Chapter Text
They had been wandering for a very, very long time.
The wanderer didn’t remember how long, exactly, nor did they know where their journey began, but they felt as if something had changed. Something deep within them had pulled them in a specific direction. Something - someone - was crying out.
Now they stood on the edge of these rocky cliffs, gazing down at distant lights. It’d been a very, very long time since they’d seen something like this, they were sure.
They made quick work of the mindless creatures that blocked their way. The weapon they wielded was old and terribly worn, but it was more than enough to get the job done. They encountered strange glowing stones that spoke to them in whispers, teaching - reminding? - them how to use the pale light of Soul.
They didn’t particularly care, though. They were so close, so damnably close, they couldn’t bear to slow down now.
The wanderer broke through a massive door and swept through a quiet town, both registering only as obstacles. Their attention was a focused beam, tugging them down into the ruins below, faster, faster, they are waiting for you!
And here they were stopped in their tracks.
The wanderer gazed up at the huge egg, something burning within their shell. There was a name for this feeling, they thought, but it was lost to them. They were so close, and yet…
“Hello there!”
A shudder ripped through the wanderer’s small frame. Someone was here, how had they missed that? Inattention was dangerous, that much they were sure of.
They turned to look up at the stranger who’d spoken. It was a bug, with a nail at its hip and second mask upon its head like a hat. The wanderer eyed the nail warily, but the bug didn’t seem to be poised to attack them.
They continued observing the bug as it spoke again, “How delightful to meet another traveler along these forgotten roads! You’re a short one, but you’ve a strong look about you.”
The wanderer stood up to their full height, tilting their head to look the stranger directly in the eye. They weren’t sure why it had brought up their size, but a compliment to their strength was appreciated.
The bug seemed to blink down at them for a moment before it continued, “I’m Quirrel. I have something of an obsession with uncharted places.” It (he?) paused and looked up at the Black Egg. “This ancient kingdom holds many fascinating mysteries, and one of the most intriguing of them is standing right before us.”
The wanderer nodded slowly, their dark stare fixed on the Egg once more. Someone was in there, they were sure of it. That someone was suffering, crying out for help… Were they the only one who could feel it?
“A great stone egg, lying in the corpse of an ancient kingdom. And this egg…” Quirrel placed one hand on the Egg’s surface, the other tapping thoughtfully at his chin. “Is it warm? It certainly gives off a unique air.”
In the corner of their vision, the wanderer saw that Quirrel was looking at them once more. This time, they didn’t bother to meet his gaze. They listened closely to the Egg, wishing they had a way to help. Maybe, if they could just-
“Can it be opened?”
The wanderer whipped around to stare at Quirrel. Had he somehow read their thoughts? Could he know how to open it?
In return they simply got a thoughtful hum. “There are strange marks all over it… I do so love a mystery! And who knows what other marvels lie even deeper below us.”
The wanderer wilted a bit. So, Quirrel had no real way to open it. Maybe they’d been foolish to hope so soon, after all.
Quirrel continued speaking, but the wanderer wasn’t paying much attention anymore. They’d come so far to answer the call, and now they were prevented from helping by… by a door with some faces on it?
Ah, they remember the name of that burning feeling now: resentment.
They turn to leave after a few minutes of Quirrel’s musings, barely offering him a backward glance. A friendly, somewhat helpful bug was a curiosity, but right now they were too preoccupied to dwell on it. Maybe after they disposed of the local pests, they could come back. Maybe they’d go back up to the town, instead - had there been someone there?
For now, they had some exterminating to do.
If Quirrel mumbled something as they left, the wanderer didn’t listen closely enough to hear it.
The wanderer was beginning to realize that Hallownest was an incredible and unfathomable place.
The ruins interested them, filling them with a feeling of simultaneous familiarity and novelty. As they worked to ignore the constant cries of the being within the Black Egg, they found that the fallen kingdom was filled with interesting things. They found themself even more curious about the bugs who called this place home.
They’d met a mapmaker and his wife, rescued a shopkeeper, listened to the village Elder, and generally found that the intelligent, uninfected bugs around here were mostly friendly. Even that odd snail hadn’t done much of anything harmful.
But one bug in particular…
The wanderer’s shell still ached from the quick strikes of her needle. She had recognized them, in a way, and seemed to think they were a threat. Even as the wanderer’s Soul called out to her, we are the same, she hurt them over and over and over. She was relentless, and they didn’t even have the comfort of knowing why.
The wanderer had driven her off eventually, but the encounter was fresh in their mind. A bug who seemed so similar to them, but with a voice… she thought of them as an enemy. She’d tried to strike them down like the corpse in the clearing, the one who filled their heart with grief.
The very fact that they felt such emotion, upon gazing down at the broken body, scared them in a way that they couldn't understand.
This was wrong. All of this was wrong.
They tried not to dwell on it as they delved deeper into the lush wilds, but even the repetitive swinging of their battered nail couldn’t keep their thoughts from straying. A few too many of their strikes fell short, and a few too many of their enemies' struck home.
At last the wanderer stumbled upon a crumbling temple at the edge of an acidic lake. A tall bug stood beyond it, gazing out over the lake, and the wanderer was tempted to greet them. As they started forwards, though, the memory of the red-cloaked bug returned.
Maybe it was wiser to rest, first…
The wanderer entered the temple in hopes that it would be a safe place to rest, and was surprised that another bug seemed to have the same idea. The wanderer stopped in the doorway to observe the bug, hoping that it wouldn’t be yet another enemy.
It was doing something with its nail, its four-eyed gaze staring out at nothing. The mask it wore was familiar, somehow, but where would they have seen it?
It hit them like the sting of an aspid’s venom. That was one of the masks from the Egg! They’d seen it recently, too, in that strange vision after the red-cloaked bug fled.
The wanderer crept closer cautiously. This bug definitely wore the same mask, but it was far smaller than the creatures they’d seen. Would they have to fight it? If only they could sit on that bench and rest first, maybe they could manage.
As they hopped up onto the stone bench, the other bug glanced up at the noise. The wanderer started in surprise.
It was Quirrel!
“Oh, hello there!” The familiar bug greeted, the motion of his hands never stopping, “It seems we both tread far from the path.”
The wanderer hesitated, still shocked, before nodding slowly. They wanted to ask Quirrel about his mask-hat, but without a voice, what could they do? For now, they only took the time to rest. There was no use in agonizing over what they couldn't do, so they would get what they could, while they could.
They listened more closely this time as Quirrel chattered on about their surroundings. They nodded in agreement when he brought up his thoughts about the tall bug outside. They cocked their head curiously when he spoke of tending his nail - what did that mean?
Quirrel seemed to misinterpret the look, pausing in his movements to gesture at them. “Your nail looks a fine instrument, but it’s showing signs of wear. I'd wager up there it would take you far. Down here, however, I suspect you'll soon meet dangers the surface world can't match…”
The wanderer pulled out their weapon and gazed down at it. They knew that it was badly cracked and dull, but it was still theirs. Short of throwing it away and replacing it with something else, they didn’t know what they could do about the problem. Just thinking about that made another feeling bubble up within them, one that they immediately decided they didn’t like.
“Oh! Is something wrong?”
The wanderer looked up, surprised to see Quirrel watching them with an air of concern. They shook their head, then hesitated. They glanced back down at their damaged nail, then at the one Quirrel held. His was gleaming and sharp, clearly well crafted and cared for.
Quirrel let out a noise of understanding. “I see… If you really can’t part with your nail, then I hear there’s a Nailsmith in the old capital of Hallownest. It’s quite a trek from here to the city, especially since most entrances have been closed off, but I’m sure vigilant explorers like us will find a way in! Perhaps we’ll meet again along the way?”
The wanderer nodded eagerly. This was the second time Quirrel had offered them interesting information, though they hadn’t really been listening the first time. And if meeting him again gave them the chance to figure out the story behind that mask… how convenient!
But before they left…
The wanderer pointed at Quirrel’s nail, and then at their own. When they were greeted with nothing but a confused stare, they pointed at his nail more insistently, then mimicked his action of polishing the blade.
That seemed to get the idea across better, as Quirrel sat up straighter. “You want me to help you care for your nail?” He paused, then looked them over more carefully, seeming a bit perplexed. “No, no, that’s not it. Are you asking me to show you how?”
Pleased with Quirrel’s deduction, the wanderer nodded, then moved to sit closer to him. They rested their nail in their lap, staring up at their fellow traveler expectantly.
Quirrel laughed and offered them a cloth not unlike the one he’d been using for his own nail. “Well, it won’t work miracles, but knowing how to maintain your weapon is quite useful! Here, let me show you…”
The wanderer copied Quirrel’s movements diligently, concentrating on the repetitive motion. This felt almost like the meditative swinging of a nail - it was so simple to forget everything else while focusing on cleaning their weapon.
Quirrel watched over them as they worked, occasionally chipping in with tips and comments. “There you go, excellent! I can see that those cracks might make this difficult, but you’re doing a fine job of it so far, my friend!”
The wanderer paused at that. Friend?
Was this friendship? They weren’t sure. They couldn’t really recall ever having a friend before, certainly not in so many words. But, if Quirrel called them a friend, he must think of them as one, mustn’t he?
“Are you alright, little knight?” Quirrel asked, “I do hope I haven’t overstepped.”
The wanderer shook their head rapidly. They may not really understand why Quirrel would call them a friend, but they certainly weren’t opposed to it! Quirrel was interesting enough to listen to, they could do worse for their first friend.
Quirrel’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “Ah, I understand! I’m glad, in that case. But for now…”
The wanderer stood when Quirrel did, replacing their nail upon their back.
“You’re leaving too, my friend? I think I will greet that mossy knight first, but I do hope we’ll meet again!” Quirrel said with a wave, and the wanderer nodded back as they parted ways.
As the wanderer traveled on their way, they didn’t find their thoughts straying to the red-cloaked bug and the corpse where they’d met her. Instead, they couldn’t help but dwell on their fellow traveler… on their friend.
They’d be sure to keep an eye out for him in the future, they vowed.