel. You’ve done so much . . . You should rest for a while, after this. Wyrm knows you deserve it.”

A pained chuckle left Quirrel’s throat. He had . . . definitely been through a lot, and a rest sounded good. But . . . “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Monomon . . . Once you’re gone . . . there’s nothing left for me here anymore. I don’t . . .”

“Shhh, it’s okay. You need to find people, Quirrel. Find those who will stay by your side and support you. This isn’t going to be easy, but you can get through it, I know you can. You’ve done amazing things, my student, and you will do even more. I promise.” She tilted his head up a little. “You’re strong, Quirrel. You can do this. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself?”

His whole shell shuddered from his tears, but he managed a nod. “I . . . I promise.” For Monomon.

“Good. I love you.”

“. . . I love you, too.”

They stayed like that a while longer, either in silence or talking amidst themselves, even perhaps sharing a joke or two, but eventually Monomon reminded him of what had to be done, and Quirrel eventually resigned himself to it. He gave her one last hug - a long one - before letting go. It was hard to make himself leave and he couldn’t find a way to stop his tears, but a nudge from the knight, who’d been sitting with their legs hanging off of the platform until now, pushed him to move. He knew he wouldn’t be able to make himself leave if he hugged her again, so instead he opted for a wave and a goodbye, and she returned the gesture.

It took his friend’s grabbing his hand and pulling him along to get him to actually leave, but eventually he was able to, and he left the dream realm with a heavy heart. The knight surprised him with a small hug, but it didn’t last long before they pulled away, removed his charm, and entered the dream realm once again.

Suddenly alone, Quirrel simply stared at his friend’s unconscious body in silence and prepared himself for what would happen next. It had only been a few seconds before his teacher’s body started disintegrating in the tank. Did it hurt, he wondered? Perhaps it’d be best if he didn’t know. Regardless, the deed was done, the seal was broken, and the knight had woken up from their sleep. Nothing was to be done anymore but his friend continuing in their quest. Such a small creature taking on such a large task. He wished it didn’t have to be so, but there was no other choice if they wanted to protect the few people left in this world.

They looked at him with a slight tilt of the head once they recovered and he wondered if they were asking if he was okay. He shook his head and told them to go on ahead. He needed time to rest, and to mourn, just as he had been mourning for everything else in Hallownest before this.

He watched them go until they were out of sight, and breathed out a sigh of exhaustion.

Chapter Text

Quirrel sat down at the edge of the lake, staring out across the surface. The knight had already come and left, though they'd stayed for quite a long time with him, which surprised him. Outside of when they were trying to help him talk to Monomon, they'd only ever stayed with him for a few minutes at most, maybe thirty seconds at least. But for some reason they'd sat with him here for at least an hour, and for what purpose he didn't know. Were they perhaps trying to comfort him, or did they just like being in his presence? Maybe he was reading too much into it. They were a vessel, after all. Perhaps they'd simply needed a rest and he happened to be there at just the right moment. Regardless, he was once again alone and left to his thoughts.

He'd . . . tried going along with Monomon's advice, to find other people to make friends with, to stick close to, but . . . It was hard. He was surrounded by a dying world and the only real friend that he had was going to sacrifice themself in an attempt to save what was left.

He'd settled himself in Dirtmouth, but he'd never really been that good at intentionally making friends, usually preferring to either stay inside with his studies all day or travel around the kingdom without sticking in any one place. As he sat here, he wondered whether it was really worth it to stay. The Wastelands were unforgiving, but so was this , and, well . . . perhaps it would be easier without these memories. Or perhaps he could just dip out there and return. Start with a blank slate once more and hope on no other memories returning. Though he wasn't sure what would happen if he ran into the knight once again before they replaced their sibling; they could be stubborn and if they wanted to help him get those memories back then it'd be hard to stop them, if he'd even think to stop them. Perhaps it'd be best if he just left then, yes.

Besides, he already knew he could survive out in the Wastelands. He didn't know if he could handle this.

Letting out a sigh, Quirrel finally stood up and got ready to leave. As he did so, he felt his nail brush up against his leg and looked down at it. The Wastelands were a dangerous place and it would no doubt come in handy, but . . . it was a reminder of Hallownest, and he wanted to leave everything about his life here behind.

He grabbed the nail, stabbed it into the ground, and left it there quivering, walking away without even looking back. If he was attacked out there without a way to protect himself . . . then so be it.

He stopped by several of his favorite places around the kingdom before leaving. Dirtmouth. The archives. The City of Tears. The Fungal Wastes. To each place he said goodbye. It was . . . hard, leaving, but it was harder to stay, and the decision to leave took a weight off of his chest. He tried to enjoy each place for the way they were now rather than mourning the loss of what they used to be.

After a few days of traveling, he headed to Greenpath, where it'd be easier to reach the Howling Cliffs and, from there, the Wastelands. A shame he hadn't run into his little friend again, but he supposed that that time they spent sitting together at the lake was a good last goodbye, even if he hadn't thought of it as such at the time.

He climbed out of the leafy foliage of Greenpath into a much colder, harsher terrain. It was windier than he remembered, but maybe that was because he'd grown used to the stagnant air of Hallownest. Still, he continued on.

The wind buffeted him back, but he pushed through it, intent on leaving the kingdom. Vaguely, he wondered how far he had to go before he lost his memory. Would it be sudden or gradual? He didn't remember from the first time he left. Would he even realize it was happening? He wasn't sure, but he had to admit that despite the circumstances, he was curious.

Suddenly, his vision went white and a wave of nausea washed over him. At first he thought that that was what started the forgetting process, but when his vision cleared he wasn’t in the Howling Cliffs anymore. No. He was in Dirtmouth. And there was a certain little knight standing right in front of him.

Quirrel didn’t even have any time to process what had happened before he was knocked to the ground by the little creature dashing into him. “Wha- Friend?”

They extricated themself rather quickly and started frantically gesturing around. Quirrel's head spun (he'd never seen them so expressive before) and he lifted a hand up in a stopping gesture, his other hand pressed into his mask as he closed his eyes. He needed to figure out what just happened. He had suddenly moved from the Howling Cliffs to Dirtmouth, with the knight in front of him, and . . . His eyes opened and he saw the charms on his friend's cloak, and he understood. A deep feeling of betrayal settled under his shell.

“. . . I thought you'd destroyed it. You promised that you'd destroy it!” But there his charm was, sitting on their cloak with all the rest. He'd generally considered the knight trustworthy, but perhaps he had been wrong in that assumption. He shouldn’t have trusted them with his fate.

In response to the accusation, the knight started up their frantic motioning again, too quickly for Quirrel to understand. And then they grabbed him and started pulling him to the edge of town and- . . . since when had tents been set up here? Were there newcomers? He felt some unease in his shell just from looking at them.

Despite his own reservations, the knight dragged him inside a smaller tent to the side of the main one, where a bug with only half a mask waited. She mentioned something about a smell and . . . tore his charm off his friend's cloak and ate it? He'd never seen someone remove a charm so fast.

. . . Well. That was one way to destroy the charm, he supposed. He felt himself calming down a little. Perhaps they'd simply called him here so that he could be sure that the charm had really been disposed of?

But the knight wasn't done. They tapped the bug incessantly and she complained about how greedy they were, yet offered a gift anyway. They immediately gave up the geo required, and Quirrel started to see movement within her abdomen.

She deposited what looked like an egg, but it broke open on its own, revealing something else inside. Not a bug, no, but a charm. His charm. And it looked . . . different. His friend was looking at him, so he bent down and picked it up himself.

He held the charm carefully in his hands, examining it, how smooth it was, how strong it had become. And then realization struck and he turned on the knight. “ FRIEND! ” They were supposed to destroy it, not make it stronger!

His outburst caused them to resume their motions, though this time it largely consisted of waving their map around and forcefully poking him. They suddenly stopped, head staring at the ground, and it was only then that Quirrel realized that they were shaking.

His voice immediately softened. “. . . Friend . . . ?”

They grabbed his hand and led him out of the tent, but they didn't go far before stopping.

Quirrel knelt down and placed a hand on the side of their face. They leaned into it. “. . . Are you okay?”

They unfurled their map and ran a finger on it, circling around all the different areas and then pointing at him. He hesitated. “Did I . . . scare you . . . ?” They seemed to be implying that they'd been looking for him all over Hallownest.

Rather than give him a nod, the knight pressed their whole body weight into him, prompting him to give them a hug. “I'm sorry, I didn't . . .” He didn't realize how much they'd be affected by this. How much they cared for him. Though . . . that implied they weren't quite empty (and how could they be, if they acted like this?), so if they were supposed to replace the Hollow Knight . . . He didn't like where that thought was going, so he shook his head and focused back on the task at hand.

“. . . Come on.” They didn't seem inclined to move, so Quirrel gently picked them up and headed across town, to his own house. He shifted them to one arm so he could open the door, then closed it with his foot and sat down on a chair, lumafly lanterns illuminating the darkness. They sat in silence for a while, Quirrel comforting his friend, and both of them simply resting in each other's presence.

The knight was the first to move. They didn't leave his lap, but they shifted to pull their map out again, to look at it and then at him with a slow tilt of the head. They looked exhausted.

“. . . Where was I?” He guessed at their question, and apparently correctly if the small nod he got in response had anything to say about it. He wasn't sure he wanted to tell them. They seemed to care much more about him than he originally thought, and if that was true, he was sure the news would worry them. They were still staring at him, though, gaze as intense as ever, so he felt obligated to respond. “Well . . . The Howling Cliffs, really. I was heading out to the Wastelands.”

The knight stiffened and Quirrel winced slightly, but at least there wasn't another outburst. Instead, they nuzzled into him again, forcefully. He felt a pang in his heart for how much they'd been hurt by his actions and he gathered them close again. His words were a whisper. “. . . I'm sorry.”

They once again lapsed into silence, and after a while Quirrel realized that his friend had actually fallen asleep. The poor thing. How long had they spent looking for him?

He looked down at the charm in his hand. It didn't look like they'd be able to break it anymore, and the implications of that weighed heavily on him. His life was entirely subject to the knight's whims now and while he used to think he could trust them, he wasn't entirely sure of that anymore.

Maybe he shouldn't have abandoned his nail. He could've tried to break the charm on his own while his friend slept. He had no way to do that anymore, though, and he briefly contemplated just throwing it away, but his mind recoiled at the idea. What if someone found it? Better for the knight to have it than some bug that he didn't even know. No, he wouldn't dare throw it out.

In which case he’d be stuck with them whenever they decided to wear the charm. He sighed. At least the good part was that being charmed apparently made him invulnerable to damage. If he remembered correctly, there was something about not aging, too . . . ? So that was something he'd have to deal with. Was he functionally immortal now? Hm. He wasn't sure how much he liked that thought. In his opinion, immortality only led to more suffering.

. . . Actually, if he himself wasn’t going to age, how did vessels age? They weren't bugs, that was for sure, but comparing the statue in the City of Tears with the knight implied that they still grew up. But the way they had come into being, what they were made of . . . Could they ever die of old age, or did their ethereal origin prevent that? And either way, what would happen if they died during a fight? He'd have to live on without them. Another friend gone. Just more death.

. . . Speaking of, it wasn’t like being charmed prevented him from the infection, right? He still had a mind, after all. And should he become infected, well . . . how was one to defeat an invincible foe? All he could think to do was to put himself on extra guard around infected beings, to make sure he didn't fall prey to the light.

The little one stirred in his lap. Light sleeper. He supposed an explorer of the ruins of Hallownest would have to be, what with all the aggressive creatures about. He didn't really sleep that deeply himself.

Quirrel smiled softly as he saw them lift their mask up, movements sluggish from just waking up.

“Good morning, little one.” They looked up at the sound of his voice, just staring at him for a few seconds, and then rested their forehead against his chest. He sighed. “I'm sorry for scaring you, my friend. I didn't mean to.”

They looked back up at him, watching his mask searchingly. Then, while still staring at him, their hand trailed along to his and snatched the charm from his grasp. He blinked. Well. That was irritating.

“What, did you just want to get an charm out of me? Was that the real reason you had me charmed? You just wanted to use me?”

They looked offended. He knew he was being harsh with them, but they'd broken his trust, and that hurt. In response, they pulled out their map, circled their finger around on it, then forcefully pointed at him.

Quirrel closed his eyes and rubbed his mask. “Yes, okay, I get it. You were worried about me. But why didn't you break the charm right away? Why did you keep it in the first place?”

All he got out of that was a shrug, but then the knight paused and pointed just outside the Howling Cliffs, where the Wastelands would be.

He brought a hand to his chin, trying to figure out what exactly they were saying. They couldn't have known he'd go back to the Wastelands beforehand, and even they did, why would they wait so long to bring him back if they were that worried about him? He'd nearly made it there, too. And besides, they searched all over Hallownest for him before using the charm (Was using the charm a last resort? Had they been aware of how much he didn't like it and thought to not use it if they didn't have to for his sake? If so . . . maybe it wasn't as bad that they used it again), so they couldn't have know where he was heading.

They must've been talking about something related to the Wastelands, either to do with its name or something fundamental about it. He paused. “. . . You . . . forgot?” A single nod confirmed his guess, and he sighed. “How do you just forget something like that, friend?”

His question received no response, but perhaps it was partially a rhetorical question, anyway. “. . . Okay, fine, so you didn't destroy it before because you forgot. But I'm back now, so why keep it? Why make it stronger instead of breaking it?”

They pointed at the Wastelands on their map again, and then at Quirrel. He paused. “. . . You think I might go back still?” The nod that he got in response was slight, but still there. They must've started calming down. Honestly, he'd never seen them so expressive before.

“Can I just promise that I won't?” he asked, but they shook their head and the unexpected response made him splutter. “. . . No??? I can't promise I won't go back there?” They shook their head again and he honestly wasn't sure what to do with that. Maybe they were just saying that they didn't trust that he really wouldn't leave? Though . . . maybe that wasn't an inaccurate assumption. He wasn't entirely sure himself.

As if to solidify their distrust, the knight took the charm they still held in their hand and started to put it on once again. Quirrel's eyes narrowed, and though he didn't stop them, he was going to comment on it. But something stopped him. As they shifted their cloak around, he noticed some areas of their shell beneath it that were a different shade than the rest, though he couldn't quite tell through the cloak what it was. But they almost looked like . . . burn marks? He frowned. Since when had that happened? He didn't remember seeing it back when they were making the charm together, and he had been too distracted earlier today to notice it until now. “. . . Friend, what is that on your shell?”

They didn't respond until they were sure that the charm was solidly attached, but once it was they parted their cloak so he could see. The pattern indicated that it wasn't an injury, but there was something oddly familiar about it, something important . . .

His eyes widened. That was . . . the King's Brand, wasn't it? What . . . How on earth did they get that? Where did they get that? He knew his friend was going to bear Hallownest's fate, but this . . .

After a few moments, he finally managed to get himself to speak. “. . . You somehow keep managing to surprise me, my friend. Since when did this happen?” Truly a remarkable being.

He didn't get much of a response. Perhaps they couldn't figure out how to tell him? Or perhaps they didn't see the need to. It obviously happened sometime while he was gone, but still, this wasn't something he'd ever expected. Yet there was some kind of poetry in the fact that a child rejected by the King, made devoid of all emotion and personality, meant to be nothing more than a tool (and a broken one at that), had been the one to survive the fall of Hallownest and pick up the Pale King's mantle.

“Well, I suppose I should start calling you Your Highness, then.” They didn't really confirm or deny it, which made him wonder how much the title really meant to them. He had to admit it'd be weird to call them that, but still, it was only proper. Maybe he’d only use it around others?

He wondered whether the residents of the town knew anything about this. They certainly hadn't seemed to react when Quirrel was carrying them back here, and if he remembered correctly, even the oldest bug here had yet to hatch before the kingdom fell. They probably didn't even recognize the symbol. Maybe he should inform them the next time he met up with them. For now, though, it seemed like his friend, the new king of Hallownest, was heading back to their kingdom, and with his charm in use, Quirrel felt the need to follow them.

They moved with purpose towards the stag station, though where exactly they were planning on going he wasn't sure. They barely had to wait after the bell was rung before the thundering sound of an approaching stag filled the air. He was surprised that the stagways were still running in the first place and that there was a stag who would still come, but he wasn't going to complain.

When the stag slid into the station, he eyed the two of them curiously. “Traveling with another, little one? I'm surprised, though not displeased. You seemed the lonesome type, but being alone for too long can make you start to lose yourself.” He bent down towards Quirrel. “Though if my eyes do not deceive me, your companion seems rather familiar . . .”

If Quirrel was surprised that there was still a stag on the stagways, he was even more surprised that that stag recognized him. “Do I?”

“Mmm, yes, though I can't quite put my foot on it . . .” The stag leaned closer, examining him. “What is your name, friend?”

“. . . Quirrel.”

He squinted for a bit, but then his eyes cleared and he leaned back. “Ah, yes! You are the bug that always traveled with the Teacher, are you not?”

Quirrel's eyes widened. “Oh! Yes, that would be me. You remember me?” He didn’t remember the stag himself, but he had to wonder whether he wouldn’t have recognized him regardless or if his lack of remembrance was due to his trip in the Wastelands.

The stag nodded. “It is easy to remember one who consistently traveled with the Teacher. I'm glad not all from the prime of this kingdom have succumbed to the infection.”

“I know what you mean . . .” He hadn't been expecting to meet anyone from his time alive, and though he didn't remember this stag, seeing him and how he recognized him . . . maybe it gave him a little bit of hope.

“I'm honored to take you somewhere once again. Where are you headed?”

“Ah . . .” Quirrel glanced at the knight, who then pointed to the Resting Grounds on their map. Oh. That gave him an idea of where exactly they were traveling, and why.

His suspicions proved true. They climbed aboard the stag, and he had to admit, it felt . . . strange. He hadn’t been on the stagways in a long time, and the last time he could remember he’d been seated in front of Monomon. This time he was behind the knight, and it gave him a strange mixture of nostalgia and unfamiliarity.

It wasn’t long before they reached the Resting Grounds. His friend jumped off as they skidded to a stop and Quirrel followed, making sure to thank the stag and wave goodbye on the way out. He wasn’t sure whether they would return this route or if they would go elsewhere, though, so he didn’t promise one thing or another.

As expected, the knight passed by all the graves without so much as a glance and headed straight for Blue Lake. When they got there, they turned around to face him and pointed insistently at the nail still stuck in the ground.

Quirrel sighed. “Friend . . .” But they didn’t lower their arm and in fact shook it insistently, so he reluctantly walked over and grabbed his nail, sliding it out of the ground and back into its place at his side. “I suppose this means you’ll be taking me through Hallownest with you?” After all, what use was a nail in Dirtmouth?

In response, the knight simply walked back out the way they came, and the only thing Quirrel could do was follow. Well. He used to serve under the old king, and now it seemed like he’d be serving the new one from now on, albeit in an . . . unorthodox way.

Chapter Text

They refused to let him go for at least a week, and as Quirrel expected, they traveled all throughout Hallownest during that time, though they didn’t immediately leave the resting grounds. Instead, they returned to the room the entrance of the stag station was in. Quirrel crouched down to start jumping up the platforms leading to it, but to his surprise the knight continued along the ground and jumped into one of the coffins. Slightly confused, the pill bug called out to them as he followed. “I'm afraid it's a bit too early to bury you, my friend!”

Oh. He hadn't been expecting an actual passageway at the bottom of the coffin, but he supposed it made a lot more sense as to why his friend went into it. They were currently clinging to the side of the vertical tunnel with a mantis claw, looking up at him, their empty gaze beckoning him to follow. He didn't hesitate to drop down after them, though he did wonder why they had stopped in such a position for him in the first place. Were they aware of how far the drop was and that, if they didn't enter at the same time, Quirrel might be forced to teleport back to them? He wasn't sure, but if so, then he appreciated the gesture. The one time he experienced teleportation wasn't the most pleasant.

They landed on the ground below with a thud and, aside from the dark, the first thing Quirrel noticed was the gasping sound of labored breaths. Walking only a little further in revealed the sound to come from what appeared to be the mummified remains of a large bug shambling slowly along the ground. Bright orange eyes revealed the infection inside. As far as he was aware, the infection took root in the minds of living bugs, but was it possible for it to take over corpses long dead? Or had these bugs been wrapped up after they’d fallen asleep, their living brethren not realizing that they weren’t entirely dead yet? Thankfully there was only one that they couldn’t avoid, and the two of them cut through it easily together. He had to admit it would be fun to fight alongside the knight in a situation where they weren't killing an old friend of his who'd been infected.

They didn’t have to go that far in before a light from above signaled their way out, and his friend didn’t even hesitate to climb up into it. Quirrel didn’t hesitate either, for that matter; this whole place kept him on edge. Luckily the area above was wide open with no traces of the mummified creatures, though his eyes widened when he saw just how expansive the place really was. Giant masks forming a cliff face indicated that they were now outside the Resting Grounds, though it seemed that there used to be an entrance here. Whether time or something else created the landslide that blocked it, he had no idea. As he looked around, his eyes landed on those of his friend’s, who upon seeing this immediately began walking towards a large building in the distance.

He followed them inside and was surprised to see someone else already there. She seemed exhausted, but straightened up when she saw them. Though rather than greet them she simply talked to the knight.

“Woulds’t you perhaps attempt the journey to che’s lover’s grave again?” They immediately reached up and the other gently placed a bright, glowing flower in their hands, one that looked extremely similar to the one Quirrel had seen Elderbug holding when he came back from the Wastelands. He watched curiously. While he didn’t recognize the person in front of him, the accent sounded familiar. “Then this new, sacred, one of its kind flower che’ shall give you. As che warned before, it doest become precious as one’s heart whilst held. If you were to get hurt again whilst carrying it, or did to attempt ride those jolting transit beasts, this one too shall be destroyed. Though my faith has been . . . challenged, my hopes are still with you Le’mer.”

So they were to be delivering this flower to someone’s grave? It didn’t sound extremely difficult given that the Resting Grounds were right next to them. While it did sound like his friend had failed this quest at least once before, perhaps they had simply been surprised by one of those mummified husks along the way. Regardless, he was confident that delivering the flower would be easy. “Don’t worry, ma’am, they have help this time. We’ll get that flower to your lover’s grave safely.”

She tilted her head as he spoke, seemingly noticing him for the first time. “Le’mer looks familiar, though che’ knows not from where.”

Quirrel blinked in surprise. “Do I? I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you where you may have seen me.” Was this someone he would have known from his past, or was she from somewhere else? He wasn’t sure, but they couldn’t have known much about each other in the first place if she only barely recognized him. “My name is Quirrel.”

She paused, but then shook her head. “Che’ does not know that name. But che’ thanks Le’mer for his help.”

He nodded. “You’re very welcome.” Besides, it wasn’t like he could not accompany his friend right now. Might as well help, and besides, people needed kindness in a world such as this.

As they left the building, Quirrel consulted his friend. “So, which grave are we going to? There’s quite a few to search through in the Resting Grounds.”

While his friend had been walking in front of him, they suddenly stopped upon hearing this and turned back and looked at him. And took out their map and showed it to him. Tracing what he assumed to be their path. Out of the Resting Grounds. Through the Crossroads. Through Fog Canyon. Into a place labeled Queen’s Gardens.

Quirrel paled. “. . . We have to travel the entire length of the kingdom without getting attacked once, and we can't even use the stagways?”

The knight nodded and immediately started forward once again. No wonder they hadn’t succeeded before. This was mad. And yet, they were still doing it. Honestly, the amount of determination that little body could hold was amazing, and he admired them for it.

They started out with the knight holding the flower and Quirrel walking beside them, alert to any threats that may appear. On their way out of the Resting Grounds, though, Quirrel paused beside the monument to the dreamers. He said nothing, but rested his hand on Monomon’s pillar. His friend stopped walking, then came back, looked at him, then looked at the pillar. They placed their hand on it, too, and looked back up at him. He felt his breath catch. “. . . Thank you, friend.” They didn’t respond except to look up at the depiction of his mentor’s mask, but he was touched. They had no reason to care about this, and yet . . .

Quirrel could’ve stood here for hours on end, but he didn’t want to inconvenience his friend, nor did he want to slip into the thoughts that standing here for too long would inevitably lead him to. Besides, he could always come back later, if he was ever let off the hook. So he moved before they did, continuing along the path that they had indicated on the map. For once, the knight was the one that followed.

After they left the Resting Grounds, there were plenty of threats. The Crossroads had always been dangerous after Hallownest had fallen, but now . . . the place was nearly unrecognizable, and ten times as dangerous as before. More often than not Quirrel had to bait the aggressive creatures away from his companion if not actually kill them, but he tried to kill as little as possible. Every time either he or the knight dispatched one, though, tiny, shining white butterflies returned any stray geo that had been left on the husk while they were alive to his friend. Well. He supposed that that was how they were getting all their geo, then.

He had just managed to lead away one of those grossly infected vengeflies and had been looking back to make sure they were truly dead when he turned around and saw a violent husk not five feet from him. A cold fear settled into his shell. He wouldn't make it. It was too close. How fast he was didn't matter if he didn't have the time to force his body to move in the first place, and even as he tried, it felt sluggishly slow.

The husk charged, and the force of the explosion knocked him back.

He rolled several feet before coming to a stop, which wasn't helped by the fact that he'd instinctively curled up in midair, and the shock of it numbed any pain he might have had. He stayed lying there for a few seconds, taking stock of everything. Well, he wasn't dead. That was good. A bit disoriented maybe. No lost limbs. Still no pain. Maybe his body hadn't processed it yet.

The telltale sound of tip tapping prompted Quirrel to uncurl slightly and see his friend rushing over. He forced himself into a sitting position, which was . . . surprisingly easier than he thought it'd be? “It . . . It's alright, friend. I'm alright.” And . . . he really was, somehow. No pain, no injuries, no stiffness of the limbs, nothing. He didn't even get a scratch from that explosion, as if he'd been . . . invulnerable . . .

Oh.

Duh.

Quirrel took a deep breath and shook his limbs out in an attempt to get rid of the rest of his nervous energy. “Well, I suppose that charm is still good for something . Not getting hurt by exploding creatures is definitely a plus.”

The knight tilted their head at him and then, seemingly satisfied, continued along their path to Queen's Gardens. Quirrel followed, though he kept this in mind as they avoided more of the infected bugs. It was one thing to have head knowledge that the charm would make him invulnerable; it was quite another to actually experience it.

Eventually they encountered what seemed to be a dead end, the floor of the room covered with acid. Quirrel hesitated. His friend did not. In fact, they jumped straight into the acid. He gasped and reached out to stop them, but was too late. But . . . they didn’t seem hurt, or in pain, or anything. They were just floating peacefully, looking up at him curiously in the bubbling, searing, shell-eating acid.

He stared. “. . . Friend?”

The knight stared back. Then reached up. Then took his hand. Then yanked him in with them. Quirrel let out a startled noise and curled up as he splashed into the acid below. After a few moments of nothing happening, he peeked out from inside his shell. Right. Charmed. Invulnerable. Why did he keep forgetting that?

“Don’t scare me like that.” He thought he saw their shoulders move up and down slightly, akin to how they would if someone were laughing, but it passed by too quickly to tell for sure. He let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t suppose you could tell me how you’re able to survive in this, too?” They did nothing for a few seconds, but then climbed out of the acid and took a green . . . fruit? out of their cloak. He had no idea what it was. “Right. Sure. Why not. Weird food can make you do anything.”

They put the fruit back and jumped back into the acid, immediately next to him as if they were intentionally splashing him. In fact, Quirrel wasn’t sure that that wasn’t intentional. He remembered how much they’d splashed around when they met in the hot spring and he’d found it amusing at the time. Maybe they’d just wanted to have fun. This was wrong. They shouldn’t have to seal themself away. They shouldn’t have to bear the fate of Hallownest on their shoulders. They weren’t empty. They were just a child. They shouldn’t have to do this.

Thankfully the trip through the acid was a short one. While his friend seemed to move through it rather easily, Quirrel was inexperienced in swimming and kicked through rather awkwardly. Eventually he found it easiest to just float on his back and kick, though that made it a bit hard to see where he was going.

As they exited the acid and dropped down into Fog Canyon, Quirrel felt himself relax a little. This area was relatively safe so long as you knew how to move through it and didn't attack the oomas. And it felt like home. He chuckled a little as his friend jumped around, making sure that no bubble was left unpopped; he didn’t mind, as the empty ones would never become anything. It was concerning how many there were compared to the healthy eggs, though. How long was this population going to last?

He winced as they started attacking the uomas, too, though. They were docile creatures and there was no reason to get rid of them. One floated up next to him and he gently patted it, careful not to break their membrane and a small smile beneath his mask. The knight caught him doing this and they watched with a tilted head.

They stopped attacking the uomas after that.

Soon Quirrel realized that they were taking the longer and most dangerous path through Fog Canyon. It would have been much safer to cut through the Teacher’s Archives, and yet instead they were taking the path above, with even more acid and volatile oomas. Why? Not that he was complaining, though. He didn’t feel entirely up to returning to the archives just yet.

Soon they encountered something that he never remembered seeing before, but then, since when was his memory a trustworthy thing in that regard? A current of what looked like pure shadow ran vertically through two strange contraptions. When he tried to touch the stream, it bounced his hand back with a few black particles. Strange. And slightly unnerving. The knight had no qualms with it, simply dashing through as it were nothing, though strangely enough, it seemed as if they’d become shadow along with it. Had he seen them do that before? Possibly, though there was a chance that he’d dismissed it as a trick of the eyes at the time.

Regardless, they had now gone through something that he couldn’t. “Ah, friend. This might not be the best route.”

They paused, looking back at him, seeming to consider the situation. Then after a few moments, they simply resumed walking forward.

“Hey, wait!” But as soon as the words left his mouth, he realized what they were doing. Of course. If he was forced out of his range, then he would simply teleport back to them, and he’d be on the other side of the barrier. Sure enough, once they reached a certain point, that white flash overtook him and the next thing he knew he was falling through the air and splashed into the acid below. He looked up at his friend, who was watching him from a platform.

“I suppose you think that’s funny?” If they did, he couldn’t tell, at least not from this position. They continued hopping between the platforms and he had to somehow get himself through the liquid to the other side and climb up. Once he reached the cliff face, though, he was able to push himself off and onto one of the platforms. How his friend managed to jump in any kind of liquid where they couldn’t touch the bottom, he had no idea.

After quite a precarious swim beneath some thorns, they entered what had been labeled as Queen’s Gardens on the knight’s map. A place Quirrel hadn’t seen before with creatures he’d never encountered. He slowed down, looking around the place in fascination. It was beautiful here. His friend seemed to notice and slowed down with him, allowing him to enjoy the place.

“I never even knew this place existed. How much more extensively have you traveled than I, my friend?” It had been a rhetorical question, but the knight still pulled out their map and pointed to all the areas they hadn’t met each other in. Quite a few, actually, which surprised him. It felt like something he should have known, just how expansive Hallownest and the surrounding areas were, but perhaps that was a memory that hadn’t come back.

He was surprised out of his musings when a mantis appeared in front of them. Mantises, here? He thought they generally kept to their village in the Fungal Wastes. This one seemed to be in a transitional stage. Definitely older than the nymphs, but not yet old enough to lose their wings. They looked like they would soon, though.

. . . Ah, that was a scythe. Made out the air? And it was flying straight towards them. He hadn’t seen that before either. The knight dodged underneath it while Quirrel lept over it, his nail leaving his side instantly as he struck the mantis. It wasn’t a lethal strike, but he wasn’t intending it to be; he was merely trying to draw them away while his friend went on ahead, as they had been doing in the Crossroads. Once the knight got far enough away, Quirrel pushed off the ground and rejoined them in an instant, leaving the mantis confused as to where exactly he had disappeared to so fast.

Luckily that was the only one they ran into, but the two of them were forced to pause when they ran into a pathway surrounded by thorns. Hm. Bit of predicament, that. He looked at his friend beside him and they seemed to be thinking the same thing, or at the very least they weren’t rushing into it like they rushed into most things. He paused.

“Friend . . . Perhaps I could take the flower? Without having to worry about these thorns, there would be less a chance of it breaking.”

They looked up at him, paused, then took the flower out of their cloak (how had they kept it in there without being crushed?) and handed it to him. Quirrel took it carefully and started tip toeing through. While he might not be able to get hurt by the thorns, they were still awkward to walk through, but he managed to do it without tripping and snapping the flower. His friend followed behind, dashing straight over them whenever they had the space to do it.

On the other side, they found the grave that the one they accepted this flower from had indicated. Quirrel let out a sigh. Finally, they wouldn’t have to worry about this anymore. It had taken half the day to get here, and it was a stressful half day. But it was done. He placed the flower alongside the stone and, to his surprise, vines immediately started growing out from it, and even more flowers popping out from them. A ghostly apparition of a mantis appeared above the gravestone, startling him. She bowed, his friend bowed back, and she disappeared without saying a word.

Dumbstruck, Quirrel could only stare at where the mantis had been. He’d . . . heard stories of ghosts before, but he’d never been sure whether they actually existed, much less seen one for himself. Really he had no idea what to think of it. His eyes drifted to the inscription on the stone and, finding his voice, he read it aloud. “. . . ‘Here sleeps the Traitor’s child’ . . . The Traitor’s child?” He paused. “Those mantises . . . Did they betray their tribe? Is that why they’re all here? They were cast out?” The speculation got a nod from his friend. Huh.

They stayed there for a few minutes, paying respects to the mantis and observing the flowers, but soon they started traveling back. They reached the stagway sign, but rather than continuing down where the mantis had been, his friend studied their map and started hopping farther up instead. Quirrel blinked. “That’s not the way back.” And it was the opposite direction of the stag station, too. “Where are we going, friend?” They didn’t stop to show him, so all he could do was follow.

They passed through another extensively thorny area and another one of those shadow barrier that they had encountered before, and they continued higher yet still. Where their destination was he couldn’t fathom.

Eventually they came across the body of a much larger mantis than any others he had encountered and he shuddered to think of how terrible it would have been to fight him. The knight didn’t stop there, however, and instead they paused at a simple grave just outside with a large club beside it. He didn’t know who it belonged to, but his friend seemed to, so he stood beside them and put a hand on their shoulder. They looked up at the touch, then back at the grave. The two stood there in silence for a bit longer, but rather than head back down like Quirrel thought they would, they continued even further inside still.

There were many dead mantises lining the exit of the passageway they went down, supposedly cut down by the white figure leaning against a cocoon-like structure. There was . . . something about her, something oddly familiar, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it. The white roots coming out of the cocoon were oddly familiar, too. The knight paused when he did, looking up at him with a tilted head. He shook his head. “I don’t know her. Or at least, I don’t remember her. She seems familiar, but that’s all I know.” They must have been satisfied with that answer, because they continued farther in, into the cocoon. Quirrel followed.

There must have been more of the cocoon underground than on the surface because their only path was down, though who would need such a large enclosure? He didn’t know, until they encountered the creature residing here.

He immediately dropped to one knee, bowing his head low. “My queen!” He knew that this place was the Queen’s Gardens, but he hadn’t expected her to actually be here. He hadn’t expected her to still be alive. The Pale King wasn’t, as far as he was aware.

Upon hearing his voice, she opened her clouded eyes and peered at him curiously. “You sound familiar, though from what I am not entirely sure.”

He didn’t take offense to that. From what he could remember, they had never officially met and had only been near each other a select few times, usually on business with Monomon in the palace. “Quirrel, Your Highness. The Teacher’s Assistant.”

“Ah, yes, I remember now, though I don't believe we've talked in such a setting before.” She paused. “I am sorry for the fate of the Teacher.”

Quirrel shook his head. “It was the Madam's own choice, and I am hardly one to deny her of that.” He couldn't remember the conversation that led to his acceptance of her mask, nor of actually taking it and leaving the kingdom, but he could remember how he felt when he learned that she was going to be a seal and the consequences of that in the first place. It had been . . . devastating. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, and he hadn’t wanted her to go through with it, and he'd voiced his concerns. But they had no effect on her decision and he hadn't tried to stop her again. She’d known what she was doing, and while he hadn't liked it, he knew it was necessary. Besides, if she wanted to do, then so be it.

The queen nodded slightly, then tilted her head. “You are traveling with one of my own, are you not? Then I have a favor to ask of you.”

He looked up. A favor of the queen? “What is it?”

“I have asked it to replace the Vessel. It cannot disobey, but I implore you to make sure that it gets there safely.”

There were a few things that he wanted to say to that, but he bit down on all of them. First of all, he took it as a personal offense that she was calling his friend “it.” They weren’t an inanimate object by any means, and how she couldn’t see that he didn’t know. Maybe she was blinded by her own perceptions (he would never say that out loud), or maybe they hadn’t interacted with her as much as they had with him. Secondly, he wasn’t sure how wise it would be to have yet another not-empty vessel take the Hollow Knight’s place, even though he knew that his friend was planning on trying anyway. It just felt like delaying the kingdom’s demise just a little bit longer. He doubted they would even last longer than their sibling did. Why have more needless destruction? And if the infection took control of them, he wasn’t sure there would be anyone strong enough to take them down.

But he didn’t voice any of these doubts. “Of course. If it is the only way . . .” He trailed off, hoping that she would tell him that actually, there was another way, one that wouldn’t inevitably fail, but if there was, then she didn’t say anything.

“Thank you, and don’t dally. If the Vessel were to break prematurely . . .”

“I understand. Do I have your leave?”

“You do. Farewell, Quirrel.”

“Farewell, my queen.” He stood, bowed, and left the room. He waited until they were far enough away from those glowing white roots, by the grave his friend had stopped at before, before he stopped and turned to them. “Surely there must be another way to stop the infection.”

Their head lowered, which he took to mean that they couldn’t think of any other option themself. It was frustrating. He didn’t want to lose his friend in a plan that ultimately would not work, but he didn’t want anyone else to get infected either. Surely they could do something else, right? Not that he could think of anything, either, though.

They started heading back to the stag station, though Quirrel was watching the knight the entire time. Eventually, he spoke. “You know you’re not an object, right? You’re more than just a tool?” When they stopped walking and looked up at him, he knelt down to their level, placed a hand on their shoulder, and continued. “You are. Really. I’ve seen it. Playing around in the water, helping me see Monomon, delivering that flower? Something without personality, something that was only a tool wouldn’t be able to do that. Even the fact that you’re forcing me to stay with you, for what purpose I have no idea, shows that. Do you understand?”

The only response he got was a tilted head. He sighed. “I hope you do. You’re worth more than what you were made for. And . . . you don’t have to go down this path if you don’t want to. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself like this.” He searched their eyes for a response, any response at all.

After a few seconds, they shook their head, pulled away, and continued forward.

Chapter Text

On the way to the stag station, the knight stopped just as they reached the tunnel of thorns leading to the mantis’ grave. They looked into it, then up at Quirrel, then back into it.

“. . . What is it?”

By way of response, they jumped the small gap into the tunnel and walked inside. What were they doing? Quirrel thought they were done here, but it seemed not apparently.

When he followed them inside, he saw them already at the grave, where they were picking one of the flowers. They looked up as he came closer and gave it to him. He took it with a sigh. Another long journey without using the stagways, then. “Where are we delivering this one to, then, friend?”

He blinked when, rather than taking out their map, they pointed directly at him. “. . . Oh. Are you . . . giving it to me?” A simple nod confirmed the question, and he felt a warmth grow in his chest. “. . . Thank you, friend.”

They picked three more flowers, and this time they did take their map out to show him the route. A rather roundabout way to dirtmouth it seemed, most likely due to delivering the other flowers along the way. And they were cutting through the howling cliffs along the way, which Quirrel felt was ironic considering how his friend seemed to be trying to keep him away from there. Maybe they weren’t worried with him being tethered to them so. They headed out, continuing up the way they had gone to the queen, but rather than turn left after the thorns and platforms, they climbed further up. Two more mantises were this way, proving quite a bit more of a challenge than the previous one given that thorns were now lining the sides of the room. Quirrel managed to lead one away but the other went after the knight regardless.

His friend didn’t even bother to try to fight them, instead zigzagging their way up so that the mantis couldn’t get a straight shot at them, then dashing over the spiny husk at the top. Quirrel attacked that mantis before they could follow and pushed off a hinged platform, disappearing before they could see where he went. There was a little viewing area at the top, but neither of them stopped to look with danger still lurking below them.

Ah, this looked like Greenpath. Quirrel had never been in this part of it before, but he’d recognize that foliage anywhere. They were faced with yet another acid lake, and . . . were those bugs swimming through it? How were they able to survive the acid? Their tough shells, maybe? But if he could see through the acid correctly, then it looked like their limbs weren’t nearly as thick as the rest of them. It’d be interesting to find out how they could survive such an environment . . .

He didn't have much time to wonder, though, as his friend was already continuing forward. He'd noticed a path further above them by which they could avoid a good amount of the acid and the infected bugs swimming through it, but to his surprise they didn't go that route. No, instead they went straight for the bugs and started . . . bouncing off their shells with their nail? Huh. Well that was one way to do it, he supposed, though the amount of strength you would need to accomplish that feat in the first place . . . That was amazing.

They were bouncing in place now, seemingly waiting for Quirrel to follow before they got out of his range. Though he . . . wasn't quite sure how he would. Although he was now invulnerable to acid, the lake was deep and he didn't have the strange ability of his friend to jump out of it without a floor to push himself off of, so he wouldn't be able to get out of the way if any of the bugs decided to swim in his direction. He looked back up towards the path hidden above them, only just outside his range, wondering why they couldn't just take that route. While his friend followed his gaze, still bouncing, they made no move to land on the ground. So it seemed he had to take this route.

The bug the knight was bouncing on reached his side of the shore now, and surprisingly, it made no move to attack him. Hesitantly, he reached out to touch it. No reaction.

Maybe . . .

He shifted a little more of his weight onto the hand touching the creature's shell, and when he was sure it wasn't going to do anything, he climbed on top of it. It didn't seem to notice he was there, just as it didn't seem to notice his friend consistently, repeatedly wacking it with their nail to stay aloft. Strange. For a normal bug, yes, but especially for an infected one. Infected ones tended to attack any infected creature with reckless abandon, and yet these seemed to not care at all. Was it possible they . . . weren't infected? That their orange eyes were a natural color?

He didn’t know, and regardless, he now had a ride across the acid. And now that he was sharing the ride with his friend, and despite the fact that he hadn't encroached on their space to do so, the knight had switched from bouncing in one place to alternatively bouncing on either side of him. Quirrel chuckled, watching them go. Were they . . . playing? Perhaps so, because when they got to the other side, they seemed a little more peppy than usual, a little more bounce in their step, even if their mask showed no change in expression. He smiled. It was good to see them in such a mood considering the weight of the task they had to bear constantly looming over them.

Soon they got to the other end of the chamber, though while Quirrel used the platforms whenever he could, his friend didn't miss a chance to bounce off the shells. There were even more of those creatures in the next room, but they didn't take that route this time. Instead they went up, and while the act of a few gulkas popping out of their hiding places startled him, he and the knight dispatched the plants before they could do any harm.

A flock of maskflies scattered when they reached the top, causing a slow smile spread across his face. He forgot how amazing this kingdom could really be at times. The flock settled down a little further away, watching the two of them warily, and Quirrel watched back. They were beautiful little creatures with wings perfectly suited for flying, untouched by the infection. A little bit of the old Hallownest still clinging to survival. It was . . . well, inspiring.

The knight stopped next to him when they realized he wasn’t following, then followed his gaze to the group of maskflies staring them down. Out of the corner of his eye, Quirrel saw his friend crouch. He looked over at them in curiosity. They were leveling an intense gaze at the maskflies, the same kind that he’d seen them give before they ambushed something, and he frowned. He didn’t want them to hurt the little bugs . . .

Something about their pose was throwing him off, though; unlike the times they had ambushed other creatures, they weren’t reaching for their nail. “. . . Friend? What is it?”

And in an instant, they were gone, a trail of shadow following the path they took. The maskflies panicked and flew off and the knight rolled several times along the ground before sliding to a stop. Quirrel was a little worried they’d hurt themself, but his fears were quickly abated when the little one stood up as if nothing was wrong, although the front of their cloak seemed to be . . . fluttering in quite an unnatural way.

They trotted back up to him and took their arms out from beneath their cloak, revealing that the unnatural fluttering was caused by a single maskfly struggling in their grip.

“Oh . . . !” They held it out to him and he gently took it from their hands, watching the little bug in amazement. He’d never seen one up close before, at least that he could remember. It was beautiful. A smooth, mask-shaped head with soft, leathery wings, veins spreading within them like the queen’s roots. It didn’t actually wear a mask, of course; the species had simply been named after what they looked like, and understandably so. It really was remarkable.

He looked back at his friend, a warm smile showing in his voice. “Thank you, friend. Though I believe this one will be safer with the rest of its flock.” He crouched down to the ground and gently set the maskfly on the ground. It immediately took off, but it didn’t get far before crashing down to the ground again.

He looked up in concern. Had it been injured in the chase? Quirrel quickly walked over to where it had crashed down, and it tried to fly away again, but it only managed to stumble a few feet before skidding to a stop. “No, no, shhhhhh shh shh shh shh.” He placed his hand over its head to stop it from trying to flee once more and carefully gathered it up in his arms, checking where the injury was and then, being sure not to aggravate it further, stroking the poor thing in an attempt to calm it down.

It certainly wouldn’t survive out here if it wasn’t able to fly. Perhaps if they stopped by the archives he could look up proper maskfly care? He hadn’t been wanting to go back there, but . . . And then they also had the flowers to think about . . .

An idea sparked in his mind and he looked at his friend. “Tell you what. Let’s get to a safe spot, and then you can stay there with the flowers while I head over to the archives to figure out how to help this little one. Okay?"

They shook their head and pointed at the charm on their cloak.

“Oh come now, friend. Surely you could let me go for just a little bit?” They shook their head again and, realizing that this wasn’t going to be a way for him to gain his freedom, he sighed and changed tactics. “Well. I’m certainly not going to leave this little one like this either way, and I don’t want to risk breaking the flowers along the way. Maybe we could hide them somewhere and we can both go to the archives?”

They paused, then took out their map and their compass, pointing out where they currently were. Quirrel looked over their shoulder. “I suppose the archives are rather close, if we just go down in this section instead of up . . . And most of that trip is in Fog Canyon so it would be pretty safe . . .” Not to mention they'd have to backtrack a bit if they went to the nearest bench first, and leaving the flowers alone around creatures that could trample them wouldn't be the best, either . . . “Would you be alright with deviating from our path a bit then, friend?”

Immediately, they gave him a nod. They must have been wanting to help the maskfly, too. “Alright, let's go then.” He started heading forward again, the knight following behind. Thankfully, aside from the struggles of the little bug in his arms, the trip was rather uneventful and they got to the archives quickly. Once there, Quirrel set about making a small pen to put the maskfly in where it wouldn't be able to hurt itself or escape while he was figuring out how to help it. The knight sat in front of it to make sure of that while he started gathering blank tablets that he could transcribe some notes onto.

He spent quite a few hours researching what he could about the little creatures, and the entire time he was there he tried not to think about just how empty it was here without Monomon's presence, how strange, how wrong. This was why he hadn't wanted to come back here. If he thought about it too long, too much, he would lose the energy he currently had and he'd just want to sit here and do nothing, like he had for quite some time after the madam's death. But he couldn't leave the maskfly to die, and especially not when there was so little uninfected life left in this kingdom in the first place. So he beared through it and put all his focus into his work.

By the end of it he had several tablets filled out with important information and he started gently fixing up the maskfly's wing. She wouldn't be able to fly for a while yet but she was on the road to recovery. He should pick some seeds from the plants in Greenpath on the way back home for her to eat . . .

But first, he had too many tablets to carry long distances, yet he needed all the information on them. If he remembered correctly, the stags used to make deliveries, so perhaps he could ask any that were still on the stagways to take the tablets up to Dirtmouth for him? Queen's Station wasn't far from here, after all. He chuckled a little, realizing how similar this situation was to when they were deciding to charm him in the first place. Researching for long periods and then stopping by Queen's Station, though it was too early to sleep there this time. He wondered if their makeshift beds were still there. Well, he supposed they'd just have to find out.

He finished up binding the maskfly's wing to make sure she wouldn't aggravate it by trying to use it before it was ready, and he gathered up his tablets into a secure bundle. “Can you take the maskfly, friend? We have to stop by the stag station before delivering these flowers. Be gentle with her and don't put too much pressure on her wing.”

The knight did as he asked, their handling of the creature remarkably improved from the last time they had held her. Thankfully she wasn't struggling as much this time, either.

As they left the building, Quirrel looked back at it with a pained longing. He wished Monomon were still here, that they could still work together collecting and organizing as much information in the kingdom as possible. Without her here, everything just seemed . . . empty. It felt crushing.

He was brought back to reality when he felt his friend nudge him with one of their horns. He gave them a sad smile and shifted the tablets so that he could pat their head. “It's okay, friend. I'm alright.” That . . . wasn't entirely true, but he didn't want to worry them more than they already were. So he continued forward without looking back again, no matter how much he wanted to.

When they got to the station (the beds were indeed still there), Quirrel rang the bell with one of his tablets, as the baton normally used to ring it had unfortunately been lost at some point during Hallownest’s fall. They only had to wait a minute before the stag arrived, and it was indeed the same stag he had met before. He wondered if there were any others even left, but knew better than to ask about it.

Instead, he gave him a friendly wave of the hand. “Ho, there, friend!”

“Oh! Hello! Still traveling with the little one, then?”

“Indeed I am, and seemingly for some time yet.” He didn't elaborate on why exactly that was, though. The stag didn't need to know. “We're carrying some cargo a bit too delicate for the stagways, though, so we won't be traveling ourselves this time, but I was wondering if you still take deliveries?”

“I do, yes.”

Quirrel noted that he didn't use the “we” commonly used when talking about a group of your own people. Was this really the only stag left on the stagways, then? Or was he the only one who still delivered packages? Perhaps he was overthinking it. “Excellent! Do you think you could take these back to Dirtmouth for me, then? We've got a rather long way to go still and stone tablets are rather heavy.”

The stag chuckled. “Well, it is my job. Strap them up onto the saddle and they will be waiting for you in Dirtmouth's station when you get back.”

“Thank you, friend.”

As Quirrel was strapping them up, the stag seemed to notice the maskfly in the knight's arms. “Oh? What is it you've got there, little one?”

They held her up so he could see better, and Quirrel looked over to see the object of conversation. “Ah! A maskfly we found along Greenpath. Accidentally injured the poor thing, so we're nursing her back to health. That's what the tablets are for. Notes on maskflies transcribed from the archives.”

“I see . . . I wish you luck in that endeavor, then. Though I have to admit, the little one looks quite cute.”

Quirrel chuckled, fastening the last of the straps and heading back to his friend and the maskfly. “Isn't she? The injury wasn't extremely bad so hopefully she'll be back to health in a week or two. I'm sure she wants to be back to her flock as soon as possible.” He looked out the entrance of the stagway. “Speaking of, we'd best be on our way if we want to get somewhere safe by the end of the day. Thank you for taking the tablets.”

“You're very welcome. I wish you two safe travels on your journey.”

“As to you.”

And with that, the stag thundered off and the knight and Quirrel started heading back up to Greenpath. It didn't take long before they got back to where they last left off and soon they came upon a little campsite, and Quirrel lost the good mood he was starting to get. They often came across corpses in their travels, remnants of a time long gone (and oftentimes he was glad he couldn't remember much of his past, else he might recognize a few of them). It was always horrible to see them, but this . . . These two had died while in their own encampment. What had happened to them . . . ?

His friend shifted the maskfly to one arm and used their free one to grab their dream nail and use it on the two. He wondered what they saw, what thoughts they were given, but since he knew they wouldn't be able to tell him anyway, he didn't bother to ask. Instead, Quirrel closed his eyes and lowered his head. A small show of respect for the dead before they continued on.

They passed yet another gulka and, after dealing with it, came to a narrow tunnel overgrown by the greenery. The knight urgently pointed through it, then sped through as fast as they could. It left him rather confused, but the telltale sound of a mosscreep awakening from sleep and the vibration clued him into the meaning of their gesture. He froze. If he didn't move immediately, the mosscreep would separate the two of them, and he neither wanted to kill the creature nor be forced to teleport to his friend's side. The path was too small and low for him to do his normal jump, though, so he did the first thing that came to mind.

He dove headfirst into the tunnel, but before he could faceplant, he tucked his chin under and allowed the force of his roll against the ground to help curl him the rest of the way. His momentum carried him out of the tunnel, and once he stopped moving he uncurled from his ball, splaying out as a wave of dizziness washed over him, the roof of the cave spinning above him. Maybe . . . doing that was a bad idea . . .

He saw an inky black hand reach out for him and . . . was his friend tilting their head? It was hard to tell with his vision unable to truly focus. He tried to grab the knight's hand and nearly missed, but they noticed and caught it before he could. They helped pull him up, but he immediately stumbled and would have fallen if there hadn't been a platform close enough for him to prop himself up against. He leaned his forehead against the side of it, holding his hand up towards his friend. “Wait . . . just a second . . . Bit dizzy . . .”

It took a few seconds, but when the feeling passed, he looked over at the knight and saw their head tilted in what he presumed to be confusion. “What, have you never seen dizziness before?” Though . . . it occurred to him that perhaps, with the way they'd grown up, they might actually not have. A shake of the head confirmed it. That was an . . . interesting thought. Sad? Or just foreign? He wasn't sure.

“Do you know what it is, at least?” When they shook their head again, he endeavored to explain. “Well, if you spin around as fast as you can and then stop, your brain has to catch up with the rest of your body. So even though you've stopped spinning, it thinks you still are, which makes everything around you look like its spinning. It gives you a weird feeling in the head and it's hard to keep your balance, but it passes pretty quickly.”

Their head tilted to the other side and Quirrel chuckled. “Do you want to try it?” He'd meant it as a joke, but to his surprise they actually nodded. “. . . Well, give me the maskfly first. Don't want her to get hurt if you fall down, now.” The little bug passed hands, and once he was sure she was safely secure, he turned back to his friend. “Now, all you need to do is spin around quickly for a few seconds, and then stop. Okay?”

They nodded and immediately started spinning, which honestly was a pretty amusing sight, to see his normally stoic friend intentionally spinning in circles like that. It was even more amusing when they tried to stop and immediately stumbled, falling onto the ground. He couldn't help but laugh. “I told you!”

They tried to stand up again, but this time they fell towards him and he caught them with his elbow. He was still laughing, but managed to get a few words out. “Alright there, friend? Welcome to dizziness! Just rest for a bit and it'll pass.”

They clung to his arm for a few seconds, but eventually they slipped their hands from him and stood up straight. The moment of dizziness had seemingly passed. Quirrel tilted his head at them. “Are you good?” When they nodded, he rubbed the top of their head playfully. “Good! Learned a new thing today, huh?” He chuckled and jumped up onto the platform. “Come on. Let's go."

When they climbed all the way up, Quirrel made a noise of pleasant surprise when he realized that he recognized the path now; he'd gone this way when he first entered Greenpath, up to the Lake of Unn. It gave him a strange type of nostalgia. He'd known nothing of this world then, nothing of himself, of his role in the kingdom. He'd thought himself an outsider when he really was the exact opposite. It was quite a peculiar feeling, and one he doubted many people had felt. Although, his friend . . .

Their stories were really not that different, were they? If he’d interpreted things correctly, the little one had come into Hallownest from the Wastelands, just as he had. And yet they were originally part of the kingdom itself, too (he vaguely wondered where all the failed vessels had been kept, for he had never seen any before he left Hallownest). The point was, if they'd been out in the Wastelands, then had they been rediscovering themself just as he had been?

He looked down at his friend with a new feeling, a kind of solidarity. He wished they could speak, share stories with each other, say how they were feeling about the whole situation, but they couldn't, so the only thing he could really do was talk about his own experiences and hope that they could relate. Though he had seen them write on their map. Not just drawing out the different chambers but actually writing the names of them down. So he knew they could both read and write, despite the fact that they had yet to use that to communicate with him. He wondered why not, and if they'd ever be inclined to start.

For now, though, they'd just have to deal with a one sided conversation, as they usually did.

“You know,” he started, “it's a bit strange to come back here. Remember when we met up at the lake? I had no idea what was going on here, and I have a feeling you didn't, either. It's quite fascinating, though. To think, believing we'd met each other by chance on our travels only to discover that we were both involved in the exact same plan to restore the kingdom. That when we thought we were just exploring another civilization, we were actually returning home.”

The knight tilted their head at him and he smiled. “Despite everything, I'm glad that I at least met you, my friend.” His time with them had been enjoyable, though again he was reminded that the rest of the time he had with them would be short, and his smile faded. Maybe . . . maybe it would be okay for him to stick with them until they finished their plan. Make their last moments enjoyable. Then after they’d been sealed, he could go to the Wastelands, and they wouldn't be able to stop him this time, either. Though still, he wished there were some other way to deal with the infection.

Rather than continuing on the path to the lake, they kept walking forward. There was a large flying creature that looked similar to the ones that could live in acid, and behind it a large expanse of thorns. Quirrel looked at the area in distaste. How were they hoping on getting through that without damaging the flowers?

Apparently they weren't. Motion in the corner of his eye prompted Quirrel to look at his friend beside him, who jumped up a tunnel of thorns and landed on a path above them before looking down at him. Oh. He hadn't even noticed that there.

It'd be a narrow path, but if he judged his trajectory right, he could make it. So he stepped back, shifted the maskfly and the flower so they would be as safe as possible, and crouched down. Then he pushed against the ground as hard as he could and shot up through the tunnel of vines. Gravity slowed him to a stop at the top, and while he landed a foot on the path, a shot of adrenaline coursed through him when he realized his weight was not placed where it should have been and he was starting to fall back down. And he would have, too, had the knight not grabbed his hand before it could happen.

Together they got him completely on the path and he took a few deep breaths once he was sure he was safe, looking over at the knight with a chuckle. “Thank you, friend. That would have been quite the fall.” The maskfly had gotten pretty spooked as it was, most likely due to his jump in the first place. He gently stroked them, speaking softly. “It's alright, little one. We'll get you somewhere safe and calm soon.”

The walk ahead of them was pleasant, a long, straight path where no infected or territorial creatures attacked them, though Quirrel still kept an eye out just in case. Places like this were few and far between, so much so that sometimes you couldn't trust if you came across a seemingly quiet place. There was almost always something hiding or waiting just around the corner to attack (perhaps the reason those two bugs from before had died was because they set up camp in one of those fake safe spots). This road seemed to be guarded on both sides by thorns, though, so it was most likely truly safe.

Along the way, he picked out seeds from among the plants, some of them for later and some of them to give to the maskfly now to help calm them down. They were a bit too nervous to eat, but to his relief they did take a little. It wouldn’t do to have them starve and he had no idea when they last ate.

Soon they reached a dead end, the room entirely covered in thorns. This must've been where his friend had been planning on delivering the flower, then. Why was it always around thorns? When nobody seemed to be around, though, he looked up and saw another thorny passageway that the knight was already starting to jump up. Quirrel followed, and at the top he saw a house that had been hidden amongst the vines. An amused smile crossed his face. A clever defense against the hostile bugs here.

His friend wasted no time in entering the building, and Quirrel followed behind.

Chapter Text

The inside of the building was a cluttered workspace, paintings and tools collected in the corners while a few great nails were leaning against the wall. Vines had managed to infiltrate the room from a skylight near the entrance, and some of them had wiggled their way through cracks in the boards and stone. On the far side of the room was a rather imposing figure painting on a canvas, back turned to them. Quirrel wondered if he was a collector of nails, for him to have so many lying around. Much more than needed, at least.

The bug didn’t seem to hear them, but the knight padded up to him softly and lightly touched his cloak. He turned towards them and let out a noise that indicated pleasant surprise. “Oh, welcome back. I’ll admit I wasn't expecting you back so soon. How have you fared in your travels?”

They rummaged within their cloak and pulled out one of the three pale flowers, holding it out to him in offering.

“Oh! For me? Why thank you, little one. And quite a beautiful specimen it is.” He looked closer at it. “The way the petals curve, and the veins deep inside them, the fluffy inside . . . Such beauty, such fragility. And oddly familiar. I will keep it close.” He chuckled. “Who knows, I might even paint it!” He filled a ceramic vase with water and gently placed the flower into it. “Though I must say, this flower looks so frail it could be torn to pieces by anything. How did you manage to get it here?”

“It wasn't an easy task, I'll tell you that,” Quirrel piped up, returning from the entranceway to his friend's side.

The other seemed startled at his appearance. “Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't see you there.”

The pill bug chuckled. “Well, to your credit, I didn't exactly make myself known. Sorry. My name's Quirrel.”

“Well met, Quirrel. I am Sheo. What brings you here, then?” He gestured outside. “The trek to my home is not an easy one.”

The pill bug perked up. “I was just thinking, actually, that the naturally growing thorns outside are an ingenious defense against infected bugs and other hostile creatures. I doubt you get many unwanted visitors. Though it does seem to be a bit of hindrance should you ever need to leave or want people to visit.”

Sheo waved his hand in dismissal. “It's not too bad if you know all the right paths. If I meet anyone that I want to come here then I'll be sure to show them the paths ahead of time. Anyone else already knows the way. But yes, it does work as a pretty good defense, does it not? But what does bring you here? Just the flower?”

Quirrel looked over at the knight. “As far as I'm aware. Friend?”

They nodded.

“Well,” Sheo replied, “you're still welcome to stay if you'd like. Besides, it's getting rather late and it'd be dangerous to travel when you're not rested.”

Quirrel raised his hands. “Oh, I wouldn't want to impose . . .”

He shook his head. “Nonsense. I haven't had a long visit like this from someone in quite some time. I'd enjoy the company.”

“Well . . . if you insist.” He paused and looked at his friend. “So long as they're fine with it, anyway.” In response, they just plopped down into a cross-legged position on the floor. Quirrel chuckled. “I suppose that's a yes.”

Sheo smiled, or at least Quirrel assumed he did based on the tone of his voice. “It does seem to be, yes.” He looked around the room. “Feel free to make yourself at home, then. There's not a lot of room for so many people, but it'll do for the night.”

“Thank you, Sheo. Though . . . you wouldn't happen to have anything we could put this little one in, do you?”

The other glanced at the creature he was holding out in his hands. “Ah, the maskfly! I'd been wondering how you'd gotten a hold of one. Skittish little creatures, they are. Though it looks like you've wrapped that one's wing up?”

Quirrel hummed. “Unfortunately, we're the ones who injured her in the first place, so we figured it best to help her recover before returning her to her flock.”

Sheo started rummaging around the room, presumably for something to keep the maskfly in. “Well we can probably find something here for her, and if not, well, the next best thing to do would be to make one, yes?”

“Indeed it would.” Quirrel smiles, joining in the search as the knight popped up to do so as well. They looked for quite a while considering the size of the house, but it turned out that there was not anything suitable to keep the maskfly contained. Making one it was, then.

There wasn't an extreme variety of things to make a proper container out of, but they did manage to construct something similar to a crate out of the various masks in Sheo's home and some smaller, thornless vines that the knight had collected from the edge of the skylight. Sheo didn't seem particularly satisfied with it, but he conceded that it would work for the time being. Quirrel left a small bowl of seeds inside for her.

When they'd finished the job, Sheo invited the two of them to join him in his artistic endeavors and, having nothing else to do at the time, they'd accepted. The painter had set aside the canvas he'd been working on in favor for a blank one and was now setting up the flower they'd given him on the table he used to paint his still lifes. Quirrel smiled softly. Seeing how much he liked it certainly made the trip worth it.

The knight had placed a second blank canvas on the floor and was staring at it in silence (Sheo had given them an apron far too large for them, but there were none small enough for them to use in the first place). He wondered just what they were thinking of painting. Rather than take a paintbrush, though, they dipped their entire hand in the paint and started spreading it across the canvas.

As for himself, after he'd placed his own flower in a vase, he'd taken to the clay. He wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to make it into, though. His friend? The maskfly? . . . Monomon? Would he even be able to do his teacher justice, though? He . . . did want to make something of her, but he doubted he'd be able to hold himself together in front of the others while doing it. Maybe after they'd all gone to sleep he could? For now, though, he decided to simply make the maskfly.

Sheo must've taken notice of it, for though Quirrel was too focused to realize that he'd looked over, the bug suddenly broke the silence by asking, “Have you named her?”

Quirrel looked up. “Hm?”

“The maskfly. Have you named her?”

He looked over at where they'd placed her and was pleasantly surprised to see her eating the seeds, though she was making quite the mess while doing so. “. . . Well, no. I figured we'd be releasing her as soon as she got better, so there'd be no point. Besides, wouldn't a name just make it harder to let her go?”

Sheo hummed. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. You'll still be interacting with her in the same way, name or not, and experiences form bonds much more than names do.”

Quirrel looked over at the knight. “. . . Perhaps you're right.” He didn't know the name of his friend, after all, but he'd certainly gotten attached to them (in more ways than one if that charm had anything to say about it) and he was sure that knowing their name wouldn't have changed how he felt about them one bit. “What say you, friend? Shall we name the maskfly?”

They looked up from their painting with a tilted head, then nodded.

“Name it is, then.” He got up and walked over to her, peering between the horns of a mask. “Now the question is, what would be a good name?”

The knight followed him up, the apron they were given dropping off on its own, and stared at the little creature, though they offered no suggestions. Sheo paused his painting to watch the two of them.

“Well,” Quirrel continued, “she's a rather shy bug, and a quick one, too. Could name her something along those lines. Or based on color, or where we found her, or something you like.”

They tilted their head, but after a few seconds looked at him instead.

He hummed. “I suppose I have a few ideas. If I remember correctly, there was this one butterfly called Aira whose wings were rumored to be astonishingly beautiful, but she rarely ever left her house, so most never saw them. Or Mialen, a silverfish who fought in the king's royal army. It was said she could outpace the fastest bug. Or! Or we could go with . . . !” He trailed off. He'd looked over at the knight and they were in the middle of shaking their head, and for how long they'd been doing it he didn't know. “. . . Oh come now, friend. Then what would you suggest?”

The knight paused in thought, but after a few seconds they took the corners of their cloak and flapped them up and down, running around in circles. Both Quirrel and Sheo chuckled at the scene. So, they were going the adjective route, then? Though what they were depicting seemed to just be general maskfly behavior, which didn't really give him much to go off of on what the name itself should be.

“Could you be a bit more specific on that, friend?”

At his request, they stopped flapping their cloak around but continued to run. Though rather than leave it at that, they added small, short sprints to their usual running. So something about her speed, then. He started listing possible names, and while the knight stopped moving when he did, they followed each suggestion with a shake of the head. They confirmed that he was on the right track, though, so he continued in his attempts to figure out what they were thinking.

After a few more suggestions, they did nod, but he had to confirm the name to be sure. “Swift?” Another nod. He leaned over on the table the maskfly was on. “What do you think, girl? Swift?” She didn't react, understandably. “Hmm, I suppose it would work-” He turned to the knight with a smirk. “-since you don't seem to like any of my proposals.”

Rather than respond, his friend went to grab another canvas and the apron they had dropped and brought them back to the table. Quirrel paused in his sculpting to watch as they stared at Swift, then dipped their hand into the paint once more and brushed it against the canvas.

“. . . Wouldn't a paintbrush be more efficient, friend?”

They looked up at the question, but then immediately went back to their painting. If they'd agreed, then they didn't seem to care.

“Bah, let them have their fun,” Sheo said, looking over from the canvas he was working on. “Art is art no matter the process used to create it or how it looks. If they prefer hand over brush, then so be it. It may be messy, but it works.”

Quirrel looked back at the knight's painting. “I suppose that's true, yes.”

The three of them continued their separate projects, mostly in silence but with some talk here and there. Quirrel had to admit it was rather nice to just be here with friends, sculpting and painting and not having to worry about the troubles of the world outside. He'd just finished painting his sculpture of Swift when Sheo started cleaning up his workspace.

“I don't know about you two,” he said, “but I'm starting to get quite a bit hungry. Would you like something to eat?”

Quirrel looked up at him. “Oh! Yes, actually. Thank you.”

“Not at all. What about you, little one?” When they shook their head, he hummed. “Not hungry?”

They didn't give a response, so Quirrel took it upon himself to explain. “From what I've gathered, they don't need to eat as often as we do.” Or possibly even not at all, but saying that would raise questions that he wasn't sure his friend would want people to be asking. Best not to say anything, just in case. Besides he didn't want to think about the purpose they were made for right now. No, right now he was enjoying spending time with an old friend and making friends with a new one. “Different species and all, you know?”

“I see. Well then, is there anything you'd like to eat, Quirrel?”

“Oh, anything is fine with me. Well, so long as it's not still alive and kicking.”

Sheo chuckled. “Fortunately for you then I don't eat such things. I've still got some lumenberries out back if you'd like?”

Quirrel smiled. “That sounds perfect. Do you need any help getting them?

“No, no, I'll be fine.” He started heading outside, but called back, “Just make sure to clean yourself up before you eat!”

Quirrel raised his hand in acknowledgment. “I will!” Once Sheo left his sight, he looked down at his friend. “What about you, little one? I know you're not eating with us, but it'd be good to take a break. Unless you insist on continuing?” He tilted his head expectantly when they looked up at him, and they stared at him for a few seconds, but then looked down and added more to their painting. “I'll take that as an ‘insist on continuing.’”

He rubbed their head and, when they lifted their hand from the canvas, gently put more pressure on it as leverage to help push himself off the ground. A little teasing motion done when it wouldn't mess up their work. They looked up at him immediately afterwards and he smiled. Instead of saying anything, though, he turned around and walked to a small water basin where he could rinse his hands from the paint.

As he did so, he looked at the painting Sheo had made of the flower they had given him. Really, it was quite beautiful. He'd captured the delicate feel of it perfectly, the gentle swoops of the petals, the fluffy interior and softness of the stamens. He'd even managed to make it look the flower was glowing, which only added to the effect even more. Simply put, it was beautiful. How long had Sheo been doing this to become such an excellent painter? He could only imagine the years of toil and frustration and learning to get to this point of expertise.

“You know,” Sheo spoke up from behind him, startling the pill bug and nearly making him tip the bowl of water over, “this flower reminds me of one of the five great knights. Ze'mer, her name was.”

Quirrel shook his arms out over the bowl, both to get rid of excess water on his hands and to shake out the adrenaline from the painter's sudden appearance. Thankfully he'd managed to stop himself from snapping into a ball when it happened, because that would have been terribly embarrassing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the knight's head raise. “Ze'mer? You know, I'd been wondering about those knights. I haven't been able to find out anything about them in all of Hallownest.” Which was extremely frustrating considering how familiar the idea of them seemed to be. He wondered how much he knew of them before he'd lost his memories.

Sheo gathered two empty bowls and divided the lumenberries between them. “Really? They were such important figures in Hallownest's history, it's hard to believe all information about them would disappear just like that. I wonder how much of it was written on spider's silk versus the normal stone tablets. While the silk is light and much more transportable, stone lasts much longer.”

“Hm.” Quirrel took the bowl Sheo was handing him and headed back over to the knight. “I suppose the question would be when they first started using the silk, then. But at the moment I'm more interested in these knights. You said the flower reminds you of one of them?”

They sat down together, the knight continuing to watch them, half-finished painting forgotten on the floor. “Indeed so, yes. I never did find out that much about Ze'mer, as she tended to keep to herself, but it's been said she came from outside the kingdom. This flower reminds me of the kinds she brought along with her from her own land, though she tended to keep them close unless giving them away as a gift. Actually, if I remember correctly, the recipient of most of those gifts was one of the mantis tribe’s members.” He chuckled. “She might've had a thing for her. But the poor creature’s father turned on the tribe and she got all caught up in it. Never did find out what happened to her. Either of them, really.”

Quirrel paused. That sounded awfully familiar to the bug they'd gotten the flower from. Could they have just encountered one of the five great knights, and he never even realized it? Had he really nearly missed that? Oh, if he'd never found out he would have kicked himself. Just the thought of it was amazing. They had just taken on a mission from one of the great knights ; how exhilarating was that? He'd have to be sure not to get too excited when they told her the mission was a success or he'd embarrass himself. But then, if what Sheo was saying was true . . .

“. . . I think the mantis died,” he said, softly.

“Mm, a likely possibility, yes, but you seem to speak it with such certainty. Is there something you know that perhaps I don't?”

The pill bug looked up at Sheo. “Well . . . Ze'mer, was she a tall bug, long white cloak, four antennae?”

He shifted back in surprise. “I . . . Well, yes, she was.” Realizing what was being implied, he leaned in closer. “Do you mean to say you've met her? That this is indeed one of her flowers?”

Quirrel smiled. “I'm starting to think that, yes. Because the bug that gave us one of these flowers looks exactly like that. She asked us to deliver it to her lover's grave, though, and the gravestone had said ‘the traitor's child,’ so . . .”

“Oh . . . I see.” Sheo sighed. “Such a troublesome world we live in. We can only do our best to make it a little bit brighter, a little bit happier. That's one of the reasons I paint, after all. But tell me, if you delivered that flower to her grave, how did you get this one, as well as your own?”

“Well that's the thing.” He rested his head on one of his hands, looking at the vases. “A multitude of flowers suddenly sprouted up when we placed the one we were given there. I've never seen a plant grow so fast, and we didn't even plant it! So we brought a couple from there.” He wondered what kind of flower it was, for such a thing to happen so quickly. Was it even biologically possible? Or had it perhaps been imbued with an unknown form of magic? It was fascinating, really. This was why he loved traveling, discovering new things, seeing wonders he'd never even known were possible before. It was awe-inspiring.

There was a smile on the other’s face. “The love between two lovers causing life to grow when it would otherwise not. Poetic, is it not?”

Quirrel looked over at him, sharing in that smile, though perhaps a bit softer than Sheo's. “I'd like to think it is, yes.”

Quirrel spent the rest of the night tending to his nail, during which he discovered a few different things. First of all, it turned out that Sheo was a nailmaster, or at least used to be, which really made sense with the amount of nails leaning against the wall. Apparently that was how he and the knight knew each other, actually. They'd wandered in here one time and when he'd mentioned he was a nailmaster, they refused to leave until he taught them his art.

The second thing he learned was that his small friend had never actually intentionally cleaned their nail before and didn't even know how to. If he'd interpreted their motions correctly, it seemed that the only reason it wasn't caked in dried infection and hemolymph right now was because any time they swam through acid, it got singed off.

Regardless, cleaning wasn’t the only thing needed to maintain a nail, and so both Quirrel and Sheo insisted on teaching them how to do it, and they didn't complain. Really, they seemed quite fascinated by it. So they taught them, Quirrel using his own nail as an example and Sheo using one of the ones lining the wall. They carefully wiped them down with a cleaner, making sure they only did so in single strokes from hilt to tip. Used a dry cloth to get rid of any leftover moisture. Rubbed mineral oil onto the blades in the same singular strokes in order to keep it from rusting (Quirrel wondered how the guards in the City of Tears kept their nails in shape when they were overcome with the infection; it had to be a nightmare to maintain them in such a wet place). By the end, all three nails were shining as if they’d just been made.

Soon after, they all got ready for bed, Quirrel opting to gather some blankets into a corner and roll up in them. He didn't sleep yet though, no. Monomon's mask had protected him from the Old Light’s influence until now, and while he didn’t think himself in danger of succumbing to her promises, she still entered his dreams as she entered the dreams of all the bugs of Hallownest, infected or not. He never looked forward to it. So rather than close his eyes, he opted to work on one last artwork before falling asleep.

With no ideas immediately coming to him, he simply painted what he saw in front of him, in this case the vines trailing in from the hole in the roof. He dipped the brush in the green and, being careful to not let any drip on the blankets, transferred it over to the canvas. A few strokes gave the outline of a vine, and a few more gave even more so. A darker color for the edge of the hole they'd come in through. And for the thorns . . .

Hm. He'd seen too much orange lately to want to add it to the painting, even if the only place he would add it had nothing to do with the infection. Perhaps he could paint them as if the thorns weren't there? That didn't quite look right, though . . . Though . . . the way he'd painted the vines combined with the hole in the roof looked similar to something else, or rather, some one else. The darker color of the edge of the opening wouldn't fit normally, but if he just used that as a general outline and made the inside a lighter color, and if he added some white to the green of the vines . . .

He might as well, right? There was no orange in his mentor's form, and while he was an inexperienced painter, he wanted to make something to honor her existence. Whether he'd be able to bring it back to Dirtmouth or if he'd have to leave it here, he didn't know yet, but he wanted, no, needed , to make it regardless. She deserved it. Especially after the sacrifice she made for the kingdom. A sacrifice that ultimately was in vain, for nearly all the citizens of Hallownest were dead or dying and the influence of the Old Light saturated the air. It was horrifying when he really thought about it, so he simply opted not to. Instead, he focused on the good parts of what he could remember of Monomon the Teacher. Her laugh, and the soft tone of her voice. How determined she was to gather knowledge from all across the kingdom, and how much she cared for the lives of those around her. How much she cared for him.

When his vision blurred, he set the canvas aside and brought his hands up to cover his eyes. No, no, he wasn't supposed to cry from this, he was just trying to paint, he only wanted to paint. He didn't need this right now. But now that they had started, the tears wouldn't stop, and his breathing was getting ragged. Oh wyrm, no one was awake, right? No one was seeing this? He wiped the tears out of his eyes with his palm and looked around. Thankfully both Sheo and his friend seemed to be asleep, but he doubted that would last for long if he kept going at the rate he was now. He needed to pull himself together. Just . . . just enough to leave the house. Then he'd be fine. Then it'd be okay.

He shakily lifted himself up from the blankets in the corner of the room, wrapping one of them around his shoulders, being as quiet as he possibly could. He really did not need anyone to see him right now. And no one did, thankfully. He managed to get out of the house, and once he did he sat down at the far end of the bench, curled up, and let himself cry.

What was wrong with him? Mourning for a past he could barely even remember. Even what he knew of Monomon was limited, yet that deep emotional connection to her was still there. Couldn't he just forget? Everything was so much easier when he had no memories of the place. When he was a wanderer of kingdoms unknown. Couldn't he go back to that? He almost did, had the little one not pulled him back. Why did he ever agree to make that charm? What was the purpose? It only made it harder to let go, it only made it harder to remember. He didn't want to remember. He didn't need this.

The familiar tip tap of his friend's footsteps instantly quieted his tears and he looked away, trying to hide them from their gaze. What were they doing up? Had he awoken them? Or had they been awake the entire time? Gosh, he hoped not. The poor bug had enough to deal with on their own; he didn't need to add his own emotional troubles to that.

They sat down next to him on the bench and stared ahead, as if Quirrel wasn't even there. After wiping away as much of the traces of tears as he could, he attempted to speak to them with his usual peppy voice.

Crying? Who'd been crying? Certainly not him.

“Hello there, friend. Come to join me for a little nighttime scenery? I confess, it hasn't changed at all from before. Time is a little messed up in this kingdom, and even if it wasn't, I'm afraid it wouldn’t change regardless. After all, the sun doesn't pierce through solid rock.” Not that he preferred day views over night ones, though; the sun had always been a bit too bright for him.

The knight didn't respond. Usually that wouldn't be so strange, but usually they would at least watch him while he talked. This time they simply stared ahead. He wasn't entirely sure how to react to that, so he didn't, opting instead to fall into a silence that would normally be quite companionable. This time, though, it left him nervous. Had they heard him crying? He hoped not, but if he was being logical then it was entirely possible. And why weren't they showing any signs of listening to him, as they always had before, without fail? Either something was wrong, or they were up to something, and he wasn't sure which. Perhaps he would just have to wait and find out.

He didn't have to wait long. After a few minutes, they pulled something out from under their cloak and his heart skipped a beat. A canvas. His canvas. The unfinished painting of Monomon. And then they finally looked up at him.

He stared at it for a second, but then forced a smile. “Ah, I see you've found my painting. It's not quite done, though, and whether it ever will be by the time we leave, I am unsure.” Why did they have that? Why did they pick it up? That was what started this whole thing, he didn't want to be reminded of that around others. But he couldn't let them know that, so he kept up the facade. “It's simply a memento of a time long gone. Unimportant, really.”

They continued to stare at him, seemingly refusing to move a muscle. It was becoming a bit unsettling, actually, and it was giving him the feeling that they didn’t quite believe him. Perceptive. And really quite annoying, actually. He didn’t want to talk about this, and he didn’t need to talk about it either.

“Come now. We should go to sleep.” He’d been hoping on diverting their attention, but rather than getting them to go back inside, it caused them to shift so that they faced him more directly. He grew exasperated. “What? What do you want?”

Their immediate response was to point at him, so he raised his hands in full sight. “Look, I’m fine. See? Nothing wrong.”

They pointed again, insistently, and when he still denied it, they shifted closer and poked at one of the holes of his mask. He let out a sharp breath and brought a hand up to touch it. Were there tear stains on it? They shouldn’t have been on the outside of the mask, only the inside. Or . . . were they just using the gesture to say that they’d heard him crying?

“. . . Look, please, friend. You don't have to worry about me.” He attempted at a small smile. “I'm a strong-willed one. I'm not broken very easily.” He didn't think they looked very convinced, but they didn't respond to it and he didn't add anything else.

Maybe he should just leave. Get up and actually go to bed. It never did well to travel through Hallownest while half aware, after all, so he'd need his energy for the trip tomorrow, anyway. But as he stood, declared his intent on heading inside, and started to walk, he froze when he felt a small hand grab his own. He looked down at them in surprise. They almost never were the one to initiate physical contact, not like this, not when they weren’t trying to say something specific.

“Friend . . .”

They dragged him back to the bench and sat down. Given he didn’t have much choice, Quirrel sat down next to them with a sigh.

“. . . Why are you doing this?” He saw them tilt their head, so he curled his legs up to his chest, wrapped his arms loosely around them, and clarified, “This whole . . . keeping me close thing. Why am I the one you’re interested in? We’d only ever met before in passing; it’s not like I was like any of the shopkeepers that you can keep coming back to, and I never really offered you anything on our meetings. All I did was allow you to continue on your quest. Really, there’s no reason for you to keep me so close.” He paused. “Or has my unique situation piqued your interest?” He supposed it wasn’t every day that someone met one who had lost their memories. Quirrel was likely a mystery to them, and given how much he himself loved to dig deep into a mystery, perhaps it was the same with them. Though he wasn’t sure his past was one he’d like to explore. It was only going to leave him in more pain than he was in before, if the whole thing with his mentor had anything to say about that. This already hurt enough, he didn’t want to remember even more. Not if he was just going to keep discovering more and more people that he had lost.

He stared off into the distance, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Can’t you let me go? Take off the charm so I can move around at least a little more?” It would be so much better to just forget what he had remembered. To give himself a new life once again. He was already old, yes, so that new life probably wouldn’t last extremely long, but it would be so much better than this one, he was sure.

They shook their head.

“Look, I promise I’m not going to leave the kingdom. Please? It might do me good to be able to go off on my own from time to time.” It was a lie. A promise he fully intended on breaking. And the knight must have suspected that because they shook their head even more forcefully than the first time.

He sighed. “. . . I’m sorry, I just . . . I don’t . . .” The words were having trouble coming out, not for any mental reasons but because his throat was physically starting to tighten, and his vision was starting to blur, and no, he couldn’t let himself cry in front of them. He didn’t want them to see him like this. He’s supposed to be helping them with their quest, they’re not supposed to be the one helping him through his personal issues. He didn’t want them to see this. They were just a child, they didn’t need to shoulder a grown adult’s problems, and especially not with what the task that they already had looming over them.

He jumped when he felt his friend place their hand on his back, and just the state of being startled, and the implications of that simple act, was enough to break his concentration and let the tears escape his eyes. He quickly wiped them away with a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, friend, you . . . You shouldn’t have to deal with this, you have enough to deal with already, you don’t have to worry about me, I-”

He froze as they leaned into his shell. They didn’t actually wrap their arms around him, but such a gesture from one who barely emoted? It may as well have been a bear hug.

He didn’t know what to do with that, but he ended up hugging them back, silent tears streaming down his face beneath his mask and dripping onto them. He had to admit, it was . . . nice, to be able to hold them like this, for them to lean close to him as he did, for their support, even if they shouldn’t have to deal with it, even though they had their own things to worry about, things that they should never have had to worry about. The fate of a kingdom, the life of a sibling, the functional end of their own life. Yet they were still here, supporting him, for what reason he didn’t know. But by the wyrm , it felt good. He didn’t know why he was doing this, letting himself share his own burden with someone who had enough of one already, but he couldn’t bring himself to release the hug. He needed this. He had to admit it, he did. And now that he had it, just for this moment, he didn’t want to leave it.

To the knight’s credit, they didn’t pull away even after he’d held them for quite some time, which only made him even more grateful for their presence. While they started this to support him, he hoped that the hug was helping them, too. They probably needed it much more than he did.

Eventually, though, his tears stopped and his eyes grew tired, so he let go and suggested going to bed. They agreed this time, or at least he assumed that the fact that they hopped off the bench and started heading inside was an agreement. He followed and curled up in the pile of blankets he’d set up in the corner. His friend curled up beside him, and he couldn’t be more grateful for them as he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

A soft light diffused through the darkness, billowing along with the soft particles of dust that he was floating amongst. It held him, gently, caressed him, a beacon of safety in the dark. He felt comforted by it and something about it inclined him to curl up and let it take away all of his troubles, to stay within its embrace and be warmed.

But something else kept him from doing so, because despite everything it offered, there was also something very, very wrong about it. It spoke reassurances but there was an almost sinister quality beneath them, something many bugs wouldn't be able to catch. But Quirrel did. Still, despite his feelings, he found it difficult to move away.

You've been through so much . . . Come here, and let it all go. Let us take this burden from you. You'll never have to feel this pain again.

. . . He was tempted, especially with how safe and accepting the light seemed to be, but he hesitated. It was simply too good to be true. Pain was a fact of life. There was no way to remove all of it.

All of your friends are here, Quirrel. All of them. Everyone in Hallownest has come under my care. You can join them again. You don't have to be lonely anymore.

. . . No, he couldn't even remember them. To see them again in such a condition, would it even be a good thing? Surely it would only disappoint them. Besides, he was trying to leave the past behind. He didn't need to join them.

They'd love to see you again, Quirrel, whether you remember them or not. You'll be safe and among them here. Everyone misses you. Please, come back.

No. No, his thoughts were gaining traction now, focusing on the muted feeling of hostility beneath the reassurances. This wasn't right. Any friends he had from his previous life must have been either dead or infected. And that's what this was, wasn't it? It was the voice of the Old Light, trying to get him to lose his sense of self.

He wasn't going to give in to this. How could he? He had a job to do, he was here to help his friend, to replace the Hollow Knight, he was going to help get rid of this thing and he was not going to let it infiltrate their plan from the inside out.

All premise of peace and safety disappeared, the light instantly changing from a gentle warmth to a blinding glare. A loud, ear-piercing shriek reverberated through the space around him and shook him to his very core.

Quirrel shot up from the blankets, heart racing.

His eyes flicked about the room, taking in all the information he could. The easel on the other side of the room. The vines trailing down from the ceiling. The half-finished painting of Monomon leaning against the wall next to him. Sheo preparing breakfast at the table. Swift watching Sheo intently. The two vases with the flowers in them off to the side. Many, many paintings and sculptures scattered along the ground. Right. Right. he and his friend had been staying the night with the nailmaster. Things were alright. He was fine.

He let out a soft breath, leaning into the corner to let himself calm down. See, this was exactly why he’d stayed up so late last night. This whole . . . infection business was terrifying. He missed the protection Monomon's mask had given him from all this. Did every bug have to deal with this every night? No wonder so many had succumbed.

As he relaxed, he realized a few more things about the room. For one, he was very sure that there hadn’t been nearly as many art projects in this room last night, and all of these bore the signature style of his friend. Had . . . they been awake the entire rest of the night? Was that even possible?

For another, the vases didn't contain just his flower and Sheo's, but the other two they'd been keeping as well. And the knight was gone. If they'd left the other flowers here, had they gone somewhere they expected to be dangerous? What were they doing? And, if so . . . why was he still here? They . . . didn't take off the charm, did they? They were so adamant about keeping it on last night . . .

He couldn't believe they'd let him go just like that. Perhaps they hadn't gone far? Maybe they were doing something with the thorns just outside and wanted to be extra careful with the flowers.

But enough speculation when he could simply ask.

He stood up, stretched, and walked over to the table. “Good morning, Sheo. Thank you for letting us stay the night.”

The other looked up from the cutting board. “Good morning. And not a problem; it was my pleasure, really. I don't often get company out here.”

Quirrel smiled, adding fresh seeds to Swift's bowl. “Well, I'm glad we could be that for you, then.” He paused. “Speaking of, where did our little friend go off to?”

“Ah, yes. Well, they seemed rather restless when I awoke, so I had them go out and get some ingredients.” He hummed, brushing away some of the fluff of his cloak to reveal an object that had been half hidden underneath it, and Quirrel froze. “It was a funny thing, actually. They gave me one of their charms before they left, insisted on my wearing it until I came back, though to what end I have no idea. Heh, it bears a remarkable resemblance to you, though, my friend. Perhaps you know of its purpose?”

Quirrel, for one, was entirely grateful that expressions were difficult to interpret beneath a mask. Well. That answered that question. Obviously, he couldn’t just tell Sheo that he’d been charmed; how could he even begin to explain such a thing? He was sure it had to be some kind of taboo, anyway, whether the specifics were written down in the archives or not (lifeblood had been considered taboo, too, after all, and the specifics of its properties were written in the archives as well).

He had to think of something, though, and fast. “Oh, it’s just something a friend had made for me, though I let them use it.” He wasn’t technically lying. Everything he said in that sentence was true. Misleading, maybe, yes, but not outright lying.

“Huh. What does it do?”

Ah. Yes. He hadn’t quite come up with an answer to that yet. Let him just . . . avoid that question for now. “It’s a rather long story, and we’ll need to be moving forward soon so there’s no time to tell it. But the little one considers it very important, so that must be why they had you wear it.”

“Hm.” Sheo chuckled. “Now, I’m not much of an expert on charms, but I’d say it looks quite similar to a companion charm.”

Oh wyrm. Stay calm, Quirrel. “It does, doesn’t it? Fortunately, it’s not.” Now that, that was an actual, full-blown lie.

“Oh, I doubted it. It does make me curious as to what it does, though, but if you don’t think you’ll be able to explain it before you leave, then I suppose I’ll have to deal with the mystery.”

Oh thank goodness, he was dropping the subject. Though the fact that the knight had given his charm to Sheo . . . It really did confirm that they weren’t keeping him close just to use him as some sort of guard for their own purposes. They were worried about him. And maybe they had a right to be, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. In his mind, forgetting everything would still be better. The queen had tasked him with helping the little one along their quest, but he’d seen how they fought. They would probably be fine without him, and then they wouldn’t have to deal with his problems on top of their own.

. . . He wondered, with how little Sheo knew about the charm, and with the knight off somewhere else, if he couldn’t convince the nailmaster to let him keep the charm safe for them instead. He could pin it to his hood, then say he was going to go off and find them. And he wouldn’t come back. Would that even be possible, though? Could a companion wear their own charm? Surely there’d be no harm in trying.

“You know, I’ve seen how you wear that nail of yours. Would you like to learn my art as well?”

Quirrel blinked, thrown off track by, what seemed to him, a sudden change in subject. “Huh? Ah, thank you for the offer, but I’d rather not. I may have a nail but I’m not much of a fighter. It’s more for defense, really, and I’d honestly love to drop the blade like you have.”

“Why not?"

“. . . Pardon?”
“Why not drop the blade?” he repeated. “If it’s causing you trouble, then perhaps you could settle down somewhere like I have.”

“Ah.” Quirrel looked down at the nail resting by the corner. “. . . I’m afraid it’s simply not possible for me at the moment. I promised the little one that I would help them with something, and for that we must keep traveling through Hallownest.” The little one, the little one, he really needed to come up with something more solid to call them. If not their actual name, then a nickname.

“Hm. Well, if you ever have the chance to, I would certainly recommend it. It’s made my life so much more meaningful and I don’t regret the decision.”

He smiled softly. “I don’t doubt it. If my work is ever all said and done, then I believe I will.” Besides, it’s not like he hadn’t tried before. It was just that the knight hadn’t let him.

Speaking of, there was the little one now, carrying some of the surrounding greenery to add to what Sheo had already cut up. To Quirrel's complete lack of surprise, they took the charm back immediately. Though as they did, part of their cloak separated and he was able to see the marking on their shell again.

. . . Oh. Right. They were the King of Hallownest now, and he was supposed to be acting like it when the two of them were around others. He knew he’d been having memories problems, but he hadn’t thought it was that bad. He wondered, though, what Sheo would think if he knew.

“Hey, friend.”

They looked up at him.

“Would you like to show Sheo that marking you acquired not too long ago?”

Apparently they didn’t need much persuasion on that, because they immediately opened their cloak so the full of the brand could be seen. Despite his knowledge on the five great knights, Sheo didn’t seem to recognized it, but perhaps he’d never actually been in the presence of the king. It wouldn’t be unbelievable; he had heard that the king was very reclusive, and the knights were sent all throughout the kingdom, so they were encountered much more often than the king ever was.

“Fascinating . . .” Sheo leaned closer, his hand touching his chin in thought. “What is this, little one, and how’d you get it? It reminds me of those idols people once used to worship the Pale King . . . Perhaps it’s something of a similar nature?”

Quirrel rested an elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand, an amused expression on his face. He wondered, could he get the painter to guess it? “Mmmmm, no, not quite. You’re on the right track, though.”

Sheo looked up at him, then back down at the brand. “Well if it’s not a marking of worship, perhaps a symbol of honor? Something given to those the Pale King would consider trustworthy? Though how you could obtain something like that in this day and age, I have no idea.”

“I’m unsure you could, but then, this kingdom always surprises me. Regardless, it’s not that.” He looked down at his free hand, then back up at Sheo. “Closer, though.”

“Hmmmm . . . Surely it can’t be a symbol of the king’s inner court?”

“Clooosserrrrrrr . . .”

The bug chuckled. “You keep saying that and eventually we’re going to go all the way up to the mark of the king himself.”

Quirrel straightened. “Precisely!” And at the exact same moment, the knight dropped their cloak and nodded. The look on Sheo’s face was enough to make him chitter. “Isn’t it wonderfully amazing? The marvels our friend can achieve! I still have no idea how they got it, but the fact is that they do. Besides, with the Pale King gone, someone has to take care of what’s left of the kingdom.” And that was exactly what the little one was doing, in one way or another. Taking it upon themself to prolong the kingdom, rather than send others to do it as the king before them had. Though he tried not to think about the consequences of that.

Sheo still didn’t look like he knew what to do with the information. “That’s . . . that’s incredible, really. Though the burden that comes along with it . . . Are you sure you’re prepared to deal with such a thing, Your Highness? It’s not a task I would wish upon others.”

Quirrel’s smile faltered. He’d been trying not to mention that part of it. They had enough to deal with already, but perhaps he could help relieve some of the burden by dealing with the worst of it that came up.

The knight, for their part, nodded in full acceptance of whatever trials the mark would bring them.

“But don’t forget, friend,” Quirrel said, “if you ever need any help, just ask, okay?”

They hesitated, but after a moment, they nodded their head slowly. Good. He hoped they would take him up on that.

After eating, the two of them started gathering their things for the journey ahead. There wasn't much to gather, thankfully; the flowers, some food for the road, and Swift. It had been difficult to carry her the entire way here, so they also took some cloth to make a small pouch that the knight could carry her in while Quirrel acted as lookout for any dangers. Once they were all situated, they stepped outside, waved goodbye to Sheo, and set out.

They continued back along the path Quirrel had originally taken, but rather than stop at the Lake of Unn, they climbed even further up, dodging moss chargers and moss knights alike. After his encounter with the moss knight by the lake, Quirrel had decided it best to avoid them altogether. He’d been able to sit in silence with that one for quite some time, actually, but apparently that had simply been because the bug hadn’t noticed him; as soon as he commented on the lake, they had jumped with a start and didn’t hesitate to attack him. He’d rather not repeat the encounter, and besides, these ones looked much more alert.

Passed the chargers and knights was an area oddly reminiscent of the Crossroads. They must have been getting near the surface, and indeed he could already hear the shrieks of the wind just above them. He shivered in memory of having to fight such a wind, yet was also filled with longing, for the force of it to brush the pain away, the memories, the knowledge of what happened in this kingdom.

Ha. As if his friend would let him do such a thing.

(He wondered what would have happened if they were just a little too late in bringing him back; if he’d already lost his memories when the knight put on the charm. He decided that, perhaps, it would be better to not think about it.)

Stalagmites lined the floor of this part of the cavern, but thankfully there were plenty of ways to avoid them. There was a baldur nest deeper in, but rather than stop there, they continued further up. Still, he wondered what had happened for so many to have died right there in their own home. It didn’t seem to be a result of the infection; there were no signs of the piercing orange liquid all too familiar to him. Maybe an earthquake? If he recalled correctly, Hallownest had suffered through an earthquake before. He couldn’t remember whether he himself had experienced it or not, but he knew that it had been devastating. Entire tunnels collapsed, homes destroyed, bugs crushed under the weight of the rock above them and devoured by cracks opening up below them. It would have been horrifying to have lived through it.

But then, these husks weren’t covered in dirt and rocks, so either they’d been dug out, or the earthquake had not been the reason for their death. Such cracks in those shells, though . . . Whatever killed them must have been something formidable.

It wasn’t much longer before they reached the surface, the winds wasting no time in buffeting them back the moment they stepped outside.

“You know,” Quirrel called, raising his voice above the wind, “I thought you were trying to keep me away from here.” They didn’t look at him, but as they climbed up he noticed that, though they’d been walking ahead of him the entire trip, they were now keeping pace beside him, even matching the speed of his stride. Not only that, but the side they stuck to was the side closest to the Wastelands beyond. Charmed or not, if Quirrel truly wanted to leave, he wouldn’t be able to simply slip away unnoticed.

At one point they came across sheets of paper and a tape recorder resting on the ground. He picked the tape up in curiosity. “Hm. Seems Cornifer was here.” He wouldn’t have thought the bug would come all the way out here, to the edge of the kingdom. The bug really must have been dedicated to mapping out the true entirety of Hallownest. Quirrel admired that.

His friend paid no mind to the tape, but something else must have caught their eye, because they were looking deep into a crevice in the clifface.

He set the tape down and walked up to them. “Find something interesting, friend?” If they did, he had no idea what. It was pitch black in there. They looked up at the sound of his voice and, in response, took out their lantern and forged onwards. Seemed they were going on a little detour, then. Quirrel didn’t mind; detours were often the best parts of a journey.

There didn’t seem to be anything special about the way they were going until they came across some flowers, shaped and moving like butterflies, glowing softly in the darkness. He’d seen these underground before, often marking the place of those blue cocoons. Did the knight want to use the lifeblood coursing within them? He’d seen them once with the blue tint that resulted from consuming lifeblood before; taboo or not, his friend certainly didn’t seem opposed to drinking it.

He hoped they’d never tried drinking it from the plants themselves. Nasty stuff, that was, not just in taste but in toxins. He’d heard the stories. Only a certain species of aphid was able to consume and degrade those toxins safely, and in fact used it as their sole food source. The cocoons weren’t actually cocoons, but little homes the aphids built around the plants. Any bugs who used lifeblood in any way would take it from the stores of the aphids. But the flowers themselves? Horribly toxic, and often lethal.

Strangely enough, though, as they continued forward, there was neither whole nor remnant of cocoon to be seen. The aphids must not have found this one yet, then. But then, why had his friend come in here if there was no edible lifeblood to drink?

They walked still further inside, and as soon as they dropped through a small hole at the end of the tunnel, Quirrel let out a soft gasp. They were in a large, vertical chamber, clearly lit by scores upon scores of lifeblood flowers. He had never seen so many in one place before, and not only were the flowers themselves there, but some of them were shedding their petals, the lifeblood within causing them to flap like a butterfly and rise through the air. Tons of them! The entire scene was absolutely beautiful, enough so to drive him speechless.

Even now, there were still wonders of Hallownest that he had yet to discover.

After a while, Quirrel became aware of his friend staring at him, almost expectantly. He stared back. “. . . Did you . . . come here just to show me this . . . ?” A nod. He . . . wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that. “I . . . Thank you . . .”

They hopped down onto the platforms beneath them and Quirrel followed, albeit at a slower pace. He wanted to soak in as much of the beauty of this place as possible; it truly did fill him with awe. The knight was already sitting down by the time he reached the bottom and they didn’t seem inclined to move when he came over, so he sat down beside them.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed there watching the flowers; time seemed to stand still here, even more so than it did for the rest of Hallownest. But eventually, Quirrel noticed that this was not the end of the cavern. There was another small tunnel a little ways away from them, and his curiosity got the better of him, so he stood up and walked over.

It seemed to be the grave of a small child, though rather than buried like most bugs were, her body was laid across a stone plinth; a sign of honor. He wondered what she did that was so special. Perhaps there was a message on the stone? He stepped closer to take a look, but jumped back with a start when a translucent figure appeared above him. That was . . . another ghost, right? Why was he starting to meet so many ghosts all of a sudden?

Unlike the mantis, however, this one spoke. “Oh, hello there. Have you come to see the butterflies, too?”

“. . . Uh . . . Well, I suppose I have, yes.” Perhaps not intentionally on his part, but the knight had certainly lead him here on purpose in order to see them, so yes, he did come to see the butterflies. And speaking of his friend, they seemed to notice his absence and came to join him.

“Aren’t they wonderful? It’s so peaceful here.”

Quirrel smiled softly. “It really is.” He paused. “What’s your name, friend?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I should have introduced myself! My name is Joni. What’s yours?”

He chuckled. “It’s very nice to meet you, Joni. I’m Quirrel. And don’t worry, I’ve met many who’ve done far worse than forget to introduce themselves in my travels. And speaking of travels . . . I have to say I’m a bit curious as to what you’re doing all the way out here at the edge of the kingdom. Not many travel so far.” And even less were honored in such a way when they died out here. He wondered, though, had she actually died out here, or had someone brought her here specifically so she could rest amongst the flowers? Would it be rude to ask? Perhaps so. He decided not to risk it.

Besides, her countenance had already started to shift with his previous question and he didn’t want to make it worse. She seemed . . . confused. Like a thought was escaping her and she couldn’t quite catch it.

When she spoke, there was a sort of distant quality to her voice. “I’m . . . not entirely sure myself . . . My memory hasn’t really been keeping up with the rest of my life, it seems.”

“. . . Oh.” He looked behind him, up towards where the opening to the Wastelands lay in the distance. Oh. He turned back towards Joni with an understanding tilt of his head. “Well, that’s a quality that you and I both share, then. My memory hasn’t quite been doing the job it’s supposed to be doing as of late, either.” She was like him, then. It was a . . . strange feeling, to be honest. He didn’t think he’d encounter anyone else who’d left Hallownest before. But it also gave him a sense of solidarity with the child and he wished he could have known her before she’d died.

Joni blinked. “Really? I thought I was the only one! So few people come in here, but I’ve never had any inclination to leave. Are there others like us?”

Quirrel paused. “Well . . . That’s a rather good question, isn’t it? You’re the only one I’ve met. Surely anyone who has ventured outside of the kingdom must have experienced it, but whether they survived that journey, who’s to say? The Wastelands are a dangerous place.” He wondered how Joni was able to survive it. Or, perhaps she had dipped in and out like he had been contemplating before. If she had, though, was it purposeful? Had she known what she was doing? Was it for the same reason he was thinking of it? He hoped not. Perhaps it’d be best to not think about that at the moment. He was doing a lot of not thinking about things today.

“Well, if you’re the only other one . . . What’s it been like for you? Is it better or worse when you’re around people a lot? I’ve been here for so long that I don’t really encounter anyone very often. I wonder, sometimes, whether I ever knew any of the few who find this place. Most people don’t really seem able to hear me, but some of them look at me so intensely I can’t help but wonder if we knew each other.”

Most didn’t seem to be able to hear her? He wondered why that was. Was there a requirement to seeing ghosts? If so, he didn’t know it. Then again . . . it wasn’t only the dreams the moths delved amongst, was it, but the dead as well. Perhaps one needed the dream nail to see them, and perhaps the current connection to his friend allowed him to see them as well, just as it allowed him to enter dreams along with them. If so, that would certainly explain why he was suddenly seeing them when, as far as he could remember (which wasn’t much), he’d never seen one before in his life.

He hummed in thought. “Well . . . Most people in my travels tend to not know me, so at this point I simply assume that they don’t. There was only one I’ve encountered who knew me, and I had begun to remember her at that point, so I doubt it’s the same as what you’ve experienced. Besides . . . she’s gone now.” He chuckled, though there was a degree of sadness to it. “Honestly, with the state this kingdom is in and how old I am? I doubt there’s anyone still alive who once knew me. That’s alright, though. I have a second chance at life now. I don’t need to know anything about my past and quite frankly I’m not sure I want to. Discovering more of my past, only to discover that those I now remember had succumbed to the infection? I’d rather not know.”

Joni tilted her head in contemplation at his words. “I hadn’t thought about that. I’d at least like to know who I was, though. I have a little bit of an idea, but it’s only really a vague thought. I think it was something to do with the lifeblood, but what specifically I’m not sure.”

The lifeblood? He looked around them. “. . . Perhaps that makes sense as to why you’re here then, at rest amongst the flowers that provide it . . . Though honestly I understand the sentiment. I once worked beneath Monomon the Teacher, and I believe I may have acted as her guard for a time, but I am unable to remember the specifics. Sometimes I get small flashes of specific moments, but overall? I don’t know.”

It . . . honestly felt so satisfying to know that someone else had gone through this, that he could talk about it with someone who knew what it was like. Even if she had no input on how to better cope with it, at least he didn’t have to worry about not quite being able to communicate what things were like for him, because she already knew.

“Monomon the Teacher? I haven’t heard of her.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to what with the amnesia. In fact, I myself didn’t even know she existed until recently, and I was wearing her mask on my head the entire time!”

The child giggled, filling Quirrel with a warm, almost proud feeling. “Really?”

“Really! It was quite a shock when I discovered it, I have to say. Who would have thought, a bug such as myself, working beneath such a prestiged archivist!”

“I wish I could experience that some time . . .” Her head sagged. She looked tired. He wondered what it was like to be stuck here, alone, unable to interact with anyone who wandered in. It had to be horrible. But, perhaps, he could be one to alleviate that, if only a little.

He extended his hand in an attempt to pat her on the head and to his surprise, he actually could. She wasn’t quite solid, but she wasn’t intangible either. More like somewhere in between, and certainly enough for him to be able to pat her. “Perhaps you will some day. And if it ever does, you can tell me, because I think I’ll be coming back to visit here more often.”

He knew he made the right choice when he saw her eyes light up. “You will?”

“I will! So long as that’s okay with you, friend?” He looked down at the knight as he spoke. Surely they wouldn’t deny him this? He’d seen how often they paused their own mission in order to help others, such as with the flowers and with himself, so surely they wouldn’t refuse this? (Some part of him felt guilty for delaying their mission for so long. The longer the infection spread, the more people would be infected, after all. But he also wasn’t sure he could handle losing another close friend of his so soon after he’d lost Monomon. At least they weren’t the only friend he had anymore, though, but they were the closest.) He wouldn’t be able to come here without them, anyway, and even if they’d released him, he’d still need them to wear the charm so he’d be able to see Joni in the first place (unless it was possible to see ghosts just by holding it, whether he was able to actually use it or not?).

Joni gasped in delight when the knight nodded. “Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome, Joni!” Just seeing her excitement . . . He would definitely need to keep coming back here.

They didn’t spend much longer there, however. He waved goodbye to the ghost and he and the knight climbed out of the chamber of flowers, continuing their way up the mountain until they reached lampposts guiding the way.

He remembered what it was like to climb up here when he first came back to Hallownest. Promises of otherworldly terrains and breathtaking scenery, of ancient history long buried, just waiting to be discovered. It certainly didn’t disappoint, though at the time he had no idea of the role he’d played in such a place.

He’d fought that bug with the needle here, too. He wondered where she was now. That mask . . . Something else calls you here, simple bug. Seek your wonders, but know you may find someone waiting. She’d known about Monomon. She’d taken it upon herself to protect the kingdom. He wondered just how involved she had been in Hallownest’s past, if it was as much as him, or maybe even more so.

But regardless, it was so strange to be back here again, to remember how unaware he’d been the first time. And even now, he only had so many memories that had returned. What was he still unaware of? How would he feel, had he regained all of his memories? Perhaps he shouldn’t focus on such things. He’d probably wish to forget all the more.

Quirrel had been so lost in his thoughts that he nearly missed it when his friend dropped down and entered a crevice a little farther down. Unlike the place Joni had been in, there was no hesitation this time, which confused him. Weren’t they to go to Dirtmouth? Or had they always planned to take a second detour? Well, he supposed the only thing he could do was follow.

Chapter Text

Well, someone had obviously been living in this little alcove, if the nails driven into the ground at its entrance were any indication. The crevice was quite a bit of a tighter squeeze than the last, but the path soon opened up into a room with a bench, and what seemed to be a larger room further in.

The two sat at the bench for only a moment, just to catch their breath from climbing the mountain, but to Quirrel's surprise the knight's head drooped down almost immediately; a few waves in front of their face confirmed that they had indeed fallen asleep. Well, if they needed their rest, he certainly wasn't going to deny them that. Perhaps the pile of paintings they’d amassed last night were because they simply couldn’t sleep well, and they were now catching up on it? Quite the inopportune time, though, given that they were technically inside the house of someone they had yet to greet.

Regardless, his theory seemed well-grounded until, after only a few minutes, they awoke and hopped off the bench with much more energy than they'd started with. Strange. Perhaps they simply needed less sleep more often, then? If true, then that was fascinating . . . Even now, he was still learning more about his friend.

A rather large bug sat in the room beyond, one that bore so striking a resemblance to Sheo that Quirrel very nearly mistook him for him. That mistake was soon corrected, though, as the atmosphere of his home and the way he spoke were most certainly distinct from the other bug. His friend made a beeline straight for him.

The bug looked up upon hearing them enter. “Ah, my pupil, you have visited once again! And brought some friends! I’m honored at such a display. May I enquire as to your name, newcomer? I myself am Nailmaster Mato.” He spoke confidently, and quite a bit louder than Sheo had, despite being the same size. 

What he said, though, was even more interesting. Not only did the two look so similar, but they were both nailmasters as well. Would it be too much to assume they were family? Many families stayed within the same business, after all. And though many bugs looked similar to each other regardless of whether they were family or not, the masks often served to differentiate between them and the masks of the two nailmasters were nearly identical. Well, assuming they were wearing masks in the first place. Sometimes it was difficult to tell. “Well met, Nailmaster. I’m Quirrel. You trained my friend as well? We've just come from a Nailmaster Sheo that had taught them a nail art.”

Just the mention of the name seemed to make Mato's whole composure brighten, his back straightening and his head raising. “Sheo! How has he been doing lately? I haven't visited in quite some time.”

Quirrel smiled. Related or not, the two certainly seemed close. “He's doing quite well, I'd say! Putting a lot of focus into his art. I could only imagine how much work it had to take for him to paint so well. You know him?”

“Well of course I know him! How could I not know my own brother? He and my other brother Oro and I all trained together under the great nailsage himself! I wish I could see our teacher once again, but alas, I refuse to until I have mastered his teachings. But oh, what a jovial time that was, if still hard work! But alas, not much can get done without hard work.”

“Oh, of course not. Or nothing quality, at least.” So they were related, and brothers specifically. Good to know that his deduction skills were up to par, though perhaps this was an obvious one. He hadn't heard of this Oro before, though. He wondered if he were just as similar-looking as Mato and Sheo. Regardless, the two that he already met were most likely from the same brood, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Oro were as well. They must be quite skilled, though, if they trained under someone titled the Great Nailsage.

While they'd been talking, the knight had been rifling under their cloak. Now they presented to the nailmaster one of the flowers they’d been carrying this whole time. Ah, he should have guessed; no wonder they hadn't hesitated when they veered off the path to Dirtmouth, and no wonder this was the path they took to return. If two of the flowers were being given to two of the nailmasters, though, then perhaps they were to visit Oro as well. He wondered what he'd be like. Sheo and Mato were already so different from each other and yet so similar in appearance. Would the third brother be the same?

“Oh!” Mato exclaimed, taking the flower without hesitation. “A gift, for me? I'm honored, my pupil! Not only have you visited once again, but to bring a gift! I thank you very much!” He bowed, then rummaged through the room to find a suitable container to put it in.

While the nailmaster was looking, Quirrel felt a small tug on his arm and glanced down to see the knight gazing up at him. “Yes, friend?”

They shifted their cloak out of the way to put a hand on the brand that marked their shell, pointed at him, and then pointed at Mato.

He lowered his voice. “Are you saying you want me to tell him about the brand?” The confirmation he got from them surprised him. They hadn’t really shown much interest in showing it to others, and they certainly hadn’t mentioned it to him initially. He wondered why they wanted to show Mato specifically. But if that was their wish, then he would help them fulfill it.

He glanced toward the nailmaster with a slight mischievous smile beneath his mask, speaking just a little louder than his normal volume. “Well, Your Highness, I don’t see why not.”

That certainly seemed to catch Mato’s attention. He had to stop himself from letting out a small chitter of laughter when he saw him turn and once again he was glad for the conciliatory function of his mask, though for an entirely different reason than he was with Sheo. His actual reaction, however, was not what he was expecting and threw him rather off guard.

“Ah!” Mato exclaimed. “Are we playing a game? I haven’t played a game such as this in quite a long time! Well, little one, if you are the king, then I am to be your bodyguard!” He punctuated his declaration with a fist to his chest and a deep bow.

“. . . Ah,” Quirrel replied, blinking a little. “That . . . wasn’t entirely what I meant.”

The other straightened. “Hm? What did you mean then? Are they perhaps some other royalty here? Or have you already taken the role of bodyguard?”

. . . Well, he supposed Mato wasn’t wrong. Being stuck with them as he was, in a way Quirrel was acting as a sort of bodyguard, though by now he was relatively certain that the reason his friend kept him so close was for the pill bug’s own benefit, not their own.

Rather than let him respond for them, though, the knight stepped between the two and opened their cloak, showing off the brand.

The nailmaster took a while to process the meaning of the gesture, alternating between looking at the knight and looking at quirrel. Then he started to speak. ". . . Oh. Oh. . . . Oh . . . Well. This . . . That isn’t what I think it is, is it?"

The child raised their arms, hands vibrating just slightly.

“I think you’ll find that it is, Nailmaster,” Quirrel added, a smile beneath his mask once again.

Mato stared, silent, still, for a few seconds. For their part, so did the knight, their arms still raised though their hands had stopped vibrating. But then the other straightened and a jovial tone returned to his voice. “Well then! This is quite a surprise! How on earth did you manage to properly and officially succeed the throne, my dear pupil, and one that has not existed for quite some time? I can hardly believe it! First nailmaster, and now this?”

“They certainly are an incredible-” The pill bug paused, processing what the other had said. “Wait . . . Nailmaster? ” He stared back at his friend. “Since when have you been a nailmaster? ”

In response, they rummaged around in their cloak until they pulled out a charm, holding it out in front of them. Quirrel froze. That shape, that design . . . Stunned, he took it, quickly looking at it from all sides while Mato explained, “Nailmaster’s Glory. There were only ever a few of the charms in existence and now even less so, but they were only ever given to those who had finished their training, usually by the one they had trained under, to mark their way as a nailmaster.” He put a fist on his chest and repeated, “Me and my brothers had trained under the Great Nailsage himsel-.” Mato paused, perhaps realizing that Quirrel’s frantic gestures were not stopping. “I say, Quirrel, are you quite alright?”

The scholar looked up for the first time since he was shown the charm, taking in the nailmaster’s concern and the tilt of his friend’s head. “I . . . well . . .” He hesitated, then slowly slipped his hand inside his hood and turned aside a portion of the cloth. Pinned there was a charm, nearly identical to the one he was holding in his hand. He hadn’t known where it had come from or its name, only that it allowed him to fight faster and that he had already had it when he started his travels away from Hallownest. The . . . implications of what he just learned, he . . . wasn’t sure what to think about. Technically this didn’t necessarily confirm one way or another that he had once been declared a nailmaster; he could have simply picked it up from a corpse just outside of Hallownest, too far back for him to fully remember, or Monomon could have set him up with it before he left, not because he was a nailmaster but because the benefits of the charm would help increasingly while he was out in the wastelands. Either way, he couldn’t imagine himself as a nailmaster. He always preferred settling things diplomatically rather than with nail and shield. How could a nailmaster be made out of a pacifist?

Regardless of his own feelings on the subject, Mato seemed rather ecstatic at the possibility. “You’re a nailmaster yourself, friend? Why didn’t you say so earlier?! That’s amazing!”

“I . . .” Was it amazing? To be so intent on fighting as to become a master in it? Perhaps for some, but not for him. “Well, I’ll be honest, I didn’t exactly know what this charm meant until now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean who’s to say I got this from actually becoming a nailmaster rather than picking it off some forgotten husk somewhere or finding it along the road or being given to it by someone else? I respect what you do, Nailmaster, but I can’t see my being one myself.”

“Wait . . . You don’t remember?”

Quirrel shook his head.

Mato looked confused. “Why not? Surely such a thing would be too important to be forgotten?”

A slight smile appeared under the pill bug’s mask. “I’ve been having some memory problems recently.” His tone shifted to something a little more serious, looking back to the entrance of the cave, almost longingly, with a sigh. “Where do you live, Nailmaster?” It was less so a question and more so a statement, an implication.

“The . . . Howling Cliffs . . .” He paused, following his gaze outside. His expression changed as he seemed to realize what was being said. “You . . . left the kingdom . . . ?”

Quirrel responded with a simple nod, considering it as a mere fact rather than a tragedy. “I suppose I’m still recovering from that.” He paused, looking back up at the nailmaster. “I’ll be honest, I never thought it was possible to recover from. And maybe it’s not, not completely. But I can’t deny that at least a few of my memories have returned to me since then. And most things about the kingdom have had a vague tint of familiarity to them since I first entered Hallownest. Or, well, perhaps, since I came to be within it a second time?”

Mato was silent as Quirrel spoke, contemplating the words said. He spoke carefully, seemingly unsure as to what should be said and what shouldn’t such an abnormal situation. “. . . I’ll confess, despite knowing that one could lose one’s memories upon leaving the kingdom, I never thought I’d meet anyone who had. It sounds like a terrible thing to experience.”

The pill bug paused, considering the nailmaster’s words. “I’d say the memory loss itself isn’t the terrible part to experience, but rather the return of those memories.” He looked out the door, gaze distant. “When I was out there, despite the dangers of the wastelands, I was happy with my life. Exploring, discovering, finding amazing things. I had a similar mindset when I found my way back here. Along with seeing all the wonders I’d heard about this kingdom, I’d wanted to figure out just what the buzz of familiarity I felt from everything here resulted from.”

He sighed, looking away. “When the few memories of my past returned, all I became aware of was the current totality of death and suffering in the kingdom, not as a bystander as I once was, but as someone who was a part of it, who had lived through it. I only became aware of what the few friends that I remembered must have gone through, must have agonized through.”

He felt the knight’s hand slide into his own and he looked down at them in surprise, his friend meeting his gaze as they looked back up. After a beat, he forced a more cheerful tone into his voice. “Oh, don’t worry about me, friend. I’ll be alright. You have enough to worry about as is.” He doubted that would convince them, but hopefully it would at least convince Mato. He didn’t exactly want to be heartfelt about these kinds of things with a near stranger.

The little one watched him a moment longer, then let go to instead grab the hand of the nailmaster and pull him outside. Confused, Quirrel took a step to follow, but the knight stopped and held a hand up to him in a stopping gesture. When he obeyed, they continued walking out with Mato.

Well.

They were going to be talking about him, weren’t they? So much for his attempt at making Mato not worry about him. He recognized, objectively, that having someone here who knew the situation to stop him should he ever escape and attempt to leave was a good idea on the knight’s part. That didn’t mean he had to like it, though. But at least he could prepare for this and shy away from this side of the cliffs should he ever manage to sneak out from under his friend’s gaze.

He sat down on the floor and looked around, absentmindedly running his hand along Swift’s head as he did so. There were nails leaning against the wall just as there had been in Sheo’s house, but in addition Mato also had cracked shields lying on the ground and massive masks propped up here and there. Trophies of hard-won battles and reminders of past memories. He wondered, vaguely, what battles the nailmaster had fought in.

Now that he thought about it, Sheo had had some giant masks in his room as well. Not many, but they were there.

. . . He supposed he was more similar to Sheo than he thought. He wondered what the painter would think of that. Both of them were nailmasters that wanted to lay down their nails and instead work on something to bring more life to the world, rather than death and destruction. Perhaps he should visit him again sometime, too.

Whatever talk the knight and Mato had been having didn’t last long, and Quirrel stood as the two came back into the room. No comment was made on what they had talked about, and he didn’t ask, either.

While the little one seemed anxious to get going, they agreed to the Nailmaster's offer to meditate with him for a few minutes. While they were doing so, the pill bug attempted not to think about this new possibility of him being a nailmaster. It just didn’t make . . . No, no, he wasn’t going to think about this. Think about other things, like being able to go back and visit Joni, or Sheo, or about all the fascinating places he’d been. How was one supposed to meditate again? He was doing this wrong, wasn’t he.

It was several moments through these thoughts that his friend's lack of name was once again brought to mind. Perhaps, then, he could ask them if there was any they might take a liking to? It was better than trying not to think about Nailmaster’s Glory, which would inevitable lead him into thinking about it. ". . . Friend?"

They looked up at him, curious.

“I know you don’t really have a name, but . . . would you like one?” At the curious tilt of their head, he continued. “Of course, if you’d rather not, that is just as well, but I believe it may be easier to talk of you to others if I had something more solid to call you. ‘My friend,’ while quite true, is rather generic and could refer to any of my friends.”

Their head tilted up a little in thought and they were silent for several seconds before they gave him a slight nod.

He smiled beneath his mask. “Excellent! I don’t suppose, then, that you have any in mind?” They shook their head, and he wasn’t surprised. Unfortunately, though, he hadn’t really had any in mind, either. “Well then, think of when we named Swift.” He gently pet her to emphasize his point. “You could take a name from someone else, you could use a word that describes you, or even just one that you like the sound of . . . You could even make one up entirely if you’d like.”

They sat in a silence that Quirrel could only assume to be thoughtful before taking a book from beneath their cloak and flipping through it. How did they fit so many things under there . . . ? Regardless, they were staring intently at each page, as if trying to glean inspiration from it. It seemed to be some type of log of the creatures of Hallownest, but aside from the pictures, Quirrel himself couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He couldn’t even tell if it was some language that looked similar to one that he knew, or if it was simply incredibly bad handwriting.

He paused when they came upon the page of a bug donning a red cloak and a mask with two points. “Oh, I know that bug.” When they instantly turned to look at him, he clarified, “Well, I don’t really know her, and based off our interaction I doubt she knew me so it’s not just my faulty memory, but I met her on my way into Hallownest. She refused to peacefully let me pass until she saw the mask I was wearing.”

Mato leaned over to see which bug he was talking about. “Ah, yes, I’ve seen her around as well. She’s not one for talking, but I do believe she once called herself Hornet. Not entirely sure what she does. Something about protecting Hallownest, I think.”

The little one nodded, paused to consider something, then pointed at the drawing of her.

Quirrel tilted his head. “Do you want to take her name?”

They shook their head.

“. . . Are you still talking about names in the first place?”

A nod.

“Something similar to Hornet, then?”

Another nod.

The pill bug hummed slightly. “Perhaps a creature of a similar type? Such as a bee, or a wasp?” He barely even got to finish the last word before they pointed at him, waving their arm. “. . . What, wasp?” At their nod, he looked up in thought, considering their fighting style, speed, and dexterity. “. . . You know, I think it suits you. Well then! Wasp it is, I suppose!”

“Wasp!” the Nailmaster’s voice boomed. “It is good to have a name to put to the face of my pupil! I am glad to have met you, my dear Wasp!”

Wasp raised their arms, seemingly happily. Quirrel smiled softly, glad that they were enjoying it.

They didn’t stay much longer after that, and the pill bug had to wonder how much of that was due to the proximity of the Wastelands. After all, Wasp hadn’t seemed to want him anywhere near the place, so it only made sense that they’d want them to leave as soon as possible.

Chapter Text

Their path back to Dirtmouth was . . . unorthodox, to say the least. Oh, it was normal at first, but when they came upon the drop into King’s Pass, they did not jump into the tunnels. Rather, Wasp had indicated that he hold onto them, despite the smallness of their body, and they had . . . flown, across the sky above it. Or something like that. Crystals had grown around them and they were suddenly propelled forward. Quirrel most definitely did not scream, and if he did, it was due to being startled by the sudden movement and not because the whole trip had freaked him out.

And then to make matters worse, they just . . . stopped. Mid-air. Now, he was not worried that the landing would cause him harm, as aside from the effects of the charm, the exoskeletons and light weight of bugs allow them to fall quite a substantial distance without getting hurt. But it was a fall that he hadn’t been expecting and he wasn’t prepared to land properly.

Wasp seemed plenty prepared, though, as just before impact, they used the monarch wings they had obtained to slow their fall, landing easily. Elderbug startled backwards and Quirrel released his grip on his friend, slipping forward onto the ground. “. . . Warn me before doing something like that, friend,” he said, voice muffled from the dirt beneath. The pill bug groaned and propped himself up, glancing at Elderbug as he did so. “. . . Hello. Yes. This is Wasp, they have a name now. And also apparently the ability to go very fast . . . very suddenly.”

The old bug, starting to recover now, rushed over to help him up. “Are you quite alright?”

Quirrel took his hand gratefully. “Ah . . . I think so, yes, just . . . wasn’t expecting that.” He dusted himself off upon standing and looked over at Wasp, who seemed to be watching rather innocently. “. . . Are you enjoying this?” They nodded. He threw his arms in the air and turned around. “Unbelievable.” When he turned back around, their shoulders were shaking in seeming laughter. “Un believ able . I’m leaving. Goodbye.” He immediately started marching off toward the house he had taken residence in. At least, as far as he could until he reached the limit of his range.

Almost instantly he felt the pressure that prevented him from traveling any further drop, and he turned around to see Wasp following him, their shoulders still shaking. He didn’t move away from them this time, though, and they walked straight up to him. And attempted to climb up him and tap his mask, causing both of them to fall to the ground laughing. They continued to tap his mask, with both hands this time.

“Alright, alright! You win!” Quirrel giggled, playfully pushing them off of him. “Careful before you crush Swift or the flowers.” He sat up, checking on the maskfly. She seemed fine, thankfully. “We should get her home, set her up in a nest or something.” He stood and, noticing that Wasp was still on the ground, helped them up with a chuckle. They seemed to have a little more bounce in their step as they headed back to Quirrel’s house. Good. They were still so young, they needed things like this every now and again. Probably even more so than that. And they definitely didn’t need to be some sacrifice for a dead kingdom. If only they would listen to him on that.

Once inside, Quirrel busied himself collecting materials to make Swift something comfortable she could rest in while she recovered. There wasn’t too much suitable for her unfortunately. He’d need to do something about that. But it would do for now, so he gently took her out of the bag and laid her down in the nest, providing a small dish of seeds and water nearby. Wasp found something to put the flowers in, as they’d be staying here the rest of the day to care for her.

“I’m going to go out and get more grass for her. Can you stay here to keep an eye on her, Wasp?”

They nodded and sat down nearby the nest. Satisfied that Swift would be well taken care of while he was outside, Quirrel left to go foraging for any grass he could find within his range.

His body reacted before his mind could figure out what was going on.

There was a tapping behind him, rapidly coming closer, and he didn’t even process what it could have been before a sudden fear seized his body and he launched himself off the ground and into the air, simply attempting to get as far away as possible as fast as possible. Unfortunately, as he’d already been some ways away from Wasp, this forced him out of his range and his vision went white as he teleported back to their side.

They looked up at him with a tilted head as he caught his breath. “Uh . . . I, uh . . . accidentally . . . went too far . . . Uh, here.” He set the pieces of grass he’d already collected next to Swift’s nest. “Put those in there. I’m, uh . . . gonna go get more . . .” He shivered. He still didn’t like the feeling of teleportation.

Quirrel hesitated, then headed back to the door, unsure as to just what had set him off. Thinking back on it, it was likely a small bug running up behind him, though Wasp had done that to him before, and even other bugs, and he’d never panicked like that. Maybe something specific about the sound? Just what . . .

He opened the door and saw a bug spin towards him at the sound of it. A fly, it seemed, with a . . . wildly disproportionate nail for his size. “Uh.”

“Ah!” the small bug exclaimed. “I’m not sure where that disappearing act came from, and while I approve of that part, you took way too long to react in the first place! You’ve been slacking on your training, haven’t you?!”

Quirrel stared. “I . . . Excuse me? Who are you? Did you just try to attack me?”

The fly stepped back, taken aback. “Who am I?”

“Ye-”

“I TRAINED YOU YOU BUFFOON HOW COULD YOU FORGET ME!”

“. . . You what?”

“YOU’RE EVEN WORSE THAN THE OTHERS!”

Quirrel quickly raised his hands. “Hold up, what? Trained me? Listen I have quite the case of memory loss concerning anything about Hallownest so if you’d please calm down and explain things . . .”

He heard the telltale tip tapping of feet behind him - different tip tapping than the fly’s, apparently, if his instincts had anything to say about it - as Wasp joined his side, no doubt curious as to the commotion.

Thankfully, the bug did calm down, trading his outburst for a narrowed, scrutinizing gaze at the pill bug. “Memory loss, you say? About Hallownest in particular?” He paused. “You haven’t left the kingdom, have you?”

“I, uh, I do believe I have, yes.”

He frowned. “. . . Hm.”

Quirrel’s head dipped and he gave the other an apologetic smile. “. . . Sorry. You . . . said you trained me, though?” Interest colored his voice. He never knew where his skills had come from and, well, if this one truly had trained him, maybe he would have some answers as to how he’d obtained Nailmaster’s Glory, too. He still didn’t quite believe he was actually a nailmaster, but it would be nice to confirm that fact. Not to mention that this was apparently someone that he’d used to know, and that always brought forth a natural curiosity. Situations such as these, glimpses into the past, always left him torn, because while he really didn’t want to think much about his past anymore, about the people he had lost, this . . . this was someone he apparently hadn’t lost. Not to death, at least. And . . . maybe he was suffering more than himself. After all, Quirrel couldn’t remember all the deaths and lost lives he must’ve experienced, could he? But this fly must have remembered them all.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the other stepping up to look him over. “I did indeed train you, yes. And it seems your body has remembered that, even if your mind hasn’t, if you were able to respond as quick as you did to my prompting. I didn’t teach you that disappearing trick, though.”

“Uh, no, that’s something I . . . learned . . . from someone else.” He chuckled uncertainly. “What was that, though? Prompting?”

“Well of course!” he replied. “A training exercise! How do you think you got so fast in the first place?”

“I . . . suppose I’ve never really thought of it before.”

“Nothing like fear of harm to increase your leg strength and running ability!”

. . . Hm. Quirrel had to disagree.

The fly picked up the nail he’d driven into the ground and started walking away. “Come, Quirrel. If you truly have forgotten, then there is much I’d like to discuss with you.”

Well, if there was any doubt as to whether he was being confused for some other pupil, it was gone now. Surely there wouldn’t be two pill bugs of a similar appearance with the same name. Still, he hesitated, watching after him, then looking back at Wasp and his house. “Ah, actually, if we’re going somewhere to talk, can it be here in my house? We brought back an injured maskfly and I’d rather not leave her unattended.” He had no idea where this bug was going, and even if Wasp were to stay with Swift, then he still couldn’t go far from them.

The small bug waved him off. “Oh come now, we’re only going a few doors down, surely the little one can take care of her.”

“Wait, you live here? ” He’d assumed he’d just been visiting. Otherwise, why would he not have at least seen him before? This was a small town now that Hallownest had fallen. Surely they would have met each other once or twice?

“Of course I do. Have so for years now.”

Quirrel hesitated, then looked back at his friend. They shrugged and walked back inside. He supposed the suggestion might work, but a few doors down would be at the edge of his range, and he honestly didn’t want to tell too many people that he was bound to a charm. He just hoped wherever they were going wasn’t too many doors down.

It turned out he needn’t have been worried. While still at the edge of his range, the shop they went to provided enough room for him to move around without being impeded. And he realized why he’d never met this bug before. If he was a shopkeeper, then it was likely he didn’t leave his shop too often or and he very well could have lived in it, and this was a shop that Quirrel had found no need to enter. The signs outside advertised charms for fighting or collecting geo, neither things he had a care for, or other things he either didn’t need or already had. And when he had first settled down in Dirtmouth, he’d had no desire for social interaction at the time, either, so the thought of visiting specifically to make friends or take in the latest gossip hadn’t exactly been on his mind. But still, to think all this time he’d shared residence in Dirtmouth with such an important figure of his past, and had never chanced upon him!

Upon entering the shop, Quirrel glanced around the place with intrigue. “So, Nailmaster, or at least I assume you to be one if you train bugs in the art of the nail; remind me of your name.” 

The other paused in his step at the question, hesitating just a moment. “. . . Sly.” Then he suddenly looked back at him. “And that’s Nail sage, actually! The Great Nailsage!” Not even waiting for a reply, he jumped down into an underground level of the shop.

Quirrel grinned and followed. “Nail sage? Assuming there’s only one Great Nailsage, I do believe I’ve met two of your pupils!”

Sly sat down, patting the floor in front of him. “Oho? Which ones?”

Taking the invitation, he sat down and said, “Sheo and Mato. Mato told me of Oro but I haven’t met him yet.”

“Ah yes, the brothers! An interesting trio to train, though not actually the worst pupils I’ve had. Tell them to visit me. I suppose, even if you have forgotten me, you at least visited me, intentionally or not.”

Quirrel chuckled. “I’m not sure about Sheo, but Mato at least has resolved to never visit you until he masters your training. I suppose he feels self-conscious.”

“What?!” Sly exclaimed. “That’s no reason to not visit a master! Besides, if he’s having trouble mastering any of it, he should come back to me and I can show him how to fix it! How to train better!” He narrowed his eyes. “Or perhaps he doesn’t want to pay the money required for me to give another lesson . . . Stingy.”

“I wouldn’t know.” The pill bug shrugged. “I hadn’t asked. Sheo seems to have given up the way of the nail, though, though I doubt he isn’t grateful to you for your teachings.” Perhaps he didn’t want to disappoint him?

“Hmmmm . . . Unsurprising, actually. Though that still isn’t an excuse to not visit! I practically raised those three! Would it kill them to visit every now and again? No! Because they’re nailmasters! Even if things have gotten dangerous in the kingdom, they can easily protect themselves!” Sly squinted at him. “. . . You may or may not get a pass, depending on just why you entered the Wastelands. I assume, if you’ve realized that you’ve forgotten, you remembered why you left in the first place?”

Quirrel went silent, thinking for a few moments. And then he told his story, or at least what he could remember and what he could deduce of it. Acting as Monomon’s assistant, the start of the infection, the seals, the Madam’s plan and his part in it. His going into the Wastelands with her mask, and his being called back, unknowing at first, remembering bits and pieces later, and finally, when most of his current knowledge returned to him upon the return of the mask to his mentor. Though he made sure not to mention his binding.

Sly was silent for some time, simply processing the story that had been told.

Quirrel sighed. “This . . . may be a strange request, but . . . please don’t tell me more of my past. From what I’ve gathered, it will only result in being aware of what I’ve lost, and . . . I’d honestly rather not know the specifics.”

His apparent master paused, hesitated, then nodded. “There is . . . much that you’ve forgotten. Very much. But after witnessing the fall of Hallownest, I understand not wanting to truly know how much you may have gone through. I will respect your wishes.”

He nodded his head gratefully. “Thank you. I . . . doubt it’s easy, to have a friend suddenly forget who you are, much less for them to refuse to be reminded of that relationship, but . . . thank you.” He looked up at him and tilted his head with a small smile. “And even if I don’t wish to remember any more of my past, I’d like to get to know you again, Nailsage. If you’ll have me.”

“Of course I’ll have you! Whether you remember me or not, it is good to see an old friend again.”

Before he could thank him again, both of them heard a soft thump behind them and looked back to see that Wasp had followed them underground, carrying Swift with them.

“Hey!” Quirrel exclaimed, getting up and going over to them. “She should be resting! What are you doing coming down here?”

They pointed at him, then at Sly.

“I’m sorry, but he’s already promised not to tell me things of my past so you’re not learning anything new by coming down here. Now go, shoo. She needs to rest.”

Instead of listening, they pointed at him again. Or rather, they pointed at his hood.

Quirrel paused, hand reaching back to brush against the charm he had pinned there. “That’s . . . true . . .”

Sly joined his side. “What? What’s true?”

“Oh! Uh . . .” He hesitated. “. . . Well, I suppose there is one question I’d like to ask you concerning my past.” Sly gestured for him to continue. “. . . Well, if you’re the one who trained me, I suppose you’d be the one to know whether I truly did become a nailmaster or not.”

“Oh, that?” he asked. “Yes. You very much did.”

The pill bug straightened in surprise. “I did? But . . . why? I . . . I’m not that much of a fighter, Nailsage. Sure, I may know how to, for my own protection as well as the Teacher’s, but I can’t see myself pursuing it so far as to become a nailmaster. I’m just a scholar. ”

Sly waved him off. “Oh, you never did it for the love of the art. Nor even the glory or prestige that came along with it. After the infection really took root in the kingdom, you became guard for the Teacher as well as scholar. You wanted the expertise in order to protect her no matter what opponent came at you. It wouldn’t do to be unable to protect her because a bug with a higher expertise than you became infected and attacked, after all. I do believe you mentioned something about returning the charm and the title once your protection was no longer needed, too.”

He hesitated. That . . . did make more sense actually, yes. And he supposed his services were still needed when he left the kingdom, not to mention how helpful the charm had been in the Wastelands. “. . . Huh.” But it was good to know that he’d never intended to keep the title. And he honestly didn’t want it now, either. Nor did he especially need it currently. In which case . . .

He unpinned the charm from his hood and handed it to Sly. “Thank you for your teachings, Nailsage, even if I can’t seem to remember the actual occurrence of them. They’ve been essential in my travels and I’m sure they still will be as I travel with my friend here. But I think I’m going to relinquish the title.”

The fly took the charm reluctantly, but nodded. “I understand. And I wish you luck in any further endeavors, Quirrel.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Nailsage.”

*********************

The rest of the day they spent caring for swift; collecting the rest of the grass for her nest, bringing her to a hot spring, gathering more food for her. Quirrel picked up the tablets they had gotten from the Archives, then gathered a few ingredients and prepared a balm he’d found the recipe for in one of the tablets to spread on her wing. Hopefully it would help the exoskeleton heal where it had been cracked.

After making sure she was taken care of, Wasp replaced one of their charms with another. There was a flash of light and a small bug with tendrils for wings appeared alongside them, mewling. Ah. Another companion charm? Seemed they were in the same situation as he was, then, though they didn’t seem to mind it very much as they curled up on Wasp’s head.

Wasp pat them a couple times, then spread out their map, tracing out their next path. It seemed they would be visiting Ze’mer, then heading off to Kingdom’s Edge. They nodded satisfactorily at a red fire-shaped mark along their path that hadn’t been there before. When he asked about it, though, they curled up the map and refused to explain.

As Quirrel curled up in his own nest that night, he thought of what Joni had told him. She’d discovered people who may have known her, even if she hadn’t been able to speak with them. And now, he had, too. He would have to mention it to her the next time he visited. It was . . . definitely a strange feeling. And her wish to learn who she used to be . . . Perhaps he could help with that. If he asked around, he might be able to find people who remembered her. He needed to ask her for a description of the people she thought recognized her. And he should ask Sly. He’d been here since the fall of Hallownest and ran a shop tailored to those adventuring into the kingdom’s depths. Surely he’d have heard people talk of a child with some sort of connection to lifeblood?

Those were concerns for later days, though. For now, he just needed to get some rest. This was . . . an interesting past couple days. He’d met many friends, both new and . . . some weird mixture of new and old. Rediscovered, perhaps? And . . . he found himself wanting to get to know them more. Oh, he still wanted to leave the kingdom and forget, but . . . perhaps not quite as much as before.

Chapter Text

The next morning Wasp was restless. Or at least Quirrel very much assumed they were given the fact that as soon as he’d awoken, they quite literally started dragging him out of the house. They shook their head when he asked whether something was wrong, but they seemed ready to head back into the kingdom as soon as possible. He just managed to slow them down enough to ask Elderbug to take care of Swift while they were gone, and then they were off. Quirrel had been hoping on asking Sly about Joni that morning, but it seemed that was something that would have to wait until later.

It was while they were picking their way through the Crossroads that Quirrel remembered what Sheo had told him of the bug they were about to visit once again. A member of the Five Great Knights. Should he bring it up with her? That was a long time ago, and he didn't know how she viewed that period of time. Had she given up that life as Sheo did with his studies? She'd only seemed to care for her lover the last they met, after all. Or did she look upon that point of her life triumphantly? 

He didn't have much time to think about it, as it wasn’t long before they had found their way down the Resting Grounds, and by then he had to focus on avoiding mummified husks in the considerably narrower space.

He’d noticed at the very start of their journey this morning that this other companion did not seem to share his views on attacking as little a number of creatures as possible, but instead was spitting . . . red . . . fireballs? . . . whenever they could. How that was even possible for a bug to do such a thing he didn’t know. Magic, most likely. Perhaps even with the companion charm itself? Regardless, he didn’t approve, but there wasn’t much it seemed he could do to stop it, either.

Was he going to have to deal with that all the way to Kingdom’s Edge? They were attacking a few mummified husks that even Wasp didn’t engage, and if they ended up aggravating every infected bug they came across, that’d make their travels more difficult. Maybe he could try to talk to them once their journey started in ernest.

He hopped up out of the tunnels, Wasp and the other companion following behind him, and entered Ze’mer’s place. His eyes drifted to the large nail propped up against the side of the house. A Great Knight. It was amazing, to have met one. He wondered as to all the qualifications she had to go through to become one of them.

Regardless, though, they were here for a reason, so Quirrel smiled up at her. “Hello there! I think you’ll be pleased to know our mission was a success! The flower has been delivered, and many more have sprouted up amongst it. Your lover seemed to appreciate it.”

Ze’mer straightened. “Mi’?” she questioned, incredulous. “Le’mer, you have done this thing? Is it possible? This world’s cruelty, I’d thought it overwhelming, but Le’mer, such great compassion. That Che’s love would know her partner’s heart even aeon past.”

Quirrel’s smile turned soft. “You’re very welcome.” Seeing her reaction, that made the difficulties of the journey worth it. She was right, after all, about the cruelty of this world. Offering kindness to people . . . that was the greatest thing that could be done in a world such as this. He was glad to have helped.

Her tone turned from incredulity to relief. Immense relief, as if she’d been fighting a battle without pause and had finally found a chance to rest. The words that went along with that tone, however, were not what he was expecting. “Is it that, Le’mer?” she asked. “Such grief, can end? Che’ can end? Ullll, eh nai dear love. Che’ too can end.”

“W-wait, hold up now-” But before he could do anything to try to stop the bug, a bright light shone around her, and when it faded . . . she was gone. Just like that. Left behind was a single glowing mask shard, floating in the air and shining of soul.

He stared. Just . . . trying to process what exactly it was that had happened. That didn’t seem like a normal death. It was more like . . . well, he supposed he wouldn’t have really seen such a thing before, but it seemed like how he might imagine a ghost’s unfinished business being completed. A ghost that had moved on. But . . . she hadn’t seemed like a ghost. Nothing of that floating translucence that Joni had been. She seemed just as solid as he and Wasp and the other companion were. And yet she’d disappeared, just like that. Could it have been magic? A spell keeping her passed her normal lifespan? Something to do with how Hallownest had been frozen in time? He wasn’t sure.

His thoughts were broken when Wasp moved in front of him, jumping into the air to collect the mask shard. Ah . . . was it time to move on already? He’d still only barely processed this. The child looked at him once with a tilted head, then gently took his hand and started leading him out.

“Ah . . . Ah, alright, okay, Wasp.” He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “I can walk on my own.” They let go of his hand, and he let out a breath. Alright. Yes. They were going to Kingdom’s Edge.

They didn’t leave the tunnels at their usual exit point as he expected, but continued underground, leading them towards . . . the elevator. “Huh,” Quirrel said. “I didn’t realize there was a way to get to here from there.” He’d thought the only entrance to be from just outside Blue Lake.

Rather than go in the elevator, though, they flipped the switch from a distance via a large expelling of soul. Once it descended, Wasp jumped down into the opening provided. Intrigued, Quirrel followed.

They landed on a platform extending off the side of the wall, leading into a tunnel. “You really do find the strangest little passageways . . .” He shouldn’t be surprised. Wasp was a very curious little thing, always peeking through every pathway and breaking through walls to discover secret passes.

The trouble with this one was that there were belflies swarming it. Quirrel tensed as Wasp didn’t even try to run passed, rather walking straight underneath them. But . . . it seemed he didn’t have to worry. The worm-like creature shot them all down before they could get near enough to cause harm.

Cautiously, he followed after them. “. . . Where did you get this companion, anyway, friend? I must say I’ve never seen anything like them. I’ve never seen a bug spit fire.”

They paused, then opened their map and pointed at a place just to the left of Dirtmouth.

Quirrel took a moment to think, then asked, “That tent?” He was given confirmation as they nodded, rolled the map back up, and continued on. The pill bug followed as he considered it. “They did seem to be rather focused on fire . . . Do you know where the tent came from, how they appeared so quickly?”

Wasp pointed at themself.

“What, you? How?”

Wasp shrugged, then took out their dream nail and showed it to him.

“. . . I see. We’re dealing with dreams and ghosts, then?” He paused, looking up at the creature flying above them. “Though I must admit, they look like neither dream nor ghost. A strange creature if so.” There was something familiar about all this . . . but what was it?

They shrugged once more. It seemed despite being the one to apparently bring the tent to the town, they didn’t know much about it, either.

“So that flame on the map, then. I assume it has to do with whatever all this is?”

They nodded, but didn’t bother to elaborate. Whether that was because they didn’t know how to or simply didn’t want to, he wasn’t sure.

They walked for a few moments more before Quirrel spoke up again. “This companion, do they at least have a name, or something to call them by?”

Wasp paused, then shifted their cloak aside to show him the creature’s charm, and specifically the name engraved onto the side.

“Grimmchild . . .” he read, intrigued. That seemed more of a title than a name, but that was generally the case with charms. Archives Scholar wasn’t exactly his own name, after all. “Should I take this to mean you don’t know their actual name?”

Wasp paused a moment, then shrugged.

“Now what does that mean?”

They looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged again.

Quirrel sighed. “Alright.” It was something to call them at least. And besides, something else was starting to draw his attention, anyway. He hadn’t noticed it at first, as it had increased in volume slowly, but by now he was pretty sure he could hear some kind of noise in the near distance, and as they drew closer, it seemed to be . . . cheering?

There was the shell of a giant bug in front of them, obviously taken over to be used as some type of building, and after a few moments he realized what exactly it was.

The Colosseum of Fools. He’d only heard rumors of it before. It was a place where brave warriors who had traversed the length of Hallownest and survived could test their skill against others and emerge victorious. A place to earn fame and fortune, to experience a thrill that the normal infected denizens of Hallownest could no longer provide to seasoned warriors.

It was a place of death and destruction. Once a bug entered, they either emerged victorious or were viciously cut down in the attempt. There was no in between. There were no second chances. It was a horrifyingly brutal place where violence was celebrated and lives were bet on as if they were nothing more than ways to gain money.

His stomach turned. He’d been hoping the rumors weren’t actually true. And seeing it here now, right in front of him . . . The place sickened him.

Thank all that was good in the world that they were just passing by, a fact confirmed by Wasp jumping down a small tunnel some ways away from the entrance. Quirrel quickly followed. He wanted to get away from here as soon as possible.

The problem with said tunnel was that it was absolutely filled with hoppers. That was going to be . . . quite difficult to cross with a delicate flower. Luckily they were able to avoid most of them by sticking to the platforms above and biding their time until there was an opening in the bugs below. Wasp had had Quirrel carry the flower the whole time just in case. Which really was a smart move, given the fact that their initial jump into the nest of hoppers was ill-timed, forcing him to curl up into a ball before they could bite. The final one in the procession jumped into him as it passed, rolling him back a few feet as it did. Quirrel cast it an annoyed look as he uncurled, but quickly jumped up onto the next platform before they could come back.

Once they'd passed the tunnels and emerged into a much larger cavern, Wasp took the flower back.

He looked around the place, analyzing it for the safest way to traverse. They seemed to be near its ceiling and would have to jump down from platform to platform. Belflies, primal aspids, booflies . . . most of those could simply be avoided, and the booflies would leave them alone regardless. So long as they didn't slip and land directly on an aspid, they should be fine.

As they hopped down and another ball of flame shot from Grimmchild’s mouth, Quirrel looked up at them. “Now, look, friend, we can’t go attacking every single bug we come across." He didn't want them to attack the booflies or any other peaceful creatures they might come across. Nor to capture the attention of any aggressive ones. "I know you’re trying to help and all, but sometimes, it is best to leave some of them alone. To pass by them unseen rather than aggravate them and risk injury, especially when carrying something as fragile as this flower. And violence is unnecessary for bugs that would rather leave us alone. Do you understand?”

The child had been looking at him as he spoke, head tilted, and they responded with a drawn out mewl.

. . . He had no idea what that meant. Nothing about their body language implied assent or dissent. Did they even understand what he was saying? Were they too young yet?

Quirrel opened his mouth to confirm whether or not they truly understood, but was cut off by his own startled shriek as the armored body of a bug crashed down immediately in front of him.

He stared at it, stunned and catching his breath, before looking above at where it had come from. They were . . . right under the Colosseum, weren't they? By the Wyrm, could he not escape that horrid place even now?

His gaze returned to the bug that had fallen before them. They weren't alive, that was for sure. Their armor was crushed in around them, hemolymph oozing through the cracks. He didn't want to imagine what sort of thing had done this to them.

Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he looked over the edge of the platform as another body fell beneath them. A cursory glance revealed that there were more. He looked up once again, just in time to see a hatch open in the ceiling above, dropping out another, and close as if it was never there.

Was . . . was this how the Colosseum dealt with those who had fallen in battle? He scowled beneath his mask. The things that happened there were bad enough, but they couldn't even bother to give the warriors a proper burial? They just tossed them out as if they were nothing? How disrespectful.

Quirrel wished he had something to give them now. To honor whoever they may have been in life, to make up for how the Colosseum had treated them. Instead, he kneeled, placed his hand on them, and closed his eyes. He stayed there like that for a few moments before opening his eyes and standing up, letting out a sigh. Though the sight of Wasp copying his show of respect made his mouth twitch in a bit of a smile.

He let his gaze wander over the rest of the cavern. Why would anyone pursue the goals offered by the Colosseum? Fame? Fortune? The knowledge of being the best of the best? It was foolhardy. That place only produced death.

". . . Come on." He dropped down to the next platform. At this point he just wanted to be as far from this place as possible.

Still, his mind wandered, brought back to the Colosseum whenever a new corpse fell passed them. He needed a distraction. Conversation. “Say,” he spoke, “that last flower, is it for the Nailmaster Oro that Nailmaster Mato mentioned?” They nodded, and he gave a soft smile. "That's very kind of you. Really. All of this is." Carrying these flowers around was a treacherous task, after all, and while his own current inability to get hurt certainly helped, it wasn’t foolproof. But he knew how much it had meant to him that Wasp had given him one, and he knew that each of the nailmasters so far had felt similar. Surely Nailmaster Oro would be as well.

Wasp nodded, a tilt to their head.

Grimmchild didn't stop attacking the booflies by themself, so Quirrel focused the rest of his attention on attempting to get them to. However, none of his attempts worked, short of physically grabbing them and holding their mouth shut, anyway. Wasp didn't seem to care too much about what they attacked and what they didn’t, but they at least listened to his request to try to keep the lumbering bugs out of Grimmchild's range.

Despite his want to leave this place, they still stopped next to each fallen bug to give them some sort of show of respect. Wasp lingered longer on one with a greenish-blue hood. Some questioning revealed it to be someone they knew, though not well enough to be considered a friend. Quirrel sat with them a few minutes longer than they had with other fallen bugs.

It was when they were nearing the bottom of the cavern that he saw it. A torch standing tall on a small platform, a bright red flame flickering at its tip. Quirrel froze as his memories clicked .

He’d seen that before. Not in person that he could remember, but . . . drawn in books, carved into tablets. Red flame. Legends of higher beings. Five involved with Hallownest. The Pale King, ruler who gave mind to most of the bugs of Hallownest and in all intents and purposes created the kingdom itself. The White Lady, queen and tender to the plantlife and fungi around them. Unn, creator and caretaker to Greenpath specifically. The Old Light, creator of the moths and ruler of dreams, in a bitter rivalry with the Pale King. And . . . the Nightmare King. Once a co-ruler with the Old Light, now split, for reasons unknown. He’d become a foil to the Old Light, an opposite, a nightmarish being. There wasn’t much in the Archives about him, as he didn’t involve himself too deeply with Hallownest, though . . . were there . . . rumors? He wasn’t entirely certain, but there might have been rumors of him in the White Palace. He couldn’t remember at what point in time that would have been, though . . .

“. . . Friend,” Quirrel ventured, looking at the torch warily. If the ruler of dreams was as bad as all this, then he couldn’t imagine what the ruler of nightmares was like. “You wouldn’t happen to be doing anything with the Nightmare King, would you?”

Wasp had been just about to jump down onto the platform holding the torch, but paused to look up at him with a tilted head. They glanced at the torch, then back at Quirrel, seemingly confused.

Did . . . they not know? “. . . That torch there. There are symbols of it written in the Archives about a higher being known as the Nightmare King. And . . .” He glanced at Grimmchild. “. . . They seem to be of similar head shape, at the very least.” Grimmchild. He wasn’t sure what the grimm part of that referred to, but if they were the child of the Nightmare King . . .

Oh, wyrm, how much exactly did Wasp get themself into?

He saw a spark of realization light up in them as they looked between him, the torch, and Grimmchild.

Quirrel sighed. “Of course. It would be you, of all people, to get involved in something like this. Should I even be surprised at this point? Child of the Pale King and the White Lady, trying to seal away the Old Light, of course you’d involve yourself with the Nightmare King. Honestly, I wouldn’t even be surprised if you were somehow involved with Unn, too.”

In an instant, Wasp was rummaging around in their cloak. It wasn’t long before they found what they were looking for and pulled out a charm.

He didn’t recognize it, but what they were responding to made their reaction clear, and, slightly exasperated, he threw his hands in the air. “Like I said.” They probably got the charm from Unn. He had no idea where or when or why, but that was what they were implying. Honestly, they were incredible.

Wasp’s shoulders shook in laughter at his reaction, and they turned around and hopped down to the platform below. Before they even landed, a . . . creature appeared, holding the torch, disappeared, then reappeared again. He couldn’t make heads or tails of what it actually was. It wore a mask like most creatures of Hallownest did, but it looked nothing like a bug. Any thoughts on that were instantly snapped away as the thing swung the torch, sending balls of flame straight at them.

Quirrel leapt in front of Wasp, batting away one of them before it could hit them. “Ah, friend, I do hope you realize we’re carrying a very-easily-broken flower right now, right?” This was likely the red flame he had seen on their map. They’d intended on coming across this thing on the way to Nailmaster Oro. And as they dodged further fireballs, they seemed experienced in its fighting patterns, which meant they knew they’d be fighting it. So why they’d planned on getting into a fight while carrying a delicate flower was completely beyond him.

At a break in the fire, Wasp took the flower from their cloak and shoved it at him.

He took it and retreated from the battlezone, but called out, “You know, we could have fought this thing after we delivered the flower, right?” His comment was completely ignored, so he just huffed and watched as they fought, careful to avoid any flames that ventured too close to where he stood.

The battle didn’t last long, at least. It looked like an annoying one, with the creature teleporting here and there after every attack. Difficult to get a hit in, especially on these platforms. But Wasp managed it, and with their final attack, the creature burst into flames that then surrounded and were absorbed by Grimmchild.

Quirrel blinked at how suddenly it ended. Well. That wasn’t something he was expecting. Then again, he knew nothing of the Nightmare King’s ways. Perhaps bursting into flame was normal for him and his followers.

Well, Grimmchild seemed happy about it at least, if the tone of their mewling had anything to say about that.

. . . Oh, dear. Wasp had gotten them from the tent that had recently appeared in Dirtmouth, didn’t they? The Nightmare King was currently residing in the small village just above Hallownest, and the one he was currently living in. By the Wyrm did he hope nothing too bad would happen to the little town because of it.

Chapter Text

The hoppers hadn’t been the most treacherous part of the journey, but the great hoppers that appeared later. He’d nearly been trampled by one of them as it fell from the ceiling and had only just managed to avoid it. The rest of their journey was spent sprinting beneath the giant bugs, doing all they could to just get passed them without breaking the flower. They managed it, but barely.

There was a domed building at the end of the tunnel, and after taking a moment to rest on the bench outside of it, with Wasp drifting off for a few minutes as they did, they made their way through its entryway. Inside was a large bug that looked strikingly like the other nailmasters. Unlike his brothers, though, Nailmaster Oro seemed not to have any of his nails or spoils of battle on display. Rather, he had many small trinkets, fancy jars, and decorations. He was sat cross-legged on the floor, head dipped in thought.

Wasp was the first to walk up to him, tapping gently on his cloak to get his attention.

The Nailmaster looked up at them, silent for a moment as if uncertain how to respond, before settling with, “You’ve returned, though you were not invited.” He glanced at Quirrel and Grimmchild, a mild distaste coloring his expression as he did so. “And have brought company. Hmph. I suppose you’ve heard of my teachings and are looking to learn a nail art from me? It is the law of the Great Nailsage that I must pass down my teachings to those who are worthy . . .” He paused, his tone changing to something more amused. “But that does not stop me from requiring payment for my teachings.”

Quirrel was quick to raise his hands. “Oh, ah, no. I have no interest in learning such things. I am content as I am. I have merely been following my friend here.” Nailmaster Oro seemed . . . quite a different personality from his brothers. It wasn’t necessarily his own presence that the bug seemed to take fault with, but the fact that he had any company at all. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d come to live down here specifically to not be bothered by anyone . . . It sounded like a lonely existence. But perhaps that was what he liked.

. . . Was there a law that Sly made to where his pupils had to pass down their teachings? Such a thing certainly hadn’t been revealed in what was left of his memories, and Sly had made no indication of it in their conversation. Did that even apply to him anymore, now that he’d turned in the title of Nailmaster? Had he ever taught his own pupils before? That was . . . odd, to think about that possibility.

“. . . lawful that I allow you rest and shelter, but do not stay longer than you need to.” Nailmaster Oro shifted as Quirrel tuned back into the conversation, lowering his head once more and seemingly intent on ignoring them for the time that they were here. He was stopped, however, as Wasp tapped on his cape once more. “What?” he grumbled.

They took the delicate flower from Quirrel and held it out to him.

The reaction that Nailmaster Oro had was . . . not what Quirrel had been expecting to say the least. Rather than even the slightest softening of his body language, he instead gave it an almost disgusted glance before saying, “What is this? Do you think it becoming for a pupil to drop rubbish in their master’s home? Or is this gaudy flower your idea of a gift?” He waved his hand. “I have no use for such things. Take it with you, or else I’ll toss it outside to be eaten by vermin.”

Quirrel frowned beneath his mask, a certain sharpness hidden within his tone while he tried to speak as politely as he could. “Excuse me, Nailmaster Oro, but I would like to inform you that your pupil traveled across the entire kingdom, from the overgrown thorns of the Queen’s Gardens to the inhospitibility of Kingdom’s Edge, just to give this incredibly fragile and quite beautiful flower to you. They’ve braved many dangers to get this here, so even if you do not like the flower itself, I hope you will at least appreciate the effort they gave in getting it to you.”

The Nailmaster was silent as Quirrel explained, and still silent for several seconds afterwards. Eventually, he replied, “Is that so . . . ? Mmmmmm . . . Perhaps . . . it is . . . acceptable . . .” Hesitantly, he took the flower from Wasp’s grasp.

The child rocked on their feet twice, seemingly happy with this. Likewise, Quirrel was glad he’d gotten him to take it. Ungrateful little . . . No. It was fine. He’d taken it, and Wasp was happy. That was enough for him.

Wasp sat down next to the Nailmaster in silence. And he wasn’t quite ready to leave just yet himself, either. He’d been thinking, and . . . Joni had said that she wanted to know what her life used to be like, who she used to be. While he didn’t completely share the same sentiment, the least he could do for her was try to find out.

So he sat down next to them, and, after a moment, spoke up. “Say, Nailmaster, I don’t suppose you’d know anything about a child named Joni associated with lifeblood?”

Nailmaster Oro sighed, but eventually replied, “I do not know of such a child, no. I don’t suppose it’s important?”

“Perhaps a little important, I’d say, at least to myself and a friend of mine. I’d like to know more about her, if possible.”

“Mm. Well I don’t have any information for you. People rarely find me down here, so there is not much to learn of those in the kingdom. I quite enjoy it.”

Quirrel couldn’t really relate. He quite enjoyed meeting others on his travels, even if he generally never stuck with them long before moving on. To be out here alone with hardly anyone else around sounded . . . lonely. But apparently it was a loneliness he enjoyed. “How many have happened upon you since you’ve come down here? Have you trained many others besides Wasp, here?”

The Nailmaster looked down at Wasp as Quirrel gestured to them, processing the name for a moment before turning back to Quirrel. “A handful of others. Some traveling and some looking to be trained. This one here - Wasp, you called them? - was one of those few.” He paused, leaning down to look at Wasp more carefully. “Now that I think about it, you do remind me of this one other pupil I once had . . . You’re much smaller, though, and they had three horns instead of two . . . I wonder where they’ve gotten off to . . .”

Wasp sat stock still, staring at Nailmaster Oro intently as he spoke.

“. . . Friend?” Quirrel asked. What was wrong? Did that . . . sound like someone they knew?

In an instant, Wasp had disappeared out the door, a black trail wisping away behind them. Quirrel spluttered and chased after them. “Friend! Wasp!” He paused for just a moment to apologize to Nailmaster Oro, then resumed his chase before their distance could make him disappear in front of the bug.

He winced as he saw them dash passed - and sometimes into - great hoppers, as if they didn’t care about any potential damage they might take along their way. “W-Wasp, wait!” he called, catching up with them just in time to push them out of the way of another great hopper, barely avoiding getting crushed himself in the process. They kept going. “Friend, I understand you want to get somewhere, but please don’t hurt yourself while you do!”

By the wyrm it was like they weren’t even listening to him! At least now that he’d caught up he could do his best to protect them from harm, even if they refused to do so for themself.

They soon passed the last of what Quirrel recognized of Kingdom’s Edge, going instead through areas guarded by hivelings and dropping down a cavern before eventually coming to a stop at a tram. Quirrel took a moment to catch his breath, but still, Wasp seemed restless, pacing back and forth as they waited for the tram to arrive and pulling him inside once it did.

They were left with nothing to do as they waited for it to drop them off wherever the destination was. Now that they had a moment, he tried talking to them.

“What’s going on, friend? Where are you going? Do you know who Nailmaster Oro was speaking of?”

They’d been pacing ever since they pressed the button to start the tram, but they paused at Quirrel’s last sentence, then continued pacing at a faster rate. Well, he supposed that was a “most likely,” then. And whoever it was, they seemed concerned. Maybe more than that, as they dashed out the doors of the tram as soon as it had slowed to a stop.

They dropped further underground, and Quirrel shivered, looking around warily as they ran. He didn’t like this place. It felt . . . empty. Barely any signs of life, and the weight of the earth pressing down around them. Oppressive. It set him on edge.

Soon, they came across a large cavern, the floor of which was lined with old discarded shells with sharp tips. Wasp grabbed his hand and crouched, crystals growing up around them. “Oh no” was the only thing Quirrel could manage to say before they took off, careening through the air straight towards a wall of shells.

Wasp stopped them on the ledge in front of them, skidding slightly before they could hit the wall. Quirrel picked himself up with a groan. “That must be my least favorite form of travel.” Oh, he liked being able to go fast. He was rather happy with his own speed, after all. But only when he was the one in control of it. When he was just hanging by the hand of someone else who was doing it, he wasn’t quite as fond.

Speaking of, Wasp hadn’t let go of his hand, and was now dragging him along as they continued through the tunnels. It wasn’t long before they came across a room containing large bubbles of infection, and the body of a single bug - a vessel? - lying in the middle of it.

“Oh, friend . . .” He walked up to it slowly. It was around twice as big as Wasp was, and while it only seemed to have two horns, unlike the three Nailmaster Oro had mentioned, a corner of their mask was missing. He assumed that to be where the third horn had been.

Had Wasp known this vessel before they had died? He looked around at the bubbles of infection around them. Had they been infected? Had Wasp had to neutralize them? Quirrel frowned. He knew how horrible a feeling that was from their fight with Uumuu.

He finally looked away from the empty shell to glance at Wasp instead, and jolted slightly as he saw black liquid leaking from the holes in their mask. “Wasp . . .” He knelt down beside them, put a gentle hand on their shoulder, and carefully nudged them towards himself. They didn’t resist, instead leaning into it and wrapping an arm around him.

“There you go,” he murmured, holding them close to him. They’d started shuddering at this point, and he startled as he felt a shock of cold travel down the back of his shell. One of his hands immediately went to touch the afflicted area, his fingers coming back with a freezing black substance. That was . . . their tears?

He shifted from the hug, only just enough to be able to see their face, and the black liquid dripping from their eyes.

Empty vessels. What complete and utter nonsense.

This was the fourth vessel he knew of. Wasp, of course, and the Hollow Knight, and that one he encountered on his way to the Lake of Unn, and now this one. How many were there? How many had been made, died, left the kingdom? Were all those other than the Hollow Knight failed attempts? But the Hollow Knight wasn’t empty either, else the infection wouldn’t have taken over the kingdom. Were they getting desperate and had just said close enough? Or did they truly believe them to be empty when they weren’t? Or had they been empty but somehow regained their personhood?

Regardless, the idea made him feel sick, especially as he looked and saw the pain Wasp was going through. He wiped some of their tears away, ignoring the cold as it began to numb his fingertips. “Friend. Wasp. Please. Listen,” he said softly. “You don’t have to save this kingdom. It’s dead already. You don’t have to do this just because that’s what they’re telling you to do. You can make your own choices.”

Wasp shook their head, reaching into their cloak to pull out their map. They pointed at Dirtmouth, at each of the places where the Nailmasters and Sheo lived, at one of the stag stations, at Greenpath, at Mantis Village. At all the places where there were bugs that had not yet been infected. At him.

Quirrel sighed. “Okay. I get it. But . . . you don’t have to replace the Hollow Knight to save them all. We can . . . we can find another way. Somehow.” His thoughts drifted back to the Nightmare King. He had no idea what the higher being was like, aside from probably worse than the Old Light given nightmares being what he rules over, but . . . somehow, Wasp had gotten in good enough graces with him to care for his child. And if he and the Old Light had split, then perhaps he had a less-than-pleasant view of her. Perhaps . . . he’d have an idea of how to get rid of her without sealing Wasp away.

That was, of course, assuming he’d be willing to help at all. This was a higher being they were talking about. Though perhaps Wasp’s own status would be a help with that? Given their parentage, they were technically one, too, weren’t they . . . ?

Well, he could try it, when next they encountered him. If he had the confidence to mention the request to the Nightmare King, anyway.

But for now, he had a child to deal with. He pulled them back into the hug, Grimmchild lighting down atop their head, and stayed there for as long as they needed.

Chapter Text

By the time Wasp had recovered, they were climbing much slower than usual out of . . . wherever this place was. Quirrel offered to pick them up, and, while hesitant about it, they eventually agreed. So he carefully picked his way up the cavern, being certain to avoid the shadowy . . . crawlids? as he went. Grimmchild made a point to spit fire at every one they passed.

Ah, terrifying or not, he was grateful for the training Sly had given him. He couldn’t imagine how much more difficult it’d be to climb up a near-vertical rockface while holding someone else without being able to simply . . . jump up there. He tried not to be too quick about each jump, wanting to be gentle for Wasp’s sake, but it was still useful.

He landed softly on the tram platform and walked towards it, though as he reached his hand out to open the door, Wasp patted his shoulder and shook their head.

“. . . No?” Where were they to go, then? He’d assumed they’d be heading back to Nailmaster Oro’s place, especially considering the way they’d left . . . but Wasp seemed to want to go elsewhere. Particularly . . . above them, if where they were pointing had anything to say about that?

Well . . . if they wanted to go somewhere, then he supposed he didn't mind bringing them. Especially given where they'd just been. Maybe they wanted to go somewhere or get something that'd help them feel better.

Ah, but now that they were climbing out of here, there was more life, and that meant more infected bugs they'd have to avoid. Thank goodness for the invulnerability the charm gave him, because he suffered quite a few hits while trying to aim his jumps, carry Wasp, and avoid infected bugs all at once. Grimmchild attempted to help, but they had trouble keeping up and aiming at the same time.

"Oh, my . . ." Quirrel murmured as he came across an elevator along the way, crushed against the cavern floor. He looked up at where it must have come from. That was quite a ways to fall . . . Though no empty shells were around the area, so it seemed no bugs had been around when it had.

Wasp pointed up towards the ceiling. Quirrel followed their gaze uncertainly towards the spikes lining the walls and platforms above. ". . . Are you certain, friend?" That was going to be a . . . difficult path.

They nodded once and shook their hand insistently.

Quirrel let out a breath, silently thanked his invincibility once more, and started carefully leaping up the spike-lined passage. At least he didn’t have to deal with infected bugs in addition to it all . . . at least, not until he got near the top anyway. But Wasp directed him into a side passage nearby, and he was able to slip inside just as one of them swung its sword at him. It slammed into the corner of the tunnel opening just as he passed through, but after jumping up onto a platform in front of a large tank and waiting a moment, it seemed like they weren’t being followed.

Grimmchild spat fire at the wall it had disappeared behind for good measure.

Quirrel sighed a breath of relief and took the time to see where exactly they were. It looked like the territory of a dung beetle if the sight and smell had anything to say about that, and the dripping water from above indicated it was likely under the City of Tears, and probably near the waterways if not actually in them. It seemed . . . oddly familiar, in a way. Not necessarily the waterways themselves, though those were familiar, too, but more so the . . . general atmosphere of the place.

The trouble with moments like these was he couldn't exactly tell where the familiarity was from. It could have been from his lost memories, yes, but he'd traveled through so much of Hallownest before they returned that he could have just as likely passed through here at some point during his travels. If he remembered correctly, he had poked into the Waterways for a bit before returning to the City of Tears . . .

He shook his head, focusing once more on the task at hand. “Alright, friend. Where to next?”

Next appeared to be immediately below them. A small tunnel was burrowed into the ground there, and Wasp was pointing to it insistently. Well, alright. Down they go, then.

Quirrel hopped off the platform and dropped into the hole, crouching as he hit the ground to soften the blow. The smell of dung that was present outside had only intensified now that they were surrounded by it, but he didn’t mind that much. Rather, he was more focused on whose home they had just invaded.

At this point, he had to assume the familiarity was coming from his lost memories rather than earlier in this current trip to Hallownest. He was fairly certain he hadn’t seen this place before, not in current memory, but . . . he knew it. Somehow.

. . . Would whoever was here know him?

Cautiously, he peeked into one of the neighboring rooms. It was small, containing only a crude statue of the Pale King. Had this person been one of his many followers?

It truly was impressive, how widely worshipped he had been. Such an influence, such a kingdom, and then . . . gone. Without a trace. What had happened? The infection came, yes, and there was the plan to seal it away within the Hollow Knight, which ultimately failed. But what happened afterwards? Had the failure caused him to give up? Run away? Did something else manage to get to him first? Had he managed to get infected, as well? Throughout all of Hallownest he had yet to find anything that gave even a clue as to what had happened.

He turned his attention back to Wasp as they started struggling in his grip. “Oh! I’m sorry, friend.” He placed them down and watched as they entered the room opposite him. Intrigued at the near-instant sound of jovial laughter, Quirrel followed.

This room was bigger and had more statues, though these were of other bugs. He might have been inclined to think that, due to the statues of presumably more normal bugs, the fact that there was also one of the previous king may not have been indication of worship . . . though the fact that it was set apart from the others indicated that it might still have been. Or at least a much higher level of respect than the others. Well, no. It could also be a much lower level of respect. Perhaps he should stop speculating.

What caught his attention most, however, was the source of the laughter he’d heard earlier, and the one who had likely dug out this burrow. The dung beetle hadn’t noticed him yet, preoccupied as he was with Wasp’s appearance, so Quirrel settled with leaning against the entrance to the room, watching them. Already, his friend seemed to be perking up as the other spoke.

“You’ve come back again! It’s always good to see you my friend, though I’m sure you could find better places to rest. And as such, I’m honored you would choose here! You will always be welcome in my home.”

With how positive his personality seemed, it was no wonder that Wasp had wanted to come here. But it was then that the beetle noticed Quirrel, and his entire countenance lit up. “Quirrel!”

Quirrel straightened, startled. “Oh!” Ah . . . Well if anything was to confirm the source of those feelings of familiarity, this was it. It was definitely a forgotten-memory thing. This . . . was going to take some explaining.

The beetle continued without missing a beat. “It’s been so long since I’ve last seen you, I was almost afraid you’d died! Or worse, had gotten infected! 

He . . . felt bad. Even more so than for Sly. This one just seemed so excited for his presence here, and Quirrel didn’t even know who he was, aside from that vague feeling of familiarity. To break the news to him that he didn’t remember this apparent friend . . . Well, he could only hope that he wouldn’t take it too badly.

“I . . . I apologize. I may have . . . left the kingdom, for a time.” It was both a way to tell him that he no longer knew him, and, he supposed, an explanation for why he hadn’t visited sooner. He was out of the kingdom for quite a long time, after all.

The other seemed to get the implication immediately, if the way he deflated was any indication. “. . . Oh . . . Oh, I . . . I see.”

Quirrel winced. “I’m sorry.”

“No! No, it’s . . . It is alright. Besides! If you don’t remember me, that just means I can tell you of the things we’ve done together! Like the time you, me, and Dryya-”

“A-ah!” Quirrel quickly raised his hands. Oh, how was he going to explain this without hurting his feelings . . . ? “I appreciate it, really, but, ah, well . . .” He paused, then took a breath. “I’ve . . . only recently come to realize my missing memories. But if anything, I know I left a Hallownest in the midst of turmoil and infection, and upon returning that infection has spread over the entirety of the kingdom and there’s hardly anyone left both alive and in their right minds. I just . . . if at all possible, I’d rather not know what I’ve lost.”

The beetle fell silent, though it seemed to be more . . . contemplative than hurt? He hoped so at least. He didn’t need to hurt the poor bug’s feelings as soon as he met him. After a moment, something in his demeanor shifted, and he spoke. “Well! Not wanting to know what’s been lost is a feeling I understand quite a bit. Though I’ll admit, I’ve been here so long I no longer know of the goings on around the kingdom and the fates of any one individual, though with the strength in mind and body of some of them I can hardly imagine them having fallen. But if you wish, I’ll say nothing of those that I knew you’d befriended.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “But may I still speak of our own encounters?”

Quirrel’s posture softened. “I don’t see why not. I have to admit, I’m rather curious now.” This was a glimpse to his past that wouldn’t be tainted by pain, though how much he could say that wouldn’t involve others, he wasn’t sure. He turned to look at Wasp. “So long as that’s alright with you, friend?” They were the reason they’d come here, after all.

They did look at least a little bit better, he supposed. Their posture still wasn’t as straight as usual, but they were leaning forward curiously. They nodded. He supposed they were as interested in this as he was. Perhaps it’d be a good distraction for them, anyway.

He sat down, Wasp following suit as Grimmchild curled up beside them, and waved at the beetle. “Go ahead. Though I think it might be best to start with who exactly you are. I’m in some way familiar with this place, but I know nothing of yourself, whether by name nor by actions.”

“Oh, of course! Of course you wouldn’t know, how silly of me!” He placed a claw against his chest. “I’m Ogrim, one of the Pale King’s Five Great Knights!”

Quirrel straightened in surprised. “Another? You’ll have been the second that I’ve met. And the first I’m aware I had known before.”

Ogrim perked up, opening his mouth in preparation to say something before shutting it again, was silent for a moment, and then actually spoke. “Yes! You would come to the palace every so often and we met there. But you’ve met one before, after losing your memories? Which one?”

“I believe her name was Ze’mer.”

“Ah! Ze’mer! She often kept to herself, but I still remember her.” He gestured to one of the statues beside them. “How has she been?”

Quirrel paused. It was only earlier that day she’d . . . disappeared, in whatever way that had been. “That’s, ah . . . complicated. She’d asked us to deliver a flower to the grave of her lover and was very insistent about it. Quite relieved when we did it, too.” He hesitated. “She’s . . . gone now, though.”

Ogrim frowned. “Gone?”

“Mm. Disappeared in a burst of light, saying she could ‘end’ now that we’d delivered the flower for her.”

“Oh. I . . . don’t recall her ever being able to disappear like that again.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “Surely by ‘end,’ she didn’t mean . . . ?”

“. . . I’m sorry, Ogrim.” He’d requested him not to tell him of any others he may have known in case they’d ended up dying, and here he was telling Ogrim of a dead friend instead. Just after revealing that he didn’t remember him anymore, too.

“. . . Oh. Oh, I . . . I see . . .” He let his gaze drop to the ground, only looking up again when he felt Wasp’s hand on his leg. They had also just realized they’d lost one of their own, after all. They shifted just a little closer to him. “Ah, thank you, my friend. I appreciate it. I . . . I suppose I’m glad she at least died happy. Or . . . at least satisfied.”

“I can confirm that, at least, even if nothing else.”

“I . . . I suppose I should thank you. For telling me. Even if the news isn’t the nicest.”

“. . . And I suppose you’re welcome.” He paused. “Do you need a moment?”

Ogrim was silent for a second, then shook his head. “No. No, I’ll be fine. Ah! I was going to tell you of what we’ve done together! There’s not much, especially if I’m not going to be talking about others, but there still is a few things!”

“. . . Are you sure you want to, after that?”

“I am, Quirrel. Do not worry.”

“Well . . . Alright.”

There really wasn’t that much Ogrim could tell him that didn’t involve others. Apparently, most of the reasons for why they might have interacted in the first place came from whenever Quirrel had accompanied Monomon on her trips to the palace. He was one of the bugs Ogrim would talk to upon waiting for a meeting to start or after one had ended, though from time to time they would find themselves in each others’ presence for longer periods of time. A shared mission, an escort, a day or two in the palace where he had nothing to do but wait for whatever reason the Madam was there to conclude.

What they did on those days depended on the reason they were together. If Ogrim had been escorting them or they were otherwise traveling together, Quirrel would often point out things in their surroundings that interested him, especially if they were outside of the palace. Thoughts, facts, theories, questions that he had yet to find answers to. If in the palace, they would talk of recent, non-confidential happenings. Sometimes, after Quirrel had started training with Sly, they would spar at Ogrim’s request.

This last thing was something that made the beetle perk up. “Quirrel!” he exclaimed. “We should spar once more. I’d like to see how your ability has kept up over the years.”

Quirrel blinked. “What, now?”

“Yes! In fact, our friend here and I had a match of our own not too long ago, though I’ll admit I’d mistaken them for something less friendly back then.” He stood up. “Come! There’s a perfect open space just above us!”

Oh, what had he gotten himself into . . . But Ogrim wasn’t the only one who had brightened at the prospect of Quirrel sparring with him. Wasp was already on their feet at Ogrim’s side, looking back at the pill bug and beckoning him come.

Well, if it was for them, after a day like today . . .

He sighed, then stood and followed them.

“Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve had a proper sparring match!” Ogrim said as they climbed up the tunnel. “This will be fun!”

. . . Well, Quirrel did have to admit that. He would be seeing the kind of skill the Five Great Knights had among their ranks, after all, and that was something he was looking forward to. Even if he’d prefer to not be the one involved in the sparring match.

He was fairly certain he’d be able to dodge the majority of the attacks, at least. After all, he was well aware of just how fast he could be when he wanted. It was an ability that most couldn’t match, and he took a certain amount of pride in that. But he didn’t know how hard Ogrim would be able to hit when he eventually did manage to get caught up in one of his attacks. Speed was his strong suit, not defense.

Well, he supposed he’d just have to try not to get hit, then.

Upon climbing out the top of the burrow, Ogrim rushed over to the opposite side of the room and gestured Quirrel over. “Come! Show me your skill!”

He glanced at Wasp, who had sat themself down just outside, holding Grimmchild and looking at him expectantly.

“Well . . . I suppose I’ll have to, then.” He took a step forward and crouched, waiting for Ogrim’s first move.

He braced himself against the loudness of his battle cry, then launched into action. He mainly worked on dodging at first, absorbing the other’s patterns and the best way to avoid them before he went on the offensive. Though he tended to stick near the side of the room closest to Wasp. No need to go disappearing in front of him like he had in front of Sly.

Ogrim seemed to specialize in large, sweeping attacks rather than precise aiming. And since they were large, that also meant they were slow, and easier to dodge. For the most part, anyway. The dung beetle was putting a lot of effort into this, and having to keep track of, in some instances, four different objects moving in four different directions at the speed he was going was turning out to be rather difficult, and there were a couple close calls where he’d only noticed he was about to be hit - whether by dung or by Ogrim himself - just after he’d landed, and only barely managed to scramble away in time - or break it with his nail, if it was dung. It kept him on his toes at least, when most other attacks he was able to dodge simply enough.

Once he thought he’d gotten a good enough handle on the other’s fighting style, he started launching his own attacks. Now, Ogrim wasn’t a creature with a skin impenetrable by most nails, and as such, he didn’t have to be quite as careful to aim at a very specific weak point. This meant he was able to attack more frequently than he had when fighting alongside Wasp, or at least more frequently in comparison to the amount of openings. He was trying not to hit too many vulnerable points, anyway. This was a sparring match, not a deathmatch.

He’d figured out by then that, rather than jumping through the air to avoid them, it was best to stay near the ground when Ogrim joined the three dung balls in bouncing around the room. At least then he didn’t have to worry about any of them coming up from below.

Between trying to dodge and trying to attack, though, it was inevitable he’d get hit eventually. This time, he’d attempted to swipe at Ogrim before he could launch into the air, but he’d lost track of one of the dung balls, and it quite effectively flattened him into the ground, breaking apart as it did. Quirrel simply laid there for a moment, stunned by the impact. And it was the shock of the impact that made him pause, rather than any pain it may have caused. Because it hadn’t caused any. And it was then that he realized, well, this was a rather unfair match, wasn’t it? He was charmed. No matter each of their skill, if Quirrel was invulnerable, then he would outlast Ogrim.

It wasn’t like he was going to tell him he was charmed, though. He’d just . . . have to compensate. Pretend. Besides, he had a feeling he had an upper hand in this fight, anyway.

His thoughts were interrupted by a shadow passing over him, and he scrambled out of the way before Ogrim could come crashing down.

And so the fight went.

It lasted for quite a bit longer, but eventually Ogrim had to wave a claw in defeat, breath huffing. Quirrel landed gently beside him, looking him over to be sure none of his swipes had hit too deeply. “Are you alright, friend?”

“Oh, quite alright, yes! Just . . .” he laughed, “rather tired after all that. You’re just as speedy as I remember, and perhaps even more so. It makes you quite difficult to hit, I’ll be honest.”

Satisfied that Ogrim was indeed alright, Quirrel tilted his head in amusement. “Well, that is the point of it, is it not?”

“Ha! I suppose it is.”

“I don’t know whether the Nailsage would agree with you on being more speedy, though. He seems to think I react too slowly and have been slacking off.”

“Ah, the Great Nailsage! I’m not surprised, given just how fast he can go, too. Quite advantageous for small bugs like you.”

“Well, of course. Without the strength to put behind a nail, you have to put your skill into speed and strategy instead.”

“You know, I’ve always wondered why you never became a Great Knight yourself. You certainly have the skill for it. I know Dryya also focused on speed more than power.”

Quirrel blinked, then shook his head. “Despite my abilities, the fighting lifestyle is not for me. I learned out of necessity, to guard the Madam and, presumably, to be sure I could survive outside of Hallownest.” As well as to be sure he could reliably pierce Uumuu’s defenses, but he tried not to think about that part. “I’d rather avoid any serious fighting if I can.”

“Ah, I suppose that’s fair. You always did seem to prefer exploring the world around you than fighting.”

“I am a scholar after all,” he replied, content with that fact.

After recovering from the spar, the two of them headed back to where Wasp had been watching, and where they were now clapping. Quirrel laughed quietly at just how excited they seemed, patting their head once as he passed. They stood and followed, stopping along with the others at the entrance to the burrow.

“Well, Ogrim, it was quite nice to meet you, for the second time I suppose, but this has been quite a long day, and I think it would do me and the little one some good to head home and rest.”

“Ah, you’re leaving already? If you must, then, but please do return sometime in the future! I quite enjoying spending time with a friend, even if it’s one who doesn’t quite remember everything.”

Not quite was an understatement, but Quirrel nodded. He did enjoy talking to Ogrim, and if he was willing to reconnect despite how little the pill bug remembered, then he was grateful for that. “I will. Oh!” he added. “I don’t suppose you know anything of a small child named Joni who was associated with lifeblood?”

Ogrim tilted his head in thought. “It sounds familiar, but I’m afraid I don’t know much. All I can remember is that she would give it to whoever asked.”

“Hm . . . Well, it’s something I suppose.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Oh, she’s in a similar position as myself, and wants to know more of her past. I’m trying to help her out.”

“I see. Well, I wish you luck then, my friend.”

“And you, in whatever you do.” Quirrel offered him a friendly wave as Ogrim dropped back down into his burrow.