Chapter Text
The Pale King was the only one truly present during the Sealing. Kingsmoulds were doing the brunt work of sealing the Vessel, but they were without mind nor care, doing their tasks with eyes set on their claws as the king stood at the entrance to the room, regarding them all coldly. Truly, his gaze was only focused on the Vessel, on it's blank face and the void behind the eyes barely containing the dreaded light.
The Vessel stood limply as the kingsmoulds wrapped chains around their lithe body, offering no resistance as they were pulled unbearably tight. One of the kingsmoulds reached for their nail, and only then was there a reaction; their long fingers tightening around the handle. It was a fine nail. The Pale King has made sure that when they entered training they would be suitably supplied with only the best weapons able to be crafted; and the Vessel's current nail was as close to Pure as any nailsmith could make, made with the ore with the Wyrm's namesake. Any bug would've gotten attached to such a weapon. But the Vessel wasn't a bug.
There was brief moment where the Kingsmould hesitated, clearly unsure what to do about the Vessel showing such hesitance. Before the Kingsmould could do anything rash, the Pale King strode forward, and it quickly retreated in submission.
“Vessel. You will have no need for your nail upon being sealed. Release the weapon.”
When the Vessel seemed to hesitate, the Pale King reached forward and stopped an inch away from their hand.
Something was wrong.
The Vessel was shaking, lightly rattling their chains. It couldn't be afraid, could it? No, the Pale King surmised. It must be the effort of keeping the infection inside, it probably had to adjust before it could comfortably hold Her hostage.
In the king's chest there came a mild pang of sympathy. Before he could stop himself, he covered the Vessel's larger hand in his own and held it there for one second.
Two seconds.
Three.
The shaking slowed, and the Vessel's fingers relaxed, their head bowing in submission. The king took the weapon and stepped back with it in his hands. If it would bring the vessel some sort of comfort, he supposed he could leave it here. What was a knight without a sword? Though, in lieu of that thought, what was a bug without a mind? The king knew it was foolish to believe there was any sort of mind inside of the vessel, any attachments to weapons or otherwise. It had been created with a singular purpose, a cursed creature of only obedience and instinct. Still.
The Pale King had no use for weapons.
So, he jabbed it into a crevice in the rocky ground, engraved with seals upon seals, more protection for Hallownest. As he stared at the nail, he found himself speaking to the vessel.
“Vessel...What you do is for the good of all of Hallownest.”
He turned his head to gaze into their empty eyes. No expression on their shell, as blank as the day it had spilled from their egg with their siblings. As the kingsmoulds began to hoist the vessel into the air, he kept speaking, even over the sounds of the chains grinding against stone.
“You must never weaken, never falter. You will remain here for as long as you exist.”
There was a beat. The king searched for anything to say, but nothing came to his mind. He nodded to the vessel and turned, motioning to the kingsmoulds to leave. He waited for them to exit before slowly moving away himself. Against his better judgement, he paused at the door, turning his head and regarding the Vessel. They had begun to shake again, a distant orange light in their eyes. For a moment, the king recalled how the Vessel had once looked in their robes—overlaid over the grey and raggedy one they had been hatched with—how regal, downright royal they had looked.
The perfect Heir, child of Wyrm and Root
And found himself banishing it from his mind. It was a ridiculous notion, even considering It to be a child was a laughable act, nonetheless anything equal to a bug. The Void had hollowed it. If anything, It was only a shell of the child It could have been, a reanimated corpse.
The Pale King felt a chill down his spine and shook it off, raising his hands in the direction of the Vessel, his arms outstretched as if in embrace. He began to whisper to the soul in the air, bending it to his will. Like a spider weaving a web, he wrapped a Seal of Binding upon the Vessel.
They were still shaking when the kingsmoulds shut the great door.