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The world outside withers under the grasp of the Infection. Despite the safety of his castle abode, a king withers with it.
From his seat on his ruined throne, the Pale King thinks. His body is withering away, not the first time. It happened once before, during the rise of his beloved Hollownest. He remembered the feeling as his old skin died and his new form was born. Every fiber was decaying, crumbling. He could feel the decay in every crevice of his being. He felt weak.
As he stares into to the empty corridors of his once thriving kingdom, he decides that his body withering is the least of his worries. His body was only mildly wizened but his heart, on the other hand, was fractured beyond repair. His very soul was shredded by years of regret.
So much time wasted.
He could’ve stopped the infection if he had just seen the signs. The lingering stare of his pure vessel offspring, hanging onto every word their father said.
My child.
A fresh wave of grief wracked his soul, threatening to send from him from his throne to the floor. How fitting: a crumbled king in a crumbled palace.
The son’s desire was honorable, but tragically ill-timed. They were not wrong to desire a bond with their father. Plenty of bugs desired it as it was natural as breathing to love one’s parent or desire a close bond with them. If only the circumstances had been different.
Oh, missed opportunities dampened by the times. If the Infection were just a tale told to scare naughty children into obedience or was simply a common cold, the Pure Vessel’s life would have been very different. The Pale King would have bore his child whole, rather than need to employ void to form the hollow vessel that his child was. They would have been perfect in the ways only a beautifully flawed being would. They would chose what they wanted to be and be born like everyone in their kingdom. Similar yet unique.
Alone in the throne room, the Pale King ponders on a life so different. He could imagine his life had the Radiance never reared her head and spread her infectious mind-flay. In the King’s mind, he was sitting on his throne, his beautiful wife singing, and at her feet, would be his hollow child born whole. They- no, he, in the faux-vision, was a small thing; he could have easily sat in his giantess mother’s hand. He was alight with childish youth, his black bead eyes brimming with energy. So young and ever pure; he didn’t need to grow up so fast. He had many a sibling, the remnants of his desperate experiments to defeat Radiance. No longer where they hollow and corrupted. They matched their brother: energetic, youthful, and loving.
Oh, children. Brothers and sisters aplenty, as many as his darling wife desired....
My wife .
The thought of her sent a crippling weight of sorrow through his carapace.
His darling Root had exiled herself following the corruption of the Hollow Knight. He remembered their last moments together clearly.
Taking her white hands, the Pale King kissed her goodbye. He knew this would be the last time. She knew as well. He could feel it in the way her fingers pressed into his skin, savoring the moments they had left.
“My darling Root, flee for now,” he said. “Do not be disheartened. There is hope that we will defeat the Infection. Hide yourself from the Infection’s grasp. Go to the deepest part of the garden and conceal yourself. Dryya will be by your side. Please, my beloved, stay safe.”
Tears gathered in his darling’s eyes, shimmering in a way that was so painfully beautiful. Only she could make tears of sorrow beautiful.
“My beloved Wyrm. What will you do now? We.... we have done terrible things to try and stop it. Tried every path, every possibility, yet it all ended in failure. What more can we do?”
He did not respond immediately. Looking down at his darling’s luminous hands, he swallowed the growing lump of anguish in his throat.
“I will do what I must to protect you and our subjects,” the King said somberly. “No cost too great.”
The queen’s eyes downcast. She spoke in a tight, anguished voice:
“My beloved Wyrm, it cost us everything.”
Pain burned the Pale King’s heart. So many sacrifices he imposed on her, all in vain. All the time they could have spent raising a family, doting on each other, and serving their kingdom was sacrificed to stopping a monster he created. Yet here she stood, ever gracious and ever loving of a foolish king. Never had she turned her back on him, no matter how much he demanded of her or the vile things he had to do to try and save his kingdom. The pact he made with Herrah the Beast, the corruption of their children by his void experiments, spending nights from her to work: they were forgiven and forgotten in his beloved queen’s eyes.
Had they had more time, he would grovel at her feet and beg for forgiveness. He would weep for all the pain he caused her. But time had run out. Dryya would be running down the hall now, following her orders to protect her queen.
“Forgive me, my beloved Root,” he said softly, squeezing her hands. “I will ensure your sacrifices will not be in vain. Go. Hide yourself, beloved. Once this is all over and done, I will find you again.”
Tears falling down her glowing face, she kissed him one last time. Dryya hurried in, bowing low.
“My king and queen, we must go now!”
The White Queen let go of her beloved’s hands and tearfully cast him a final gaze as she turned and followed Dryya out.
That was days ago. Now the king sat alone, his wife and child gone, and the remainder of his people scattered. As he withered away, he tried to see what the future had.
His foresight was not what it used to be. He used to stare into the vacant future and see every prediction, every possibility and make it real. Now it had greatly faded since his transformation. Staring into the emptiness, he focused hard and tried to see into the dark void of the ever changing future.
In the darkness, he saw a figure. Small, with two prongs upon their head, a cloak billowing in the wind, and a nail in their tiny grasp. The king’s heart leaped.
My child!
Indeed it was his child but not the one he thought. The prongs were different. This small being was another of his spawn that he regretfully had to seal away. He sensed something there when the little vessel hatched. A roaring motivation that would no doubt be corrupted had he let them face the Infection. He, stifling his guilt, sealed them into the Abyss. As he sealed them with the others, he hoped that after the infection was vanquished, he’d release them. It seemed that day would never come.
Yet there they were, a knight standing tall, prepared to fight, either to kill their sibling and take their place or to free them and crush the infection at the source.
There lay many paths of what could happen, too murky to see. He saw many faces, blurred in the darkness, but there remained the knight, basked in the orange glow of his enemy and ready to battle. Although orange became a color of desolation and corruption, this filled the King with hope.
No cost too great....
He hoped that mantra would give him strength when he made the Vessels. His greatest sin. He said it to his child as he sent them off to contain the Infection. He hoped it would give his child some sort of resolve to end the Infection. Part of it was for himself. It just became a half-hearted excuse for his actions; a bland motivation.
Now sitting on his throne, the King lets himself wither away, life fading into the dark. There was hope for redemption, for his people, for his wife, and for the children he failed. Maybe, even a whisper of redemption for himself.
No cost too great....
No feat too small....
No sacrifice left unacknowledged...
Fight on, young knight and free your kingdom....
Free us all.
A single tear fell from the monarch’s eyes, rolling down his face, and spotting his cloak. His head slumped down and his breath ceased, his death-sigh echoing into the cavernous castle. It echoed slightly off the walls and faded into silent oblivion.