Chapter Text
The danger of shrouding oneself in dreams is that time begins to slip away from you. The Pale King clutched at the arms of his throne, staring vacantly at the marble wall before him. Thoughts would creep into his mind—a kingdom, bugs, a light brighter than his own, void he’d sought to break to his use—and then melt away. He was meant to do something with these thoughts, memories, they were memories they had happened, he had done or witnessed them, why could he not hold a thread long enough to plan anymore? Slowly, as though he were moving through molasses, he raised a hand. Summoned the energy to slap himself across the face, sending a jolt of awareness through him.
“Terra,” he croaked. He was fading. He had bought himself time to think, to plan, and he… he’d come up with nothing. Only allowed himself to grow weaker, when he so desperately needed to be stronger. Focus, he told himself, lifting his mask and rubbing his eyes.
How many times had he done this? Pulled himself from his stupor just to fall back into it? Scrolls of parchment with half-sketched plans and piles of half-read books littered the floor around his throne. A knapsack that had been packed and emptied and packed and emptied too many times, each time with different items but none of them actually resulting in him leaving. And now he’d lost his chance to do so easily.
He pulled his mask back down and crossed the room, throwing a window open and scowling at the scene below.
Usually it would be nothing more than the empty, empty palace grounds, and then clouds of dream to the horizon. Beyond the gates, however, numerous bugs tended to weapons and various instruments. He recognized the God Tamer’s standard, a single bronze arrow on a field of deep green, planted in the center of the camp. They’d been here for… he hesitated to gauge the length of time. They’d been here for time enough, content to wait out his decision of facing them or fading away.
Raja’s presence frightened him, because among God Tamers, she was known for going after challenging prey. But not impossible. He, a Wyrm, should never leave impossible, regardless of form. Invisible snares glowed in his truesight, though given how many there were around the palace, seeing them didn’t help much. He had investigated them earlier with his magic, disgusted to realize they were warded, disgusted further to realize they were sufficient enough to keep him from teleporting beyond them. The only clear path was to the camp proper. He turned away from the window and took a steadying breath.
Still, it was with trepidation that he picked up the knapsack and began filling it again, soon though he expected to lose it. He had to face her. He couldn’t hide here, shrouded in fading dreams, until he was forgotten and erased. He couldn’t leave Hallownest to its fate, he couldn’t leave Hollow to eternally suffer its burden in silence. He should have never left in the first place, but he was a coward, but he had to try, late, yes, but at least now, to fix things.
That only left the issue of God Tamer Raja. He ran a finger along the strap of the knapsack and wondered if it was worth it.
Which it? he wondered. Perhaps all of it. Hallownest. Leaving the palace. But the most immediate “it” was the knapsack, crammed with books and potions and trinkets. What good would they do him?
He extracted a battered journal. It contained the musings of gods before the gods he knew and of ones he did. He’d filled the margins with his own thoughts. He’d meant to gift it to Lurien, though he’d always stopped when he feared it was both too little and too much of a gesture. He was a king, a god, and all that was not doing him much good now, was it?
He tucked the book into his cloak. I will give this to Lurien, he promised himself. Wyrms were not tamed. Wyrms were not tamed. He left the rest of the knapsack and finally the palace, skirting closer traps and heading up the path towards the camp.
He saw other bugs, wearing her colors, but they did not stop him. There were at least fifteen, not counting however many were in the tents ahead. If they were half the warriors Raja was, it was with growing dread that he realized he might not be able to escape them all. For the first time in many years, he missed his proper form. Terra give him strength.
Raja was a fine beetle, heavyset and a rich green with tints of bronze, garbed in silver chitin. She leaned on a copper nail and a large crossbow was slung across her back. The standard behind her was lazy in the still air of dreams, and none of the bugs with her made a move to attack him. They watched, though their eyes often flickered to Raja for further instruction. She offered none.
“How noble of you to not flee,” she said. “Are you here to surrender?”
“Absolutely not,” he said venomously.
Her laughter was surprisingly warm. Perhaps he was that deprived of another being’s presence. “Excellent. I love a god with spirit.”
In a blur of green she crossed the distance between them. His mask deflected her nail with a soft crunch, and he shook his head to clear the particles of stone that fell into his eyes. His magic responded before his mind did. She was attacking him. He had to fight. A cold swell of power and exhilaration he hadn’t felt in ages rose through him.
She lifted her nail again and this time he stepped out of the way. He raised his hands and called ice to him, the ground becoming coated in it in a flash of white wind. The other bugs scurried out of the way. He supposed there was some comfort in only having to face their leader, and not all of them at once.
“I love it!” Raja yelled over the gale. She had been moved only a few feet, but her step towards him was hesitant. She gave the ground a few experimental taps with a foot. Cold rose again—why was he waiting?—and he summoned shards of light and flung them at her. She leapt out of the way and drew her crossbow, loading a bolt in the air and firing it a moment after she hit the ground. He coated his hand in ice and knocked it away.
She fired again and he teleported a few feet away. In the half second it took for his vision to focus she was on him, cutting through his cloak and leaving a burning pain across his arm. Cold washed over it and left the arm numb. The ice did not melt so much as simply disappear from the ground. Did it always fade so quickly? She was still attacking him. He shook his head and ducked away from the swing. He’d been planning on fighting the Radiance, when he was struggling to keep pace with a mortal bug? Another burning pain, this time across his chest.
He teleported again. He reappeared crouching, reaching into the earth and pulling; ice and dirt exploded around him, catching Raja as she leapt towards him and knocking her into the air. She spread her wings and he called the earth back down, and it and her came crashing in front of him.
“Delightful,” she breathed. She rolled away before the pillar of light he called could lance her. He threw shards and she hissed as they pierced through her armor before disappearing in a flash.
He stopped falling for the bait of having a bolt shot at him, instead stepping out of the way and waiting for her to swing at him in earnest before teleporting away. He only managed to catch her once more before she started predicting where he would appear, and by the time he’d reached for the earth then she would already be on top of him, tearing through the meager defense offered by his cloak. His own hits never seemed to land anywhere critical, or she had another layer of defenses he could not see.
Eventually they fell into a rhythm; they’d hit each other, he would teleport, he’d either be ready to deflect her nail or he’d choose to try to strike her as she charged.
Despite this, he could not recall the last time he’d truly fought someone. Just as he was thinking that he should perhaps stop teleporting so much, Raja switch to her crossbow and shot at him. He’d forgotten she even had the thing, the pain from a bolt to his chest indefinitely more painful than the previous hits. He staggered.
She pulled something from a pocket and lobbed it at him. He did not get a good look at it before it burst, thick cords wrapping around him and latching into the ground. Another bolt followed it, pain exploding in his shoulder, and he barely managed to focus long enough to see she was reloading and to teleport away as she took aim.
The net unhooked from the ground but did not weigh any less when he did. The bolt to his side felt oddly distant. He looked up in time to see her charging him.
He exhaled cold, the tip of Raja’s nail coming to an ice-encased stop just a few inches from his face. For a sweet, sweet moment the onslaught stopped, and his mind screamed at him to take advantage of this. His body, however, protested, and he fell hard to a knee. He spat up a chunk of ice and struggled to catch his breath.
He had not frozen her completely, and with a furious beating of wings Raja pulled herself free. He could only manage a wheeze when he felt another bolt go into his back. She at least had to limp over to him, an inkling of satisfaction through the growing exhaustion he felt. “I’ve always wondered,” she said wearily, reaching a hand under his mask and pulling it free.
She laughed again, albeit briefly. “An ant,” she said. “Adorable. No wonder you are so small. You are stunningly plain without those horns.”
Shut up, is what he wanted to say, but he could not muster the strength to speak. She struck him with the stock of her crossbow and everything went dark.