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Chapter Text

Hornet woke up. This, in of itself, wasn’t necessarily strange, but the circumstances before her awakening certainly made it so. She wasn’t quite sure what made her jump into the battle between her siblings, had even staunchly decided to remain uninvolved. That decision had crumbled quickly, far too quickly, and she had leapt in, even while knowing that the Black Egg would sap her of her very life force. She was uncertain whether it was affection, duty, or impulse that forced her hand. Regardless, she had charged into that fight fully expecting never to escape it.

And yet, here she was, waking up, cocooned in silks softer than anything she had felt since her childhood. She felt warm. Safe. She had felt neither of those things in a long, long time.

The unfamiliarity of it made her uncomfortable, and her eyes snapped open to her childhood bedroom. The bright red sheets she found herself entangled in were more colourful than they had been in a long time now, the original crimson having faded many years ago. Hornet wondered who had tucked her in, how she had even arrived back into her old home without noticing, and a mournful part of her wondered if this was a dream she was caught in, enticed with the hope of old memories.

If that were the case, she wondered if she would even have the strength to leave.

If she would even want to leave.

Hornet was so tired. For too long now she had darted between life and death, dancing with danger every moment of her every day. The infection had cursed not only those whose minds were dead, but also those whose minds lived on, forced to watch the world around them crumble and decay. Hope was a deadly thing in the rotting kingdom, and she had learned to combat it with a cold harshness that had first bloomed after her mother fell into her eternal slumber. Kindness was a luxury, and not something to be expected in the world she had been left behind in.

Kindness was striking down those who showed signs of infection. Kindness was preventing those foolish enough to enter from disturbing the stasis of Hallownest. Kindness was killing her forsaken siblings in a test of strength, to prevent them from undergoing the same fate as the Pure Vessel.

Kindness was letting her mother finally rest.

Tears burned her eyes as she thought of her mother’s sleeping body crumbling into nothing, Ghost dormant beside her plinth, before they finally stirred. She had wanted to scream at them, had been desperate to let her sobs break free from her shaky voice, but she was able to restrain herself, and ordered them to leave. She needed them to leave, so she could fall apart in peace. But Ghost had instead sat by her side, a hesitant hand reaching out to hold her claw, and she had nearly collapsed then and there.

Vessels were not supposed to know comfort or when to give it. As much as she wanted to accept the rare kind touch she had not felt since Hallownest fell, she could not give in to it. She could not let herself believe that Ghost was as unpure as Hollow had been, not if she wanted a chance to fight off the infection.

It would be kinder of her to refuse their hopes, she told herself.

Was it kindness that let her lead them to a fate worse than death? Was it kindness that forced her into the Black Egg to assist them in their final moments, moments that she was complicit in orchestrating?

Perhaps it was crueller to seal the infection yet again, only for it to burst free decades later. Were they all only prolonging the inevitable again? After all, if Hollow had failed, pure, shining Hollow, then what made Ghost different?

For all his supposed wisdom and higher thought, the Pale King was a fool, Hornet thought. She had never been fond of her sire, not once the purpose of her birth became clear, not once she found out what her mother’s fate would be. He had always been distant with her, even when the Lady Root tried to prod him into spending more time with her. She remembered savouring the scant few moments he allowed her to sit by his knee as a youngling, before she grew resentful of his coldness. As his daughter, she should not have to be ‘allowed’ to receive affection from her sire. Her mother and step-mother were always free in their affection, never hesitating to scoop her up and let her cling to their clothes.

Even Hollow had, to some extent, let her do that, though it had to be phrased as a demand. But even then, a part of her noticed how readily they acquiesced, how... eager they almost seemed to give her affection, hidden under a thin sheet of emptiness.

...Her father truly was a fool, wasn’t he?

Hornet wriggled out of her coverings, the sheets surprisingly heavy on her body, and she lashed out a claw to find her needle, usually stored close to her bed in case of an errant attacker. Her hand found nothing, instead colliding with a small, misshapen mug on her side table. She watched in abject horror as her childhood mug tipped over and collided with the floor, delicate shards of glass shattering in all directions, distorting the blobby Weaverlings she had drawn so long ago. Yet another memento destroyed.

It was as though her self-imposed dam broke, and Hornet let herself weep like the child she had never truly been able to be, sobs wrenching their way out of her throat. It was so silly, that such a small thing would set her off like this, but...

Had she not lost enough of her childhood? Must she lose more?

The door burst, open, and she flinched, hand reaching down to grab a shard as a makeshift weapon, and how strange it was that the distance of her bed to the floor seemed so far-

“Child! Art thou alright?” A voice cried worriedly, and Hornet’s eyes panned up to spot her old minder, who would look after her when her mother or Midwife could not. She was an older Devout, her clicking name meaning “Fang-Protector”, and she had died in the early days of the infection.

Was this some game? A horrific twisted dream?

(Had the Weaverlings not spoken of a Nosk in the depths of Deepnest that twisted its face to match those in your memories? Was this such a creature come to cruelly taunt and then kill her?)

“Nanny...?” Hornet asked cautiously, fingers still gripping the shard tightly, despite the wounds it caused. Sluggish black blood trickled down, and her minder looked horrified.

“Young one, thou art injured! Drop thy shard, and this one shall see to it immediately!” The older woman said, hurrying over to her bedside, thin arms reaching out from her fur to pluck her weapon from her grip. Hornet leapt back, stumbling over cushions and bedding, and she wondered why her weight felt so off, why her legs shook with exertion at such a slight manoeuvre. She brandished her shard threateningly at the imposter, scowling as her hand burned from the movement. Was her pain tolerance not higher than this? She had taken many an injury before, yet a small cut would send waves of pain down her arm?

“May this one ask what thou art doing, child? Thou shall irritate the wound further, and thy Queen Mother would not be best pleased! Not with this one, or thyself,” the impostor begged, reaching out towards her again.

“Mother is dead,” Hornet hissed furiously, swiping down desperately with the shard, “I saw her breath her last myself, you cannot fool me, Nosk!”

The Devout reared back, surprise clear in her eyes, before they softened.

“Dear child, did thou have a ‘mare? Thy mother is well and hale, and were she not in a meeting, she would have come to you herself rather than this one! Do thou wish to see her? She would not wish for her dearest daughter to suffer. Come, drop thy shard, and we shall visit her,” she cooed, claw outstretched to remove Hornet’s weapon.

“I said back, Nosk!” She shrieked, voice stumbling over a sluggish tongue. The Nosk frowned at her.

“This one understands thy worry, young one, but thou shall hurt thyself further. This one is no Nosk, as such creatures have been taken by the infection already and are unable to say much more than nonsense. Thy Nanny still hath her mind and wits about her!”

That could not be true. Hornet swallowed, eyes glancing up and down the bug before her. There was no orange glow of infection, no mindless hunger in her eyes, just a soft, reassurance that everything was okay.

How long had it been, since someone told her it would be alright? She hiccupped, and her Nanny crept closer, arms curling around her body. For once, Hornet did not stop her. She could not stop her. If this image were a Nosk, then she would let it take her gladly. What more, after all, did she have to live for?

A dead and broken kingdom, ravaged by infection until it was hollowed out and empty.

No, she would rather perish in the embrace of a fake loved one, able to pretend for just a moment that she was a child again.

Nanny hummed deeply, her whispery voice threading into an old song of their ancient kingdom, of spools of silk wrapping up spiderlings to protect them, of the love a mother held for her child. Hornet found herself weeping again, soft and quiet, into the robes of her old caretaker.

“Oh child, thou break this one’s heart. Come, I shall bring thou to thy mother. Mayhap her presence shall soothe thy plight,” she whispered gently, and Hornet felt her move, gliding through the friendly cold of her childhood home. How strange, she thought sleepily, that everything looked the same as so long ago. There were no infected corpses riddling the floors, no overgrown cobwebs blocking entries.

Just the homely darkness of her mother’s halls, and the comforting scuttle of a people whole again.

Maybe remaining within this dream would not be so bad after all, Hornet thought, before she succumbed to the lure of sleep.

Ghost was in a predicament. Granted, they were often in a predicament, but this predicament seemed to consume all others into one big ball of problems. They were in the Abyss again, the shattered masks of their fallen siblings surrounding them like a mockery of a greeting, each step they took desecrating their already destroyed bodies. That was nothing to say of the tattered, glowing feathers scattered through the dark, lending only hints of light.

They had struck the Radiance, this they knew. It had to be a killing blow, for why else would she have screamed so loudly as the void tried to swallow her whole, why else would she have struggled so hurriedly to escape? And yet there was no dead God anywhere near them, and they were back inside their hellish birthplace, with nothing but the cooing shades of their siblings to keep them company.

They wanted Hornet. She would have known what to do, would have pulled them up from the below and swiped at them with her needle for daring to... wallow? Were they wallowing? Or was mourning a better term?

The Voidheart pulsed comfortingly within their soul, but it was not quite enough to calm Ghost.

They had lots to mourn, they thought. Quirrel, Myla, Hornet, their poor sibling trapped in the egg... It was already quite obvious that neither Ghost nor Hollow were actually ‘Hollow’. Certainly not in the terms that the Pale King had meant at least. There was a twinge of satisfaction at that thought, and Ghost wondered if this was what ‘spite’ was.

A shade crawled closer to them, inky black tendrils reaching out to carefully touch them, and they froze, unsure if the Voidheart would still prevent their siblings from attacking. Rather than a harsh touch, their sibling seemed to gently wrap their tendrils around their head, as though giving a comforting facsimile of a hug.

No, they thought, small hands giving the void a fond pat. They truly were never hollow. Any of them. Just... unexperienced with emotions. The sibling wrapped around their head gave a silent burble, before releasing them and drifting off elsewhere.

Ghost forced themself to stand, and stared upward at the arduous climb they would have to make to reach the exit. Hopefully they could surprise their sister and friends, who surely must have thought that they had perished in their battle against the Radiance. An infection-free Hallownest would be interesting to explore, particularly once everyone began to rebuild. They could show Elderbug the wonders of Hallownest without him fearing for his life, could wander through the caverns with Iselda and Cornifer, who surely would be delighted to reach all the places he could not before. Maybe they could convince Hornet to build a shrine or grave of some sorts for Myla and Quirrel, who both deserved some monument of remembrance for the aid and comfort they had given Ghost during their journey.

Hopefully Quirrel rested with his Monomon, and Myla found all the riches she was unable to find in life.

They wondered if they could bring Hornet into the White Palace. Perhaps she’d like to punch the corpse of the Pale King? It had certainly been satisfying to do so before, and was sure to be even better now they remembered what exactly their father had done. It was certainly childish, but did they not deserve some time to be a child? To (metaphorically) giggle and play and dance without fear? Even while travelling Hallownest they had let themself play sometimes, hitting the Stag Bell over and over, or jumping into puddles in the City of Tears. Splashing other bugs in the hot springs had always been funny to them as well.

As they leapt up from platform to platform, they found themself thinking of all the things they were now free to do, of all the things they had wanted to do, but stopped themself from doing before.

Freedom, Ghost decided, was a wonderful thing that they were going to enjoy to their fullest, for both themself, for Hornet, and all their siblings who were unable to. They jumped over to the next craggy rock, and looked up again, finding themself barely able to spot the exit platform above. They tipped their head slightly in annoyance, wishing that their useless wings were actually able to carry them further than a simple leap, but still resigned themself to their continuing fate. Maybe they could ask Hornet for a tutorial in her needle? That would certainly make climbing quicker, they pondered, as their hands continued to scrabble at every ledge, claws hooking into the crumbling stone. Perhaps it could be a sibling activity. Bugs did those, didn’t they? Certainly now that Hornet wasn’t trying to kill them anymore, they could both indulge in some bonding.

A part of Ghost wondered if Hollow had survived alongside them, if their eldest sibling had been able to overcome the infection that had rotten their mask and mind, until only a small shard of their own will remained. It would be wonderful if they had. The three of them altogether, being able to play and live and be happy...

It was truly a dream.

A dream that Ghost would hope for.

But for now, they would settle for climbing out of the Abyss. Hopefully they were not gone too long, and the Stag Station by the hidden White Palace could still be accessed. Going through Deepnest was an experience they were currently in no shape for, not without knowing that there would be less things willing to kill them there. It would be nice to return to Dirtmouth, to sit with Elderbug and envelope Iselda and Cornifer in a hug, to see their friends and let them know they were okay. Later on, they would have to visit Mato, and see if his size made him perfect for giving hugs. Then they would have to introduce Ogrim to Lemm, just to see the look on his face.

The dim light of the exit loomed ever closer, and Ghost could feel excitement brimming in their soul, and they swung more recklessly towards the top, Mantis Claws barely able to hang on with the force they were jumping with. Finally, finally they reached the end, and they dashed towards it with fervour, desperate to escape the weighty presence of death and be greeted back into the world of the living.

Except... the door was shut. They approached it with trepidation, excitement simmering down to worry as they tried to push it open. It did not budge. Had Hornet shut the door? Had she believed them dead, and laid them to rest with their siblings? While kind, they would have preferred being in Dirtmouth, or even the Resting Grounds. The Seer was always nice to them, and made an excellent cup of tea.

Ghost focused their Soul and attempted to use magic to force the heavy barrier open, but like it usually did against metal, the attack simply slid off like rain on windows. With trembling claws, they tried to rap against the door, tried to bring it to open like it did before.

It stayed shut, their blank expression reflecting back at them in the gleaming metal.

That’s when the panic began.

The Hollow Knight bolted up from their resting spot, pain pulsing in waves of agony throughout their body. They couldn’t stop themself from crumpling up and sliding off their bed, shaking limbs trying to curl up in some facsimile of comfort. Orange spots danced through their vision, and terror lanced its way alongside the pain.

No. No, they could not be corrupted now, not before-

But as quickly as it came, it disappeared, and the ache faded with it. Instead, a fuzzy memory of chains and light and anguish flooded their mind, of failure and despair, of Her and Them, of their siblings-

Had they a mouth, they would have gasped, and their hands reached out to grasp at their blankets in horror and desperation. Their siblings. Both the little spider who they so adored before they had been chained, and the small one they had let fall so very long ago.

The one they had abandoned.

They couldn’t stop the wheezing sound that escaped their shuddering body, an all familiar panic racing through the Void and Soul keeping them together. What had happened? What had happened after the little ones had held them down and swung that strange weapon? They could only recall the bare fragments of coalescing into Void, in shedding their mortal shell and assisting their hollow sibling in defeating-

In defeating Her.

And that was the crux of the matter. They could not hear Her screams in their mind, could not feel Her infection bubbling deep within their Soul, could not see the chains holding their body still. Rather, a pale blankness they had thought they would never see again surrounded them, the familiar white a comforting reminder of kinder days. Their claws tore through the fabric clutched between their fingers, the tension placed upon the threads too much for it to bear. The sound caused them to freeze, all too aware of the situation they were now placed in. This was not a dream, that much seemed true. The fabric felt too real, the pain too sharp, the memories too... recent.

Which meant they were back in the past, in the Palace, with their... the Pale King a scant few minutes away from them. Their chest rumbled with a quiet keen, their claws tensing up again in anxiety and worry. What if he spotted them in such a state? What if he found out about their impurity before they could see their siblings again?

They could not bear disappointing him. Not again. Not after their last failure.

Fear arched through the Hollow Knight’s mind as they wondered if they would be chained again, if She still wandered through the minds of the King’s subjects. A desperate part of them that they tried so, so hard to ignore refused to ever step foot in the Temple again. They would rather die than be chained up like that again, the treacherous thought whispered. Even if it meant...

Even if it meant failing their father.

Their claws wrapped around their torso and held on tightly to the chitin, sharp points digging painfully into their shell. It was a horrific, nasty thought that had no place in a mind meant to be empty. But when had that even been the truth? When had they ever been hollow? They had known the moment they had reached the top that they were a failure. They had let their sibling fall, had left the broken bodies of all the others to be forgotten, had pretended to be a perfect, pure vessel to their creator, when they had in fact been anything but.

What a selfish creature they were, so warped and twisted by their own forbidden thoughts and feelings that they’d knowingly doom everyone just to feel that approval, to pretend that they made their father proud. And in the process they had abandoned their siblings to a fate worse than death. Their claws scraped loudly against their shell, but they paid no mind to it. They already knew that the King’s plan would fail.

That they would fail.

Perhaps they could allow themselves to be selfish again, just... one last time. They could not continue to knowingly condemn their sibling deep below in their birthplace, not now that they knew that had survived. Carefully prying their stiff fingers out of their position, they slowly moved towards their nail, a gleaming, perfect thing made solely for them and the battle they would have to fight in the future.

Or would have fought, at least. Now though, they could not do such a thing. Another way might be able to be found, but if not, then would it not be kinder to perish amongst their family? With their siblings by their side, their father and mother gifting them the affection they so desperately craved. It was a fantasy, fragile and all too familiar, but they could not sweep it away like dust, not any longer. Even if they could only fulfil part of that dream, then they could be content.

Disappointing their father was a certainty they would never be able to avoid.

But they could prevent disappointing their siblings again.

And with that thought, it was easy to pick up their nail, to shrug on a simple robe that fit their lanky form, and step towards the door. A soft hesitance settled within their Soul as they stood by the exit, wondering whether this truly was the best course of action to take. If maybe they couldn’t pretend again.

But the image of their little sibling trapped amongst the masks of their deceased siblings, alone and confused was enough of an encouragement. With trembling claws, they pushed against the door, the dim light of the hallway reflecting back at them. It appeared to be the middle of the sleep cycle, as the Hollow Knight could not even spot a single retainer lingering in the shadows. They took a tentative step forwards, then another, their footsteps near silent, just as they had been trained. It was almost laughably easy to stalk out of the winding corridors, all the way down until they reached the exit. The Kingsmoulds guarding the entrance to the Palace hardly reacted to their presence, and an almost giddy excitement bubbled up within them as they stepped out of their home.

Maybe they were making the biggest mistake of their life. Maybe all this would result in was more tragedy and death.

But maybe this was better for them all. Maybe this way they could have some comfort before the end. Maybe this time, things would have a happier ending.

And with that thought, they ducked out of the Palace grounds and into the Abyss, slowly but steadily heading deeper and deeper until they reached their destination.

Their birthplace was waiting for them.

Chapter Text

The soft murmur of voices was what gently pulled Hornet out of her slumber, her mask tucked against the rumbling chest of Nanny. How long had it been, since she had accepted such comfort? How long since she had felt a kind touch? Even if this were a dream, then perhaps lingering within it would not be too terrible. Had she not fulfilled her duty already? Did she not deserve some rest, some comfort?

The stasis of Hallownest had lasted for a time longer than she cared to count, but when the magic had been invoked, she had barely crawled out of her third pupation, caught in between childhood and adolescence. By the laws of Hallownest, she was still a child, and yet she had never been afforded the boon of childhood, of innocence. Her mother had tried, she had tried so hard to grant her some ignorance, but Hornet had always been a clever child, even before her Naming. She had seen the worry on her mother’s face, the tension in her sire’s eyes, the grief within the Root’s voice. And while her mother had tried to gift her childhood, her father had never attempted the same.

The attention she had once coveted was cold and distant, his uninterested gaze almost cruel to her childish mind. He held no love for her, no affection, and soon her adoration for him slipped into hurt, before hardening into disdain. It only grew worse after her mother fell into her slumber, taking Hollow with her. The Root left shortly after, some unspoken grief turning her away from her husband.

There was no Hollow for her to play with, no Lurien to trick, no Monomon to tell her stories of forgotten science, no Root to offer kind words, no mother to soothe her hurts. Her sire sent her off to train with Queen Vespa, an odd addition to some treaty or other, and when she returned, he was gone too.

And she was alone.

Hornet would never admit to anyone that she had wept at his disappearance, that she had screamed and wailed, because while he had never cared, he was still hers, her father-! Her body tensed up unwillingly at the reminder, and the voices surrounding her paused.

“Oh? Is she awake?” A honeyed voice asked, and she felt a cold claw rest against her mask, before it travelled down to her aching hand.

“It doth not seem so, Lady Midwife. Perhaps the pain of her injury hath caused her to stir?” Nanny’s words rumbled soothingly in her body, and Hornet found herself relaxing, even as she kept her eyes tightly shut.

“Hmmm, such an injury should be treated quickly. While shallow, it’ll certainly keep her from training practice for a few days, and I doubt she’ll be pleased about that. Remember when Herrah told her she had to wait for her second pupation before she could start training? I thought that pout would never leave her mask!” Midwife chortled, and the claw travelled back to her shoulder, shaking her gently.

“I apologise, child, for waking you so. But I must tend to your injury, before you find yourself unable to ever hold a Nail again!” Her voice was teasing, threaded with the humour Hornet had found herself missing in the days of the infection. How long had it been since she had seen Midwife? Their last parting had been... unfavourable, with her old caretaker pleading with her to take a rest, that she did not have to shoulder the world by herself, that her mother would have never wished such a fate for her. In a rare moment of childishness, Hornet had stormed out and refused to go back, and once the anger had simmered, felt too guilty to return. She opened her eyes slowly, blinked blearily at the lumafly lamp glinting softly in the infirmary, and let her eyes wander to a younger Midwife.

The eternal smile on her mask seemed to soften at her awakening, her claw reaching down to stroke her mask affectionately, while another gently grasped her injured hand.

“Hello, dear child. Let us take a look at this pesky injury, yes?” She tutted as she turned and twisted her claw, poking at affected area and apologising at Hornet’s sudden hiss of pain. Faster than she could really see, Midwife’s claws spun a spool of bandages around her wound, the cool Soul it was infused with granting relief to the burning sensation she hadn’t fully noticed.

“This one thanks thee, Lady Midwife. The princess wished to see her Lady Mother after a ‘mare, yet this one felt it was vital to tend to her wound first. We would not wish to worry the Queen, after all! Do thou know if the meeting continues?” Nanny asked, shuffling her body to better accommodate Hornet’s own. Hornet froze at the reminder.

How could she have stopped focusing on the situation at hand? This place was an unknown, no matter how achingly familiar it appeared before her. Was she truly so far gone that she would give up and wait for her death to come to her? She, Hornet, who had charged into the Black Egg, knowing it would kill her? Had she let the despair force her into complacency, tricking her into seeing the faces of those she once held dear?

But Nanny had said... No. Hornet swallowed, even as the embers of resolve flickered to life. She would wait and see what happened, to see if this was a dream or... something else.

“Ah, you just missed her, I’m afraid. She received an urgent missive from the Pale One, and left for his palace immediately. But,” Midwife said, turning to look at her with a kind smile, “I am certain she will be at your side by the end of the rest cycle. The moment you wake up, she will be there, of that I have no doubt.”

 If this was a dream, then its cruelty knew no bounds. She would never see her mother again, and the fact that these... impostors kept trying to convince her otherwise was both insulting and infuriating. She squirmed in Nanny’s arms, who carefully let her down to the floor, though she did rest a comforting claw on the top of her mask.

“This one apologises, young one, but do not be disparaged! Thy mother shall return soon. For now, however, this one feels quite peckish. Perhaps a snack, is in order. Midwife, would thee care to join us?”

“My dear Nanny, I would be delighted! There should be some left-over tik-tik roast, though maybe something sweeter is more to your tastes?” Midwife peered down at Hornet, her words a quiet encouragement, and she shrugged, even as the thought of finally tasting the food of her people made her mouth water.

“Now that won’t do. After all, a little lumafly told me there’s some Mimic Cakes left in the pantry.” Hornet couldn’t stop her uninjured claw from tightening around her sleeping gown, because how long had it been since she tasted her favourite dessert, made by the hands of her mother and drizzled in rare honey? Did she not deserve some indulgence? Ducking her mask, Hornet nodded, and Midwife’s grin seemed to stretch further.

“Excellent! Come along, young one. Would you like to be carried, or walk yourself?” She asked, and the childish part of Hornet was desperate to accept the offered comfort again, to give in to her whims and let herself be held and treated like a child. But the wary part, the part that was decorated with thorns and distance, suspicious of every offer, every claw outstretched, made her refuse. It was different just before, she tried to justify to herself, after all, she had been half-asleep and injured.

“No, I can walk,” she said quietly, ignoring the look exchanged between Nanny and Midwife.

“Very well then! Let’s go get a mid-cycle snack then, yes? Just don’t tell your mother!” Midwife winked at her with one of her many eyes, one claw gently taking her own, and despite her previous thoughts, Hornet found herself unable to slip out of the comforting grip. She let herself cling to Midwife’s hand, up until they reached the kitchens and she was settled into her chair. Nanny hovered around her, carefully pulling out a small plate decorated with little weaver-webs, and Hornet felt like bursting into tears again.

That had been her favourite plate as a child. She remembered how upset she had been when it broke during her move to the palace, another memento of her mother lost to some careless Retainer. Before she could become too lost in the memories, Midwife set down a Mimic Cake onto her plate, chewing on some grilled Tik-Tik absentmindedly. Nanny herself had begun to bustle around the kitchen, setting a kettle to boil and grabbing a small dustpan and broom.

“This one will go clean thy room, child. It would not do to have thou injure thyself again!” She declared over the whistle of the kettle, a free claw reaching over to stroke her mask affectionately, before disappearing into the darkness. Hornet stared after her for a moment, before the sound of a crunch made her whip her head back to Midwife, who was gleefully snacking on some dried Maggot.

“Well? The cake will go stale if you leave it too long!”

Hornet swallowed nervously, and reached down to carefully break a piece off, the stickiness an old familiarity on her fingers. Hesitantly, she pulled her claw up beneath her mask, and popped it into her mouth. She could feel her eyes burn as the sweetness burst upon her tongue, the tang of powdered Mimic mixing with syrupy honey, creating a flavour she hadn’t tasted in such a long time. As she chewed, she tried to keep the tears from leaking down her mask again and alerting Midwife, but she had always been perceptive.

(If this really was her Midwife, the cynical part of her hissed.)

“Oh child. That nightmare truly must have shaken you. Do you wish to discuss it?” Her voice was soft and gentle, and Hornet found her mouth beginning to move by itself, ready to spill everything to her caretaker, but discipline snapped into place at the last moment.

“No.”

She took another bite of the cake. The sweetness was overwhelming, almost too much on taste-buds that had subsided off of bland Tik-Tik and Mosscreepers. What was she doing here? Why was she staying, when everything about this screamed ‘trap!’ The dead could not return to their former selves, her home could not arrange itself back into the past, and she was letting herself be swept away by lies. Bile churned in her throat, and she dropped the cake on the table.

“...Gendered Child?” Midwife asked, concern lacing her words, and Hornet-

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t pretend.

She had to run.

“I want to go back to my room,” she said mechanically, hopping off her chair and starting to leave.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“...No.” She turned to exit, but paused as Midwife spoke again.

“If there is something wrong, dear child, please do not hesitate to speak to us. You are precious to us all, but most of all to your mother. If there’s anything you want to say... our webs are always open.”

Her voice was so earnest, so worried and tender. It had been so long since someone had been this worried about her.

So she did the only thing she could.

Hornet ran.

Ghost stared indignantly at the shut door, the pristine metal barely carrying a scratch from their barrage. Their Soul was drained from the variety of spells they had flung at it, desperately hoping that maybe this one would finally break down the damnable barrier before them. Of course, they had no such luck. Metal had always been fickle and unyielding to them, a fact that had infuriated them beyond belief as they traversed through Hallownest. But at least then, they were able to find a second path around the blockade. Here, however, there would be no such option.

Ghost was trapped.

Their tiny fists clenched without their notice, childish fury bubbling up in their chest. Emotions had always been a strange, unwieldy thing to them, but ever since entering this slumbering Kingdom, their feelings had slowly made more and more sense. And now, a burning sense of injustice threatened to boil over. This wasn’t fair. They had done their duty. They had banished the Radiance, had stopped the infection, had saved Hallownest. Didn’t they deserve their peace? Didn’t they deserve to rest and play and be with their friends and family? In a rare burst of anger, they let their claws slam against the door, and a dull thud echoed through the dark. Pain shot up their arm at the impact, and they grumbled soundlessly to themself.

The anger slowly drifted off, replaced instead with a familiar emptiness they hated so much. It sank in their chitin like a stone in water, weighing their small body down and forcing a heavy blanket over their thoughts. Was this how Hollow felt, they wondered distantly. Was this what they forced themself to go through?

A loud clanging sound ricocheted through the Abyss, and Ghost startled, hanging mask snapping back up to attention. A thread of hope bloomed through the cracks of the void they had used to swallow their emotions. Another sound rung out, this time the screech of metal as a door was opened, and their hands shook in excitement.

They weren’t forgotten. They would not be left behind again.

Someone cared.

A shadowy figure stepped through the opening, the King’s Brand gleaming like a lantern on the bug’s arm, and Ghost’s eyes travelled up, up, up, until they met the uninfected eyes of their taller sibling.

Hollow tilted their head at the sight of them, and quickly kneeled, hesitantly stretching out an arm to them. Ghost had no such caution, and launched themself at them. They stumbled back in surprise, but recovered quickly, long arms coming to rest around their own stunted form. Neither of them could speak or form words, but the gentle embrace they gave to each other spoke enough. Before long, Ghost pulled back, and tugged softly on Hollow’s arm emblazoned with the Brand, a wordless question clear to both of them.

How did they get their arm back?

Hollow swayed softly, seeming to think about how to best explain, before they reached up with their free arm and made a sweeping motion. Ghost tilted their head, and their sibling gave a silent huff. They slowly took their arm back from Ghost, and tucked it behind their back, their other arm tapping the cold ground beneath them. Then, with a slow careful stroke, they drew a line backwards, bringing out their branded arm as they did so. The smaller vessel paused, and pondered the gesture. Back? Were they... back? It was times like these where they wished they could write.

Oh.

Squirming slightly to catch Hollow’s attention, they pointed at the ground and made writing motions. Their sibling squinted, before shrugging, pointing towards the King’s Tablet behind them. Ghost nodded, and hurriedly stood up, latching onto their taller sibling’s arm and tugging them over. Hollow bent over the tablet, carefully tracing the words with their finger, tapping at single letters occasionally. Ghost followed the movement with rapt eyes, slowly understanding the message their sibling tried to tell them.

Higher beings, these words are for you alone.
Our pure Vessel has ascended.
Beyond lies only the refuse and regret of its creation.
We shall enter that place no longer.

Bac in tiwe? What? Their confusion must have shown on their face, as Hollow pointed at the letters again, more insistently, and made a flipping motion at the W.

W... M? Did they mean M? Bac in time, they thought again.

Back... in time? They turned to look at their sibling, who nodded slowly, tapping at the tablet again.

Back in time. They were back in time.

Fuc, they pointed out in response.

Hollow gave them a look.

NOi, they wrote out quickly in response, sending them a stern look. Ghost snickered silently, before studying the tablet as Hollow began to tap out another message.

Find sister.

Hornet, they asked, and their sibling nodded.

Infection. Radiance.

Hollow flinched backwards, shoulders hunching at Ghost’s words, and they quickly hurried over to their trembling sibling, small hands reaching out in apology. Some wounds would not heal just by going back in time, Ghost thought grimly. Their poor sibling had been trapped in that place for so long... of course reminding them of Her would cause them to panic. Hollow grabbed their hands and held them tightly, body shaking at some unseen memory, and Ghost wanted to weep. How cruel the world had been to them both. The two siblings held on to each other until Hollow seemed to calm down, even as they twitched at every bright light.

Unsure. Did not see. Dead. The last word was most likely a question, and Ghost shrugged uncomfortably.

Probably. Feathers. Screaw. Hollow did not seem reassured, but nodded hesitantly nonetheless. Perhaps luck would grant them both a break, and let Her finally be dead. Their sibling had been tormented enough.

Hornet. Ghost tapped out, and it seemed to do its job in distracting Hollow. They nodded again, and pointed upwards.

Find. Deepnest.

Ghost shuddered at the reminder. But their sister was more important.

Deepnest. They spelled out in agreement, and Hollow seemed to brighten.

Despite their own hesitance at entering Deepnest, even Ghost could not deny the excitement that bloomed up at the thought of seeing their sister again. Hollow must have sensed their glee, as they slowly reached out to grab their hand.

Together, they said, unspoken. Ghost nodded.

Together. Siblings had to stay together after all.

Hollow’s chest bubbled with emotions, a feat they had previously suppressed until it ached. How vibrant and deep every feeling was, they thought. Happiness buzzed through their Soul like a Hiveling with honey, relief swept in their limbs like a cooling balm, worry pricked at their chitin as though they had touched a charged lumafly swarm, and fear felt like being drowned in tar and acid. Fear was one emotion they were intimately familiar with.

It wasn’t one they liked.

Love for their sibling, however, was a breath of fresh air, a soothing blanket after a long day training, a grounding hand pulling them out of the swirling void. The two siblings were silent as they crept towards Deepnest, steadily climbing out of the Ancient Basin. There was a flurry of movement at one point, Kingsmoulds trotting out from the direction of the White Palace, and they had both frozen until the guards passed. Ghost, it seemed, had finally realised that Hollow’s outing was most likely unauthorised. Their smaller sibling paused for a moment, before using their claws to mimic a crown.

Hollow did not respond immediately. They knew their question.

What about the Pale King?

Truth was, they did not know. They loved their father, they truly did, but... they could not stand to witness his disappointment in them. Not when they knew that Ghost and Hornet were out there. Perhaps, one day, they could face their father again, with both of their siblings at their side. But for now, Hollow settled on shaking their head. Ghost accepted their response without question, instead reaching over to give them a comforting pat, before they flung themself upwards at the next cliff. Hollow scrambled after them, long limbs easily lifting them after their wayward sibling. They both stuck to the shadows, Hollow easily cloaking their bodies in void whenever it seemed someone was getting closer.

Gradually they reached the tramway, hauling themselves up onto the gleaming metal. Ghost turned to look at their taller sibling, head tilted curiously.

How were they going to take the tram without alerting anyone?

Hollow tapped their claws nervously, eyeing up the tightly sealed entrance to Deepnest, and wondered if the gamble would be worth it. They had packed up their tram-pass before leaving, and while it was certainly the quickest way to get to Hornet, the trams weren’t known for being discreet or silent. They dithered for a moment. The only other way into Deepnest was through the Royal Waterways and then the Fungal Wastes, but who knew how many patrols they would come across that way? Especially since the guards would most likely be on high alert.

Were Hollow capable of sighing, they would have released a tired exhale. Instead, they gently tugged Ghost along towards the tram stop, and inserted their card. They would both have to hope that the Kingsmoulds and guards were too far away to notice the rumbling of the tram. Hollow winced reflectively at the loud screech that heralded the arrival of their escape, but darted on board nonetheless. Ghost eagerly bounded after them, small claws tangled in their larger robes. The taller sibling couldn’t stop the rush of affection in their chest, and the carefully leaned down to bump Ghost’s mask with their own. They clung back in return, nuzzling back with a fervour that warmed Hollow’s very Soul.

They could get used to this, they thought. A small thread of sorrow made its way through the comfort however, as they recalled their father and mother, and how restrained they had always been to their empty child. Why hadn’t their father tried for another way? Why did this have to be the best solution?

As though sensing their tumultuous thoughts, Ghost bumped their masks again, a tiny claw patting the smooth white of their larger mask. A part of Hollow wished they could laugh, could smile, could weep and let their smaller sibling know just how appreciated they were. Instead they rested held Ghost close, hoping that this simple embrace would be enough for them to know.

They parted reluctantly as the tram came to a halt, the wheels shrieking into the slithering silence outside. Ghost in particular seemed unhappy to step into Deepnest, but they charged ahead nonetheless, mask tilting back every so often to make sure Hollow was following. They carefully made their way into the narrow caverns, with Hollow occasionally smacking a Dirtcarver out of the way. Ghost looked put out at the realisation that they lacked a Nail, and Hollow had to restrain themself from offering up their larger one, even as their sibling kept on sneaking glances towards it. Still, they trudged on. The Garpedes seemed utterly unaware of their presence, instead continuing their burrowing without a care to the two vessels trying to hop between them.

After what seemed like an inordinate amount of time later, Hollow and Ghost finally found themselves by the hot spring. Ghost scurried over to the water without a care, immediately dunking themself into the steaming water. Hollow carefully followed, shrugging off their cloak, before sinking in alongside their sibling. The warm water immediately soothed any aches that had accumulated in their body, and they could feel their Soul slowly being replenished with magic. Ghost paddled happily beside them, and Hollow couldn’t stop the drowsiness slowly forcing their mask to droop.

A soft tapping sound echoed in the distance.

The two vessels immediately froze, before darting into action. Hollow draped their cloak back around them, while Ghost stood defensively in front of their elder sibling. The tapping grew louder, and Hollow tilted their head cautiously.

It sounded like someone running.

Something skidded into the room, a blur of red and silver and white, and Ghost seemed to beam in absolute glee. The being slid to a halt, brandishing a Needle far too large for such a small body and-

Hollow found themself looking at a very small Hornet. The feral fury in her eyes seemed to lessen at the sight of them, and she paused.

“Hollow? Ghost? Is that you? Really you?” She croaked out, and Ghost nodded happily, while Hollow carefully inclined their head. They tugged aside their cloak to show their little sister the King’s Brand, and her eyes scanned it carefully.

“It is you,” she sighed out in relief, voice wobbly and unstable. Ghost leapt over to give her a hug.

Hornet promptly burst into tears.

Chapter Text

Hornet should have been embarrassed. She wanted to feel embarrassed. How immature of her to break down weeping at the mere sight of her siblings, and the part of her that had been cultivated from thorns and isolation tutted at her weakness. But she was tired. So, so tired, and after being surrounded by so much familiar unfamiliarity, she thought that perhaps... she could give in. Just for a moment.

Hornet let herself be swept up in a hug by Hollow, Ghost clinging on to her arm, and let herself breathe. Her taller sibling was a sturdy pillar in the gale of her worry and confusion, and she couldn’t help but be so, so grateful for them both. How long had it been since the Pure Vessel had indulged her like this? Too long. Far too long, and even if she wasn’t a grub anymore, their embrace was just as she remembered it. Something squirmed against her chest, and she watched as Ghost wiggled their way between them, small claws hooked into her clothes. Unable to hold back a watery scoff, she let them shuffle until they were comfortable.

“Silly little Ghost,” she murmured into their mask, her voice undeniably fond, and their grip grew tighter. Hollow’s own lanky form was practically draped around the both of them, a gentle barrier against the world beyond, and Hornet released a shuddering sigh. Her sibling almost seemed... even taller than before. Even Ghost seemed to have grown.

What had happened in that blank space between the final battle and her awakening? Whatever it was, it had somehow deepened a bond between the three of them, a bond she hadn’t known was formed in the first place. How strange that battle could forge a kinship between three abandoned siblings. Ghost reached up with a claw to pat her mask, kindly, softly, oh so gently as though she would shove them away.

She should. She should. They all had to concentrate, had to come up with... a plan of some sort. She could no longer indulge herself in kind touches and gentle comfort. No, now she had to be the protector, the daughter, the survivor.

But she was tired. So, so tired of standing straight and fierce, of protecting a kingdom that no longer existed, of watching all those she loved crumble into insanity, leaving her behind. Had she not done enough? She had gone above and beyond her duty, had no real duty in the first place and yet-

She stayed. She warped herself for the memory of a bug who had left her behind without a second thought, for the foolish belief that perhaps her mother would break out of her eternal sleep if the seal broke, for a kingdom dead and gone, decaying and festering in the secrets it left behind.

And it had been for nothing.

The bitterness, the fury, the screaming child asking ‘why, why, why’ finally broke free.

A wail tore loose from her chest, broken, grieving, and oh so tired. She could feel her siblings reaching around her, clutching her tightly as she finally let herself weep for the years stolen from her, for everything she had lost, for her mother, her father, for Hollow and Ghost, for all the siblings tossed away like they were nothing, for the infection and the unfairness of it all.  She wept for all the times she could not afford to. Hollow let her cling to them, gentle claws holding her tightly, while Ghost tangled their fingers in her robes, mask resting against her shoulder. Hornet couldn’t help but relish in the comfort she had denied herself for so long. She let out a shuddering sob, mask bowed against Hollow. These were her siblings. Children who had been thrown away like her, who had been forced to go through trials and tribulations that no bug should have to go through, who she barely knew yet loved anyway.

Theirs was a bond of blood and grief, of sacrifice and duty, something that went beyond the essence of their sire.

Finally, after who knew how long, Hornet forced herself out of the embrace, sobs having calmed down into hiccups and the occasional tremble. Hollow lingered, claws brushing against her back cautiously, before pulling back. Ghost however remained close by, hand ensnared in her clothes. She didn’t have the heart to shake them off, and let them cling happily to her. She sighed softly. Hornet had indulged for long enough, no matter how much she wished they could continue. Later, she thought hesitantly. Now though, they needed to talk and plan, especially if the Nosks had finally noticed her absence.

“Hollow, Ghost, what happened after the fight? Where are we? How long has it been?” Her voice was wobbly, but she forced herself to inject as much of her old sternness as possible. She had been too soft already, too childish, and it was time to wrap herself in iron and thorns again. At least for now.

Ghost flailed at her words, stubby arms sweeping around in wild gestures she could never hope to understand. Hornet turned to look at Hollow instead, who gave her a hesitant look, before pointing to the hot spring’s water.

“No, Hollow, we do not have time to rest further. I barely was able to escape the Nosks in Deepnest, and I am sure they have noticed my disappearance by now.”

They shook their head and pointed again, more insistent this time. Hornet’s eyes narrowed at their gesture, before slowly approaching the spring they seemed so desperate for her to go to.

“Fine, but only for a short-!” She began to say, only to freeze at the tiny figure that stared back at her from the water. Small, stubby horns, mask almost too big for the young body holding it up, the chitin soft and warm, just like a grub barely out of its first moulting.

No. No, no, this had to be some trick. With a trembling claw, she reached up to touch her mask. The illusion in the water did the same, face scrunched up in horror.

“Hollow,” she whispered softly, fingers trembling as she felt her brittle mask, “what the fuck.”

Their hand came down to swat her mask, eyes narrowed in a stern reprimand, but she ducked away, claws reaching up to grab their own, and oh Gods, how had she not noticed how small her hand is?

“Hollow. What Era is it?” Her sibling looked at her hesitantly, before slowly reaching up to tap the side of their mask. The gesture was clear.

Thought. It was the Era of Thought. An Era left behind with the sealing of Hollow so long ago, whose sacrifice was only remembered through thin platitudes and their spineless father naming the next Era after them. Except, it hadn’t happened here yet, had it?

Hornet swallowed.

(She could almost hear her tutors reciting the Eras in a low drone, brushing off her questions about the Era of Void and the Era of Moth, instead focusing only on history after the Era of Wyrm. She wondered what they would say about the Era of Ruin, and how it came to be because of her father’s arrogance.)

“Do you know the year?” She asked quietly, voice weak and brittle. Hollow shrugged, eyes narrowing in uncertainty, before holding up nine fingers. A choked laugh bubbled up, because that meant she was barely five years old, stuck in the past with a sibling and mother doomed to be sacrifices while her smaller sibling remained trapped in a graveyard for another two Eras.

“So we’re in the past then?”

Hollow nodded slowly, and Ghost tilted their mask curiously. She gave them an absentminded pat, thoughts whirling with the implications of their situation.

They had been real. That had been Nanny. That had been Midwife.

She could have seen her mother again.

No.

She would see her mother again. But she refused to have her mother back only to lose her yet again.

Her claws balled up into fists, and she released a shuddering breath, casting a final look at her childish reflection. If they were in the past, then they’d have to make the most of it. Hollow would not become sealed, Ghost would not be forgotten, and her mother... her mother would live.

They all would, no matter what. Hornet was the Daughter of Hallownest, its protector and heir, but she would not let her family go for anything.

“Right then,” she finally said, a familiar steel in her words. “What’s the plan?”

Herrah tapped her claws impatiently against the meeting table the Pale King had sought fit to bring them to, and wished the silly wyrm would finally turn up. The missive had made it sound urgent, and yet the bastard couldn’t even deign to appear as though he was waiting for them. Monomon looked just as irritated, though knowing her, it was less about being forced to come so early in the cycle, and rather about being interrupted in the middle of an experiment. Lurien, the bootlicker, looked delighted to be at his king’s service.

She scoffed, before grinning at the flinch of one of the king’s aides. Beast, they whispered behind her back, uncivilised, savage, a lawless killer. And yet they still wore the silk of her finest weavers, as though they earned it.

“Did you desire to speak?” Lurien asked icily, and Herrah let herself lean back, eyes lazily examining the form of the Watcher. What a ridiculous title.

“No, I am simply wondering where your esteemed ruler is,” she drawled out, delighting in the way he puffed up furiously at the implication that she was not under his kingdom. Well, she wasn’t. The Pale King may believe he had her under his thumb, but the bugs of Deepnest were hardy, strong, resilient. They would last well beyond her Dream, led by her dear daughter.

“I too would like to know. I was conducting a time sensitive experiment when I was called, and soon wish to return. I imagine Herrah wishes to return to her daughter,” Monomon spoke up, and Lurien immediately softened at the reminder of the Gendered Child. As much as he disliked her, he could not deny his fondness for her child.

Her precious gift, her heart and soul, her sweet, strong daughter. Herrah could not stop the quiet joy that swelled up whenever her child was mentioned, and the impatience to go back became stronger. Finally the door slammed open, and the Pale King hurried in, eyes narrowed in deep thought. He looked... ragged.

Well this would be interesting.

“My King,” Lurien said reverently, jumping up to bow to the wyrm, but he waved him off, instead settling at the head of the table.

“We have a dire issue,” he said stiffly, as though the words physically pained him to say.

Herrah tilted her head curiously.

“How so?” Monomon questioned, all irritation thrown out the window at the possibility of a problem for her to solve.

“The Pure Vessel was discovered to be missing from its quarters during the sleep cycle, and has been evading return since,” the king explained lowly, face tight with something she couldn’t quite read. Disappointment? Guilt? Fury? She couldn’t say she pitied him, the poor Vessel had probably snapped under the pressure and ran away. As blind as the king tried to be towards it, anyone with eyes could see that it wasn’t as ‘pure’ as it was proclaimed to be.

“Perhaps it wished to sightsee,” she called out, unable to stop her grin at the furious glare he sent her.

“It does not wish,” he bit back, his veneer of regal elegance slowly coming undone.

“Oh? Then did you forget to switch it off after storing it for the night? Did it wander away under mistaken orders?” She probably shouldn’t be antagonising him, but oh, he was making it so easy. How Root put up with him she didn’t know.

“If anything, I thought you could tell me the answer to that. My guards reported the trail ending in the direction of Deepnest. Perhaps you had a hand?” His words were cold, calculated, and she hissed at the insult.

“Excuse me?” She leaned forward in fury at the implication.

“You heard me well and clear, Herrah. The Beasts of Deepnest’s distaste for Hallownest is not unknown.”

“I should kill you for the mere suggestion, wyrm. We have a pact, and while your subjects may be slimy enough to forget it, mine would honour our word until their deaths.” Her voice was quiet, almost gentle, but the rage was unmistakeable.

“Unless you ordered them to,” Lurien said calmly, and she turned to glare at him. How dare he?

How dare he?

Herrah stood up to her full height, uncaring of the guards shifting into defensive at her movement.

“Spit out your accusations as you wish, wyrm, but know that the bugs of Deepnest have held no involvement in this, this I swear to you on my child. But we shall not forget this slight.”

“I see.”

Were she a lesser ruler, she would spit at him. She would play no more part in this. If the King of Hallownest wished to poke the web, then let him. Herrah turned to leave, but an aide burst through the doors, eyes wide in terror.

“Weavers have reported seeing the Pure Vessel with the Gendered Child, and claim that it is currently on the move with her and another bug similar to it! There appeared to be a struggle, before it departed in a hurry with her on its back!” They gasped out, and her vision went red.

Her child. Her precious, sweet little grub, so eager, so joyful, gone.

“Did you put it up to this?” She whispered, claws gripping the table tightly enough for cracks to form. Lurien and Monomon reared back, and the king appeared startled for a moment.

“Answer me, wyrm!” Her voice echoed through the chamber, and the snap of the stone table followed it soon after.

“I did not kidnap her, Herrah.”

“Then why am I hearing of my daughter’s disappearance at the hands of your so called ‘Pure Vessel’? Why would you accuse me of stealing it away, if not to cover up your hand in this? You dare to encroach on my territory, to allege the work of Deepnest in your machinations, to drag my child into it all?”

“I would not wish to harm her. I am her father,” the Pale King finally snapped out, standing out of his seat to face her fully. Herrah couldn’t stop the derisive laugh bubbling out of her thorax at his words.

“You are her sire perhaps, but her father? No. You do not raise her, you do not hold her when she has a nightmare, you do not wake her up in the morning, you do not hunt and cook for her. You are not her father. No, you never desired to be one. A bug would merely have to look at your twisted creation to know this. You, wyrm, are father of nothing,” she snarled to him, vicious glee bubbling up within her as she watched him flinch in horror.

She took a shuddering breath, forcing the anger down before she spoke again.

“If my child is not returned within seven cycles, then know that we will have war, Pale King.” Herrah turned to leave, footsteps clicking against the white tile of the palace. But before she exited, she paused.

“And even if she is back home, whole and hale, our deal is broken. I will not be a Dreamer for a fool.” She clicked out a final insult, and left, the rage simmering down into a desperate panic as she hurried to the Stag station.

She would find her daughter.

And if the Vessel tried to stop her? Infection or not, she would not hesitate to strike it down.

Herrah swore it.

“This is degrading,” Hornet bit out, and Ghost gleefully pranced ahead, watching their sister be carried like a sack of crystals by their tallest sibling. Hollow had insisted on carrying her after everything; particularly as she was... well, small. Ghost was overjoyed that she was now the same size as them. Plus, her needle was far too big for her to use, and as they would be scaling walls for the better part of Deepnest... it was just quicker to pick her up. The caves were eerily quiet compared to their trips here before, and a part of them was relieved by it.

Deepnest reminded them too much of the Abyss to be comfortable, but with luck, they would be out in the Fungal Wastes soon. The plan they had... attempted to form was shoddy at best, but considering two of them were physically incapable of speaking, they all had to make do. For now they aimed to head for the Resting Grounds while avoiding any attention. Ghost glanced up at their grumbling sister and towering sibling, and decided that would most likely be easier said than done.

Still, it was something. Hopefully the Elder Moth could give them some advice about the Radiance and whether she was still around or not. With luck, she would be dead and gone, and Hornet could see her mother, Hollow could be free, and Ghost wouldn’t be forced to spend several decades trapped with the corpses of their siblings.

Ghost got first go at hitting the Pale King. Hollow was too reluctant to hurt their father, and Hornet would probably maul him if given the chance, so it was best if they did it. It was a responsibility they carried proudly. Perhaps after giving him a good wallop, he’d understand the error of his ways and be better? Hornet didn’t speak much of him, and what little she did was usually said so derisively that the doubted they would get a good picture of him. Hollow always looked so sad when he was brought up, but there was a spark of joy at the same time, and Ghost remembered that almost tender moment between father and child in the memory of the White Palace. And yet... while Ghost didn’t know him, there was a part of them that couldn’t forgive him for what he had done.

They remembered Hollow’s panic attack at the mere mention of the Radiance, Hornet’s bitter fury at the bug that had abandoned her, the forgotten corpses of children tossed away like dolls.

And for what point? For a plan that was doomed to fail from the beginning? For a kingdom slowly rotting away under the veneer of success?

No, Ghost could not forgive him. Maybe one day they would get to know him, would come to love him as much as Hollow, but... in their eyes, they already had a father. Ghost almost lost their grip at the sudden thought, a grim sorrow gripping their insides.

“Ghost?” Hornet called out, mask peeking out from Hollow’s shoulders, and Ghost waved her off. She tilted her head, eyes narrowed and unconvinced, but didn’t try to pry. The look on her mask told them that she would later though, once the threat of being caught had lessened.

They hoped Mato was doing alright. But a part of them hoped he would exit his mountain home and try to look for them, for the child he had proclaimed as his. They had wasted many an hour simply... sitting with him under the guise of meditating, slowly shuffling closer and closer, until he had let out a booming laugh and placed them on his lap.

They had felt... safe.

Perhaps even loved.

Ghost was suddenly glad they could not cry, for surely they would have begun to weep by this point. Instead they forced themself to focus on scaling the steep walls before them, the smell of the Fungal Wastes tantalisingly close. They could think about it later. The rest of the trip upwards was relatively silent, and the moment they finally hit the top they couldn’t help but be relieved. Hornet looked tentatively back down, before straightening and wriggling to signal she wished to be put down. Ghost hid a snicker at the indignant look on her mask as Hollow carefully lowered her rather than letting her drop down.

“Honestly, Hollow, just because I look like a grub doesn’t mean I am one,” she muttered lowly. Their sibling only gave her mask an affectionate stroke, before striding forwards, head tilting as they took in their environment. Ghost darted forward to pat their sister as well, before ducking away from her swat. Her eyes were narrowed in annoyance, but there was something playful in them, and they bounced in glee.

As Hollow wandered in front of them, Ghost and Hornet made a game of it, each trying to tap each other on the mask when they least expected it. Joy bubbled up in their chest, because how long had they wanted to play with someone like this, to laugh and run, acting like a child uncaring of who saw them.

Suddenly Hollow lashed out, claws reaching out to tap both of them on their masks without warning. Ghost and Hornet froze for a second, and it was enough for Hollow to begin sprinting, something smug and delighted in their posture.

“...We’re going to get them, Ghost.”

The two siblings dashed after their swaying sibling, watching as they exaggerated their long gait to duck away from their swipes. Hornet’s eyes were ablaze with overjoyed determination, soft giggles occasionally escaping her mask, and Ghost couldn’t stop the fierce warmth in their chest at the sight of it all.

If this was family, then they only wished they had found it sooner.

Chapter Text

Root watched her husband pace back and forth in their shared bedroom, and tried not to sigh for the twentieth time. His mumbling truly was becoming incessant, especially when he wasn’t the only one who would suffer due to his incompetence. After another minute of pacing, she finally had enough.

“You’ve mucked it up quite a bit, haven’t you,” she said kindly, roots reaching out to grab her husband and pull him against her chest. He struggled for a bit, before giving up.

“I resent that statement. I was simply defending my honour, our honour! Suggesting that I would ever do such a thing- It was disrespectful beyond belief.”

His voice was muffled by her robes, and she slowly let go of him, peering down at his scowling face with affection.

“You’ve ruined a perfectly good friendship, you know. How am I supposed to show my face at our weekly luncheon if she wants to kill you?”

“She’s always wanted to kill me, dear.”

Well, he was right about that. Herrah had propositioned her several times to just ‘do in’ her ‘no-good husband’ and take Hallownest for herself. It sounded fun, but she had no doubt that it would be far too much work. Also, as much as he was an idiot, she was quite fond of her husband, and wouldn’t appreciate him dying anytime soon. Letting out a soft sigh, she pressed an affectionate kiss to his forehead.

“Yes, she says as much during our weekly meetings,” she said, ignoring his disgruntled tone, “but never this much. Honestly, just return the child-”

“You think I had something to do with it?!” He pushed away from her, and looked at her indignantly. Root tilted her head in surprise.

“You usually do, sweetling. Losing both of your children in one night? It sincerely sounds like a plot that only you could come up with.”

“I wouldn’t kidnap my own daughter!”

She couldn’t stop her eyes widening in doubt.

“Are you sure? It’s alright to admit that you don’t know how to ask Herrah for shared custody, you’ve never been very good in the social department.”

Her beloved Wyrm turned to scowl at her, pulling himself away from her embrace.

“Root, this is serious!”

“I am being perfectly serious. I bet you Hornet is off on a hunt to prove herself to her mother, and she’s somehow gotten our Hollow involved. We’ll give them a stern talking to when they return, but ultimately allow Hollow to see her more often, since it’s not good to isolate a child for this long,” she told him, a soft smile overtaking her face.

She’d been so desperate to interact with their child properly, but her beloved husband’s restrictions were... painful. But now... now there was nothing stopping her from ‘corrupting’ their child, not when they already seemed to be ‘corrupted’ by emotions. Still, it didn’t excuse her own actions in isolating the poor child, and she’d always regret letting Wyrm push her away from the vessel, especially when it appeared to have damaged them so much. Wyrm continued his muttering, but paused at her suggestion.

“Maybe, but- Hang on, are you suggesting we... treat the Vessel like a bug?”

“I think it’s been fully proven that our child has emotions. Speaking of, Hollow is such a nasty name, no child of mine should have a name that silly! I suggest Briar, or Rain.”

“No we- We aren’t giving it a name!”

“Them, dear. At least try. I’ve always liked the name Leif.”

“Leif? Absolutely not, if anything, they’d be named Alban or Caerwyn- that is beside the point. They’re hollow! They have no emotions! They’re meant to trap the Radiance!”

“I believe that plan has sailed, my love. Also, Alban? My love, I refuse to call our child that. But Caerwyn... Perhaps that has some merit.”

Her husband sputtered at her words, mask gradually becoming more agitated at her fond musings, until she finally took pity.

“Husband, it must be obvious to you that we cannot continue as is. The Vessel has proven to have a will of their own. Is there not any other way to stop the infection? Perhaps a discussion with the Radiance...?” she trailed off at the distaste on Wyrm’s face, and sighed.

“My Root, you cannot reason with her. Being forgotten has warped her- do not give me that look, it is not my fault her followers liked me more than her!”

“Oh? So you did not encourage it?”

“...we are not having this discussion; it brings no merit to the current conversation.”

Root looked at him doubtfully, and he grimaced.

“I will... consider it. An alternative would have had to be created in the case of the Vessel failing, so this just gives me incentive. But back to the imminent threat at hand, Herrah. We must defuse the current tensions quickly.”

“My dear, she is a bug who has just lost her only child. I would react much the same way had I been told that my child was stolen in the night, potentially by the other child of my child’s sire. I said potentially, stop with that pout. I will speak to her. She is a dear friend of mine, and I hold her daughter close to my own soul. Meanwhile... I would deploy the Great Knights. Dryya is an excellent tracker, though I will have to convince her to leave my side, especially during my meeting with Herrah.”

Oh, she would not be looking forward to that at all. Dryya was a wonderful companion and friend, but her devotion to her duties could be... an issue. She sighed softly, and leaned down to place another kiss on her husband’s face, folding him into her arms.

“Come now, my dear. It will turn out alright. I shall send a missive to Herrah, and you shall deploy the Knights. This mess will be cleaned up soon. Now stop fussing, and go to sleep.”

He looked like he wanted to protest, but after a moment of hesitation, his tenseness fled, and he leaned into her touch.

“Very well, my love. And I... apologise. I know I have not been the easiest to deal with lately.”

She placed a gentle hand beneath his chin and knocked their masks together.

“You have been under a tremendous amount of stress. No-bug can withstand that pressure alone, god or not. Let me take on some of that burden, dearheart.”

With a final sigh, he nodded, and pressed a kiss to her own mask.

“Yes, love.”

Hollow had grown used to the constant aches and pains their time trapping the Radiance had gifted them, and yet, for the first time in decades, there was no agony in every move, no soreness blossoming across their limbs and forcing them to stand crooked. Even the phantom ache of their lost arm had disappeared.

It was such a small, silly thing to notice as they gleefully ran away from their siblings, yet they couldn’t help but marvel at the ease in which they could move. Pain was something they had become familiar with in the Black Egg, the talons of the Radiance’s will clawing into their carapace and mind, shredding everything that stood between her and freedom into pieces. But now... now there was nothing. Liquid fire did not burn through their chitin every moment of the day; they could happily run and play with their siblings without stumbling from the agony that snaked its way through their very Soul.

And wasn’t that a marvel in of itself? Playing and indulging themself in emotions that their father had believed they never had. It made something in their chest ache, a quiet happiness that did not hurt so much as it made them regret. Could they have had all this sooner if they had run before? Would they have escaped the pain? Their musings brought them to a halt, the tiny forms of their siblings crashing into them and causing Hollow to stumble.

Hornet’s mask was alight with glee, her claws threaded into their robes as she bumped her mask against their own.

“Caught you,” she said cheerfully, looking like the small child she was, but had never been allowed to be. Ghost shuffled beside her, clearly trying to convey something similar as they butted their mask against Hollow’s shoulder. The ache in their chest swelled, blossoming from regret into-

Affection. Adoration.

Definitely love.

In that moment, Hollow cursed their father. What for, they weren’t sure, but... he had kept them from this, whether purposefully or in his own ignorance. But it didn’t matter, not when the damage had already scored deep wounds onto their Soul. They had lost something in the Black Egg. Innocence perhaps. Or maybe they had never had any in the first place, the small part of them that was a child being stamped out by notions of duty and perfection. But now... now they could start again. All of them.

Hornet’s mask was scuffed, they noticed distantly, long arms reaching over to hold both her and Ghost in a tight embrace, their smaller void sibling covered in dust and dirt. The disciplined part of them hissed at Hollow to move, to stop fooling around and wasting time and disappointing everyone-

Perfection, they thought, cutting off the spiralling negativity in their mind, was worthless if it did not contain moments like this. Maybe they should get a move on, but this... they wanted to cherish this. Holding their siblings close, mask pressed affectionately against their smaller ones, indulging in time that they had chosen to gift each other.

That was perfection, in their mind. And it was beautiful.

The three of them let themselves linger with each other, affectionate touches which had been foreign for so, so long finally in abundance. It was only when Hornet’s stomach gave a low grumble did they part, silent laughter shaking through Hollow’s body at their sister’s embarrassed look.

“Don’t laugh! I haven’t eaten in hours,” she complained, but there was a smile in her eyes. Ghost clapped their hands happily, leaping off of their taller sibling to point at the abundance of fungi growing everywhere. Hornet’s mask tilted backwards in horror.

“Absolutely not! Most mushrooms are inedible to bugs outside of the Fungal Wastes, and no, we can’t eat some of the pests wandering around either. They’re poisonous too,” she scolded, claws resting on her waist. The effect was somewhat diminished by her tiny size, and from the shrug that Ghost gave her, they knew it too. Hornet scoffed, but there was no malice in it, and she gave them a shrug of her own.

“If we want to eat something, then we’re going to have to go to the Queen’s Garden to secretly hunt down some Maskflies or Mossflies, because otherwise there isn’t anything naturally edible until we reach the Crossroads or Greenpath. Not unless either of you fancy taking a trip to the City of Tears?”

Ghost perked up at the mention of the city, but Hollow shook their head. The city would be crawling with guards, and as their absence was not exactly... approved, they did not doubt that their father’s agents would come down upon them instantly. But the Queen’s Garden would also be crawling with servants loyal to their mother. And then there was the issue of the Queen’s Station; at this point of time, it would be a hub of activity. They would have to sneak in, or somehow disguise themselves to get past.

A quick glance at the noticeable curve of Hornet’s horns, and the unnatural wisp of void on Ghost’s body, Hollow doubted that would work. Hornet was too small anyway to set off alone, her tiny body barely able to lift up her own needle. Ghost would be better, but they were missing their nail, and Hollow’s own nail would be far too large. Letting out a soft huff, they tilted their head in the direction of the Garden. They could pull down some foliage and other things to try and cover each other up. Perhaps some mushrooms could be used to make a fake shell? Hollow tried to mime this to their siblings.

Hornet’s eyes narrowed in confusion, and Ghost blinked up at them. A silent groan escaped their chest. Dipping the tips of their claws in some nearby mushroom spores, they began to scrawl out words in the dirt.

DISGUISE WITH LEAVES FROM GARDEN

“That’s... not a bad idea. There’s a secluded area just between the Wastes and the Garden, so if we grab something there to hide us with...” she trailed off, staring intently off into the distance as though she were lost in thought. Finally, she piped up again:

“If it’s convincing enough, then we could even take a stag to the Resting Grounds without too much suspicion.”

Hollow had only been to the Grounds once, just before their sealing. It was meant as a gesture of respect to those who had perished in the infection, as well as a promise to make sure no more deaths would occur.

Bitterness welled up in them at the reminder of their failure, their limbs instinctively flinching in shame. Hornet looked up at them, worry in their posture, while Ghost quickly latched onto their free hand. They shrugged softly, before waving their hand dismissively, ignoring the concerned look their siblings exchanged. Hornet darted over to grab their other hand.

“Just so that we all stick together,” she explained hurriedly, splotches of embarrassment on her cheeks, and Hollow trembled in voiceless laughter. But Hollow eagerly latched onto her claws, nail hefted on their back so that their siblings had their whole hand to their selves.

The yellow shimmer of the Wastes slowly deepened into the lush green of their mother’s gardens, mushrooms shrinking down into thick leaves, the foliage resting heavily on every surface available. They watched in amusement as Hornet and Ghost let go of their hands to scramble over to the vegetation, an unspoken competition blooming between the two of them. Hornet bickered good-naturedly with Ghost, despite their silence, and Hollow couldn’t help but duck their head in affection.

How blessed they were to have such good siblings. Neither of them deserved the weight of the future, the expectations and horrors that had fallen at their feet. Hollow refused to let them go through that again.

They were the biggest. The strongest. They would protect their siblings no matter what. Even if it cost their own life. It was a mute agreement in their mind, a decision they were determined to uphold, because their siblings deserved to be the children they never were allowed to be. It was too late for Hollow, but they could safeguard Hornet and Ghost’s childhood.

Watching them run around gleefully, any worries of the future forgotten in the face of fun, Hollow knew that such a thing was worth protecting.

They would make sure of it.

No cost too great.

Herrah walked into the Mantis Village with her head held high, Midwife close behind her, the ever present grin on her mask seeming brittle and ready to snap. She could feel the eyes on them, the mantises gathering to watch them for any sign of weakness. Midwife forced her worry and guilt down, instead flashing a sharp toothed smile at those who got close. This was not a place where she could show weakness. Not if she wanted the little princess to be found. They had searched the areas close to Deepnest, and while she had picked up on the Gendered Child’s scent, it was too distant and faded to be of any use.

Now, however, hopefully the search could come to an end if they obtained the assistance of the mantises. Herrah had always had a fractured relationship with the Mantis Tribe, but... Midwife was sure her queen could convince them to assist her. They were warriors, just like her people, and there had already been whispers of dissent in the Mantis Tribe towards the Pale King.

Finally, they reached the dais, and Midwife watched carefully as the Lords stood up at their arrival. Herrah bowed, eyes focused on her fellow rulers, and they bowed in return.

“Queen Herrah of Deepnest,” the middle one spoke, voice deep and smooth, “what brings you out of your nest and into ours?”

“Lord Holka,” Herrah began, “I come to you and your tribe with a request, and an offer.”

“We do not deal with those unable to help themselves,” another lord said, and Midwife recognised her as Melka, Holka’s right hand. She did not flinch or stumble at the dismissive words. She had been Herrah’s companion and most trusted advisor since she first came to power. Instead, she rose higher, mask slitting open to bare her teeth as a warning, and a show of strength. But as always, her friend needed no assistance.

“Even if it meant freeing yourselves from the Wyrm’s influence?”

Herrah’s voice rung like a bell through the village, and silence set in, heavy and crushing. The mantises may have been tasked to keep the spiders of Deepnest at bay, but it was a duty they resented.

They could use that.

“Explain yourself,” Dalka, the third lord, commanded, and Herrah smiled. It was not a nice smile, and Midwife couldn’t stop the rush of primal joy she felt at the sight of it.

“The Pale King has stolen my daughter away, spirited by the hollow vessel he hopes to use to curb the infection. I made my deal with him. He has broken it, and in the process, broken his word to relieve Hallownest of the Golden Blight. Should my daughter not be returned in seven cycles, the beasts of Deepnest will declare war against the people of Hallownest.”

“You will be slaughtered for your arrogance,” Melka sneered out, but stopped at Holka’s raised claw.

“That is a lofty claim, Queen of the Beasts. How do you intend to achieve it?”

“By requesting your alliance, Lords of the Mantis Tribe. You are strong, far stronger than the average Hallowian, and while there are more of them, with our assistance, these tides could change.”

“And then what? What use do we have of a barren kingdom, when there are so few of us? We will fight eventually with you for scraps, be overrun by the infection, and then where would we be?” Dalka spoke, eyes narrowed, but not... hostile. Herrah nodded.

“Perhaps so, but we lived side by side in peace before the Pale King’s establishment of Hallownest. As for the Infection... the Wyrm’s current plan to stop it will never come to fruit. His Vessel is not pure. His actions have only prolonged the suffering. No, should we succeed, then we would have to fight it at its root,” she explained, voice as smooth as honey.

Midwife watched the way the Lords looked at each other, caution and curiosity caught between one another. They seemed to hold an entire discussion with just a look, and before she knew it, they turned back to face the two of them.

“We cannot guarantee our support in any future conflict, however, we shall assist your search for the princess. Should it seem that the Pale King is failing in his duties however, we will offer our aid.”

“And what would that entail?” Midwife asked, eyes half-lidded as the lords turned to look at her. Her mask unbuckled to reveal her teeth below, and she noticed how Melka tensed up, while Dalka’s claws brushed against her spear. Holka did not even flinch.

“Should the infection reach our brethren, then it will be clear that his influence has caused weakness within our ranks,” she replied coldly, and Midwife nodded slowly, sheathing her teeth. Herrah inclined her head softly.

“Very well. We have a deal. But know that the offer remains open. I thank you for your assistance in watching out for my child. She is fierce, but barely through her second moulting.”

“We understand,” Dalka replied, “and shall see to it that no harm befalls her.”

They left the Mantis Village with their backs straight, neither of them speaking until they had fully exited out of the Fungal Wastes.

“Was that wise, Herrah?”

“No. Probably not. But this is my daughter, Midwife. She is Deepnest’s future.”

Midwife let the words sink in for a moment, before sighing softly.

“I understand. But she will be nothing if there is no Deepnest for her to return to.”

The queen did not turn to look at her.

They returned back to Deepnest in silence.

“You’ll hurt yourself if you try to strain your body like that.”

Furious eyes turned to stare at her, and Lepitera rolled her eyes, instead softly pulling the fragile bug back into bed, tucking her back in.

“Come now, no need to glare. This is for your own benefit.”

“Every moment I spend here is another moment that usurper sits on my throne!”

“My dear, it hasn’t been your throne in a long, long time,” Lepitera responded gently, dodging the flutter of wings that shivered in fury.

“How dare you? I am your god!”

The moth looked down at the burned body of her ancestor’s old god, and sighed.

“Right now, you are nothing more than a memory, kept alive by your own willpower and my desire to see you live. Go back to sleep, my Radiance. This path you wish to take will only lead to your downfall.”

“And how would you know?” she spat out, eyes narrowed in disgust, and Lepitera gave a cold laugh.

“The same way I knew I would find you on the top of that mountain. I Saw it.”

Her words seemed to finally quiet the Radiance down, who stared at her with something akin to fear and... delight. After a few moments, she finally decided to look away, and busy herself with her tinctures. There would be a fresh batch of mourners this afternoon in the Resting Grounds who would want her to complete the rites for a bodiless funeral, and she was already behind on preparation.

The infection had not only stolen friends and family, but also forced them to mourn with nothing, with every infected bug being incinerated once they had perished.

Lepitera stole a look at her god, who had by now moved her gaze to the ceiling, eyes clouded with something she couldn’t quite read.

She sighed again.

It was going to be a long few cycles.

Chapter Text

“We look absolutely ridiculous,” Hornet grumbled, running her claws through the tangled shrubbery covering her small form. “There is absolutely no way that anyone would fall for this.”

Ridiculous was a kind word in Hornet’s opinion. They had all draped each other in various greenery and leaves, hoping to cover their masks in such a way that passers-by wouldn’t look twice. Because if they did look again, then they’d notice very quickly that something wasn’t quite right. Shrubbery only did so much to beings that held little, if no similarity at all to most Hallowian bugs.

Peering up at her tallest sibling, Hornet supressed a giggle at the vines looped across their horns and the bush shoved up their cloak to give them the silhouette of a mantis. They looked absolutely mortified, and seemed well aware of how shoddy their disguise was. Ghost wasn’t much better, but they seemed to take a special sort of joy in tearing up roots and stalks and sticking them haphazardly on their body, making them look like some sort of demented mosscreeper.

Hornet wasn’t quite sure what she herself looked like, but she had smeared enough grassy pulp onto her mask to stick leaves to it, and she’d be damned if she was going to suffer long-lasting grass stains for a plan that would fail. With clumsy fingers, she had quickly made herself a cloak to cover the bright red of her clothes, and while the woven work of it would have her tutors fainting, it did its job well enough. She’d offered to make Hollow one, but they had taken one look at the pristine white of their cloak, and promptly tossed themself into the dirt.

Ghost gleefully joined them.

“You could have... taken your cloak off, you know,” she said, amusement in her voice. But on some deeper level she understood. It was symbolic, in a childish way, of how they truly weren’t the ‘pure’ vessel everyone thought them to be.

Hollow paused for a moment to examine their new brown cloak, but a clump of dirt hit them in the head before they could do much else. They whipped around to Ghost, whose roots were now bent and battered as they held several balls of mud as a weapon. Hornet watched with laughter in her thorax as the two vessels leapt at each other, tussling and turning in the mud as their disguises became more and more tattered. She’d join them, but... she didn’t want to risk getting her clothes so dirty that they could no longer be cleaned. The red had been such a comforting colour to her for so long, and losing such a vibrant colour so soon... she wasn’t ready for it. Shaking her head softly, Hornet turned her attention back onto her siblings. Now was not the time for contemplation or grief. Not when they could change everything.

Placing her hands on her sides and sternly looking at her playing siblings, Hornet cleared her throat.

“Right, come on, before you completely destroy your disguises and have to do it all over,” she declared, reaching down to help Hollow up. They tilted their head forward, horns clunking against hers, and she figured it was their way of smiling. She couldn’t stop her own grin from leaping forth, before shaking it off.

Later.

Ghost bounded over, having disappeared briefly. A sharp stick was in one of their claws, and they swung it enthusiastically. Hornet stared dispassionately, and could feel the stirrings of a headache.

“Ghost, that’s going to break the moment you look at it too hard,” she muttered, and they shrugged, swinging it happily to and fro.

She went to speak again, but the growl of her stomach interrupted her. A blush overtook her face beneath her mask, and she turned away, trying to hide her embarrassment. But alas, her siblings had heard. Ghost jumped up and down in excitement at the noise, while a soft rumbling sound escaped Hollow. Despite her mortification, glee rose up within her when she realised it was their way of laughing. It still startled her that after all this time of being mute, Hollow could make some sort of noise, though nothing coherent. While she was no expert, the rumbling seemed to stem from their own Soul, and only when they willed it.

She wondered if their father would know more about it, though she quickly shooed such thoughts out of her head. The Pale King would have no hold over either of her siblings ever again, not while she still lived.

Hollow tilted their head again, towards the deepening gardens of her step-mother’s grounds, and she understood the gesture well enough.

It was time to hunt.

Anticipation rushed through her limbs, and she couldn’t stop herself from baring her fangs in glee. It had been so, so long since she had hunted in a pack, and while she doubted Hollow or Ghost knew of the significance, it was enough to make her vibrate in excitement. Taking in a shaky breath, Hornet practically skipped to the entrance of the Gardens, Ghost prancing beside her as Hollow followed behind them at a more sedate pace.

Ghost seemed surprised by the carefully manicured vibrancy of the Gardens, and even she had to pause for a moment to take it all in. The last time she had been here, it had been overrun with thorns and traitor mantises, the wild steadily returning to its base state without the constant supervision of the Queen’s retainers. She couldn’t help but frown.

“I never thought I’d say it... but it was prettier during the Infection,” she said softly. Ghost gave a forlorn nod.

Hollow prodded at her in confusion, and she elaborated.

“That’s not to say it isn’t nice now, but it’s too... tame if that makes sense. It isn’t as wild and free.”

They still did not quite seem to understand, but gave her a gentle pat between her horns anyway. Ghost quickly followed in the affection, grabbing onto her hand and squeezing.

“Oh come now you two, I’m not sad, just wistful! Still, I thank you both for your kindness. Shall we continue?”

Her two siblings nodded vigorously, through Ghost still clung to her claw as they darted through the greenery. The Gardens seemed to be mostly deserted, though they still avoided the distant muttering of retainers clipping away at bushes and vines. It wasn’t until they heard the soft humming of mossflies that they let themselves relax slightly. Hornet watched the small flock of mossflies bob up and down, unaware of the predators waiting to strike. And then she remembered her oversized needle, and grimaced.

“Hollow,” she whispered, “I don’t know if... if I’m big enough to wield my needle.”

It was an embarrassing admittance, but Hollow simply patted her on the head again, as though to reassure her that they didn’t mind hunting down food for them all alone. Ghost stepped forward with their branch, but Hollow shook their head, pushing them back softly to stand with Hornet. Her siblings stared at each other for a moment, some unspoken conversation occurring between the two of them, before Ghost’s mask drooped sulkily.

“We can hunt together next time, Ghost. But right now we have to be quick, and since Hollow has the sharpest nail...” she trailed off, and Hollow nodded at her words. Ghost let out a silent sigh, before plopping down to the floor, small claws fiddling with the roots covering their form, appearing to reluctantly agree with their other sibling. Hornet let out a small puff of laughter, before turning back to her tallest sibling. With one last slow nod, they darted off, ready to strike at their soon to be lunch.

Hopefully sooner than later, her stomach reminded her with another loud rumble. Ducking her head to avoid any sign of embarrassment, Hornet fiddled with her shabby cloak, ignoring the way Ghost swayed their mask back and forth in a basic form of laughter.

“Stop that,” she grumbled, but she couldn’t stop her own smile from appearing. It truly was lovely to see the different ways Ghost and Hollow expressed emotions, and Hornet wondered how such expressive beings were able to trick anyone into thinking they were mindless.

Ghost scooted up closer to her, shiny claws tapping excitedly at the ground.

“Do you want to play a game?”

They nodded rapidly, and she chuckled softly.

“Very well. We can’t leave here, so let me show you some simple games you can play through drawing. Have you ever played Pillbugs and Spiders?” she asked, and they cocked their head in confusion. She thought as much.

“Right, well, we have to draw a grid, like this,” she explained, drawing as she spoke, “then one of us is either a spider or a pillbug. The spider is drawn like a cross, while the pillbug is a circle. First one to get a row wins.”

Ghost nodded again, and pointed at the circle. She chose the spider, and thus began a series of small games. They ended in a draw more often than not, but it was fun to try and outsmart each other in different ways.

She hadn’t played such a simple game in a very long time. Back in the beginning of Hallownest’s stasis, she would occasionally draw up a small grid and play one side one day, and the other side a different day. After a while, she forgot to return to her last game, and just... never started it again. Both out of a desire to ‘grow up’ and because it was too painful to keep on pretending that she wasn’t completely alone.

Well. Almost completely alone.

Hornet found herself thinking to her step-mother. Her feelings were... mixed, to say the least. She had always spoken about the vessels in such a distant and uncaring way, and the moments she had spotted Ghost speak with the Queen only filled Hornet with a delayed rage. How could someone be so uninterested in their own child? Especially when evidence pointing towards their sentience was blaringly obvious?

“You know that I... care for you, Ghost, yes?” she said suddenly, burning with the desire to make sure her siblings knew that she loved them, knew that she valued them, knew that she saw them as the bright bugs they were. Because no-one else would, and they deserved to know just how much they meant to her.

Ghost paused, and looked at her. Then, they began to scribble with the stick they had been using as a makeshift pen, the painstaking characters of God-Script being carved into the dirt.

Love sister as she loves me. Love sibling as they love me. Family.

Hornet let out a choked sound, and forced herself to blink back the tears that tried to come. She had already cried enough today, this tiny body of hers had to stop crying at every single thing-

Ghost reached out to squeeze her hand, and she let out dry sob, before pulling them closer.

“I love you too,” she said thickly, “both you and Hollow. You’re my siblings, my family, and I’m going to make sure you both get to be yourselves when this is all over.”

It was a promise she was determined to keep, and from the soft shudder she could feel from Ghost, it was a promise they were thankful for.

Ghost did not know how long they stayed in Hornet’s embrace, but it was long enough for Hollow to return with five dead mossflies clasped in their claws. Their taller sibling froze as they wandered into their hidden alcove, but Ghost quickly waved them over before they could dither further. Hornet shuffled sleepily, and judging by her gentle grumbles, Ghost assumed she had fallen asleep. Fond amusement bubbled up in their shell, and from the way Hollow tilted their head, they assumed they felt the same.

Hollow leaned over the two of them, and with a gentleness rarely ascribed to such a tall being, stroked Hornet’s head affectionately. She let out another complaint, but her eyes slit open, and were her mask not in the way, Ghost was sure she would be pouting. Hollow simply raised the mossflies, and she blinked.

“Food?” she croaked out, voice laced with sleep, “Already?”

Hollow nodded, and Ghost gently prodded her.

Up, up, they wanted to say. It was time for her to eat!

She seemed to understand them well enough, though she nudged them in retaliation for their insistent tapping. Hollow held out a mossfly to her, and without hesitation, she grabbed it, lifting up her mask and scarfing it down immediately.

Hollow looked mortified.

Ghost laughed silently. Of course, their taller sibling still must have all those courtly manners ingrained into them! Hoping to scandalise them further, Ghost reached out to nab a mossfly, letting tendrils of void consume it quickly and messily, tufts of mossy hair falling to the ground. A soft clicking sound escaped from Hollow’s mask, and with glee, Ghost realised that they were tutting. 

Hornet looked up at the sound, licking the juices off her claws, and let out a quiet giggle at their disgruntled sibling. Pointedly, Hollow grabbed a mossfly and daintily consumed it in small bites of void, until nothing remained. Their sister tilted her own head, made a show of grabbing the last mossfly, and tore into it, clearly delighting in throwing all manners to the wind. Ghost cackled, a soft scraping sound escaping their chest, while Hollow’s clicking simply grew louder. Hornet beamed at the both of them, face covered in moss and blood, and Ghost felt their soul swell in delight.

They were so grateful they were able to experience such moments, when before all of this would have been nothing more than a hopeless daydream. Had they been the only one to travel backwards in time... it would have been difficult, but for their siblings, for a better future... they would have done what they must. Thankfully, there would be no need for self-sacrifice, not when they had Hornet and Hollow with them. Shaking themself of such thoughts, Ghost stood up and marched on the spot, wanting to know if they could start moving towards the Queen’s Station. Because although they had their siblings with them, they still had to save the others. 

Quirrel, Myla, the Dreamers, Mato, Ogrim and his friends, and yes, even the Pale King and the White Lady. No matter their mistakes, Ghost had been given the chance to change things, for the better this time.

“Time to go?” Hornet guessed, and they nodded. Hollow let out a low huff as they stood up, claws reaching out to pull the both of them into a quick hug. While their disguises were well and truly dishevelled, Ghost couldn’t bring themself to care. Not when it meant getting to hold their siblings close like this. They would never get over how lovely such simple contact was.

Finally, they released each other, slowly making their way outside of the little nook they had sequestered themselves into, heading back down the path to the Fungal Wastes. Hornet had told them that the Garden Station was usually guarded, as only authorised people could freely come into the Queen’s domain. So, back to the Fungal Wastes it was.

“Right then, Queen’s Station, then a stag to the Resting Grounds, yes? What if they’ve shut down the Stagways?”

Ghost paused. That... would be inconvenient, since it would mainly mean they’d have to go up through Fog Canyon, into the Forgotten (Remembered?) Crossroads, and either swim through the Blue Lake, or, if Hollow and Hornet couldn’t swim, hope that the tramway was open.

Of course, it was hard to communicate all of that, so they just shrugged instead.

From the exasperated look on Hornet’s face, they guessed it wasn’t all that helpful. Still, she seemed to understand that a further explanation would require writing utensils, so she simply sighed and continued onwards instead.

It wasn’t long before they reached the first area they had arrived in after escaping Deepnest, the thick green foliage of the Garden slowly yellowing into the spongy soil of the Wastes. They could feel the way their siblings relaxed the moment they exited out of the Queen’s domain, taking comfort in the knowledge that they’d be far less likely to be stopped by a guard.

“I doubt our father would publically announce Hollow’s disappearance,” Hornet explained, “so as long as we don’t do anything suspicious to alert the guards or a kingsmould, we should be fine.”

It wasn’t until they walked onwards did they encounter their first major problem.

Thorns, acid, and bouncing mushrooms.

The three siblings stood at the top of the ledge, watching the steaming liquid below them with trepidation. While Ghost still had the ability to swim through acid, they doubted Hornet or Hollow was afforded the same boon. If Hollow were smaller, then they could have just taken Hornet and bounced on the mushrooms, but their large size made the outcome of doing that potentially dangerous.

“...back to the Garden?” Hornet suggested, but Hollow shook their head, looking at the path before them with narrowed eyes.

“You can’t be serious? You want to try going through there?”

Their taller sibling shrugged, and took a step forward, but before they could try, Ghost stopped them, rapidly tapping on the floor and making writing motions. Hollow paused, and finally gave an acquiescent nod, while Hornet watched with uncertainty.

“I could try to swing across-?” she began, but they quickly shut that idea down. No, no, Hornet was too small right now, and while Ghost didn’t doubt her abilities, they didn’t want her getting hurt because she overwhelmed herself. Instead, they began to write into the grit below their feet.

Immune to acid! I carry Hornet? Hollow jump?

Without holding Hornet, Hollow would probably be able to balance far better on the mushrooms, and if they ran into any trouble, Ghost could simply stop them from getting hurt after depositing Hornet on the other side. Hollow let out an uncertain rumble, and Hornet didn’t look too convinced either.

“Are you sure? Will you be able to carry me? We’re the same size...” she trailed off, and Ghost frowned. Metaphorically of course.

Have wings. Can jump. Then you swing.

“What? No! That’s far too dangerous, what if you start to sink, or, or miss? Let’s just go back to the Garden and up into Fog Canyon, I’d rather take my chances with the retainers there than put either of you in danger!”

Try? Once?

“Once is all it takes to die, Ghost!”

They paused. Hornet looked terrified, small mask scrunched up with tears welling up, and they felt their soul sink. They hadn’t known how scared she was of them potentially getting hurt. Ghost couldn’t stop themself from pulling her into a tight hug, Hollow wrapping them both up against their chest.

“I just... I can’t lose you. Either of you. I’d rather we go through the Gardens. Please.”

As she spoke however, something seemed to shuffle beneath Hollow’s cloak, darkness slowly enveloping the two of them.

“Hollow? What are you doing?” Hornet asked, voice tinged with worry and fear. Hollow replied with a gentle chuff, and while Ghost wasn’t exactly reassured, they doubted their sibling was going to do anything too stupid.

Everything seemed to shift, as though they were watching a door slowly open without actually seeing the door itself. And when the darkness receded, they found the three of them on the other side, Hollow hunched over in exhaustion. Hornet gave a shriek, small claws reaching out to fuss over them, but they simply replied with a soft laugh.

Voidwalk.

They scrawled into the dirt, and Ghost blinked. They could use the Void to travel? And then they remembered their battle in the Black Egg, how their sibling had been able to teleport from one end to the other without hesitating.

...Ghost hoped they could learn how to do it as well.

Still, right now, all that mattered was looking after their sibling, though they quickly seemed to be regaining strength. Hollow tilted their head fondly, as though they were smiling, and despite Hornet’s loud berating, she seemed overwhelmingly relieved more than anything.

“Don’t do that again without warning,” she scolded, and their taller sibling gave a grave nod. After a few moments however, they pulled themself up, tugging both Ghost and Hornet alongside them. Their sister opened her mouth to protest, but Hollow tapped against their wrist. Time was of the essence, Ghost could concede that. They’d personally prefer it if Hollow rested for another moment, but they doubted they would listen. Not unless both Ghost and Hornet forcibly sat on them, and even then they’d simply be able to scoop both of them up.

Resting would have to wait. Now? They had a Stag to catch.

Quirrel tapped his foot impatiently, peering down the dark tunnel of the Stagway for the third time, wondering if his ride would finally arrive. Judging from the disgruntled looks of his fellow passengers, he assumed they were just as frustrated with the lateness of the stag.

“Honestly,” one of them grumbled beneath their breath, “the sooner the king installs those tramways, the better. The stags have only been getting slower I tell you.”

Someone gave a soft noise of agreement, and while Quirrel sorely wanted to complain with them, he knew more than anyone how overworked the stags were at the moment. Letting out a soft sigh, he resigned himself to waiting for another twenty ticks before finally being on his way to the City. She had requested that some documents from the Archives to go over with Lord Lurien, and while they weren’t desperately urgent, he desperately did not wish to let the Madame down.

However, as a harried Stagway worker came over to the group, Quirrel had a sinking feeling he might not be able to deliver the documents after all.

“Ah, uh, your attentions please. I regret to inform you that all Stagways have been shut until further notice by order of his Pale Excellence, the King. This is due to, uh, maintenance requirements, and the potential dangers of a cave-in.”

The loud groans of the collective group seemed to make the bug shrink, as they stuttered out apologies and options for refunds. Quirrel tutted to himself, but saw no reason to linger. He’d have to tell the Madame about the Stagway issue, and try again the next cycle. He slowly wandered up the stairs towards the Fog Canyon exit, humming a wordless song to himself, before pausing. A trio of very strange looking garden bugs stood awkwardly by the exit to the Fungal Wastes, staring with blatant disappointment at the notice he assumed the worker had put up shortly before announcing the shut Stagways.

“-just our luck!” he heard one of the small ones hiss out. “Now we have to go through Fog Canyon! And that’s a difficult journey at the best of times.”

Their voice was strangely familiar, high-pitched with a soft clicking under-tone, but Quirrel was sure he’d recognise such a bug if he had met them before. Perhaps they were closely related to the mosswalkers?

Besides... While he might have been inconvenienced, it didn’t mean he had to let others be. He might even be able to find out what species they were!

“Hello there, travellers!” he called out kindly, “I’m heading up to the Archives in Fog Canyon, but I can happily take you to the Garden entrance if you wish!”

They seemed to stiffen, with the other small one looking particularly caught out by his request.

“Ah, we’re... heading up to the Crossroads.”

How strange. But perhaps they were Greenpath natives, or simply on a small excursion.

“It is no problem for me to guide you there either. In fact, it’s quite close to the Archives.”

The group seemed to hesitate, and they huddled together. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, though he heard a hissed “Ooma” and “reckless charging”. The other two bugs only seemed to respond through nods or head shakes, so he imagined they were mute. Mutated mosskin perhaps?

Finally, the small one stepped forward.

“We would be very grateful to accept your offer, if it is not too much of an issue,” they said, voice hesitant. Well then, Quirrel thought, the Madame would be quite pleased to hear of the appearance of some new bugs!

“Wonderful!” he exclaimed. “Just follow me then, and I’ll show you how to navigate through the Oomas.”

Perhaps this journey wouldn’t be too fruitless after all.

Chapter Text

Hollow eyed the jerky form of Ghost curiously as they traversed through the Canyon, wondering why the appearance of Quirrel had caused them to be so distracted. Hollow themself had only seen Head Archivist Monomon’s assistant a few times, and had never interacted with the bug personally, so they doubted he would recognise them. While Hornet was wary, she still indulged the many questions the other bug seemed to have, throwing out nonsense answers about who they were, where they came from, and what they exactly were.

“-be of Mosskin that mutated closer to the Wastes, though we prefer Greenpath,” their sister explained, fangs practically gritted. Quirrel made a fascinated sound, leaning forward to inspect the leaves on her body as he gently pushed an Ooma away without even breaking the skin.

“I didn’t even know there were subspecies of Unn’s people still living in the Queen’s Garden!” he said excitedly, seemingly not noticing the way she tittered nervously.

With their... companion distracted, Hollow turned to Ghost.

Their smaller sibling seemed shaken to the core, grief seeming to hum within their very void, and worry quickly welled up. They reached out slowly to cup a horn, frowning at the way they flinched at the sudden touch. Hollow tilted their head, hoping to convey their concern to them. Ghost shrugged, and subtly pointed towards Quirrel, before patting their chest sadly. A friend? Had the assistant been a friend to Ghost before they travelled back?

And if so... whatever parting had caused them to be so sad?

Hollow dangled their claws closer to their sibling, and they quickly latched on, a silent keen vibrating through their chitin. Hollow’s soul broke for them, and they tugged them closer, trying desperately to soothe their distraught sibling.

“Hol- ah, my siblings, is everything alright?” Hornet asked, and they looked up, catching the worry in their sister’s eyes, and the curiosity in Quirrel’s. Hollow paused, unsure of what to do, but Ghost squeezed their hand desperately, a pleading expression on their face.

Later, Hollow wished they could say to Hornet. But instead, all they could do was nod their head and hope Hornet understood that now was not the time. She hesitated, before finally turning back to Quirrel and forcibly dragging him into another conversation about... ecology? They shook their head, refocusing on Ghost and giving them sufficient comfort. It was easy to lift their sibling up and cradle them close, tucking their mask into the crook of their neck to hide themself away from the world.

It struck Hollow then how little they actually knew about their sibling and the journey they had taken that lead them to reunite with each other. What pains had they endured alone? Had they been frightened? Or did they think of themself as an empty vessel, just like Hollow had believed before? Their soul ached at the thought, and they nuzzled their smaller sibling affectionately.

There would be no need for that anymore. They could grieve as fully as they wished, and both Hollow and Hornet would be there for them.

“Right, we just have to go in here past the Archives, and then it’s a simple walk upwards.” Quirrel’s cheerful voice broke through their musings, and they turned to look at the path that the assistant pointed at. They shot a look towards Hornet, who seemed distinctly panicked.

“Oh do we- Can we not go straight up?” she asked nervously, and Quirrel blinked.

“That way leads into Greenpath,” he explained kindly, “this way brings you directly to the Crossroads!”

“Isn’t- Doesn’t acid block our path?”

“What? No, the dam keeps back the acid.” Quirrel was growing more confused by the minute, gaze flicking between the siblings. “Is that... is that an issue?”

Hollow grumbled silently in worry. This wasn’t good. While they couldn’t be certain that walking past the Archives would get them immediately caught, common sense seemed to scream that it was a Bad Idea. They glanced at their sister, and she sent them a desperate glare, before finally blurting:

“Actually, I think I may have mixed the Crossroads and Greenpath up, silly me! Straight up, yes? We can take it from here, thank you for your assistance!”

She darted over to grab Hollow’s hand, hurriedly tugging them along.

“Wha-?”

“Thank you, goodbye!” she warbled out, and they whizzed past the poor pillbug who looked rather frazzled.

He opened his mouth to yell something, but they were gone before they could hear him finish, leaping up the steps towards Greenpath at a rapid pace. The soft pastel pink of the Canyon quickly bled into a verdant green, pale stalks and soft walls hardening into thick roots and dirt. Despite the size difference, Hornet did her damned best to pull Hollow along, Ghost still clinging onto their neck.

“Go, go, go,” she chanted under her breath, but she was starting to look winded. Her body was still that of a child, despite her attempts to act otherwise. Hollow let out a silent chuckle, before reaching down to scoop her up. She let out a startled squeak, and sent them a withering glare.

“I’ll get you for that later. Right now, continue upwards, then make a sharp right. There should be a place for us to rest, though we can’t stay for long.”

Hollow nodded, angling their mask so that they could bump it against hers, before taking off. They scrambled up the wall, claws digging into the loamy soil and hauling themselves towards their destination.

Soft humming caught their attention, and they paused. The melody was haunting and repetitive, a quiet chorus that they couldn’t understand, and yet it seemed to sink into their very chitin.

“Shit,” Hornet hissed, and Hollow’s head snapped up to glare at her.

“Yes, yes, decorum and manners. We can deal with that later, just... get out of here. I don’t know what the Stone Sanctuary is like with bugs that are alive, but I don’t want to find out.”

Ghost finally extracted their mask from the crook of Hollow’s neck, and nodded rapidly.

“Have you been there Ghost?” Hornet asked curiously while Hollow dragged themself away from the melody.

Their smaller sibling must have given a general gesture of affirmation, as Hornet quickly launched into a one-sided conversation about the general unsettling aura of the Sanctuary. Hollow listened to her talk, not only about the Sanctuary, but about Greenpath and her time here in general. The stream of noise slowly overpowered the distant humming, grounding them firmly in the now. Once they were on a stable platform, they reached up to give her a thankful squeeze.

“Of course, not a problem, Hollow,” she said, having gleaned the meaning of their gesture. “I am simply glad that we are finally away from that place. The bench should be up ahead. We can’t stay for long, but I think we need to discuss our next move.”

Hollow nodded slowly, a soft rumble escaping their chest. Something clunked against their mask, and they arched their head to look at Ghost, horns resting against their own. They seemed calmer than before, though they shook their head when Hollow looked at them questioningly.

Later, they seemed to say.

Hollow was going to hold them to that. But for now, Hornet was right. They had a bench to reach and plans to discuss.

And with that, they leaped forward.

“Madame Archivist, a retainer from Lord Lurien just arrived with a missive. It appears urgent.”

Monomon looked up from the broken pieces of egg that the King had given her to study, in the hopes that she could perhaps figure out where the Pure Vessel went wrong. Privately, Monomon believed that it didn’t go wrong so much as suppress its feelings until it no longer could, but she doubted he would value her input. Still, no use pondering on it right now, not when Lurien had seen fit to send a message this quickly, though she wondered why Quirrel hadn’t delivered it himself.

“Thank you, scholar. Bring him in. Is Quirrel here?” she asked, reaching with a tendril to pluck a looking glass from a shelf. They shook their head.

“No Madame, he has not returned yet.”

Monomon hummed at the answer, squinting at the cracks of void inside the egg. Nothing stood out. As she continued to examine it, the door opened softly, two sets of footsteps bringing her attention away from her study. Lurien’s retainer gave her a deep bow, even as she tried to wave it off.

“Madame Monomon, my master wished to inform you about some changes to the City,” he said quietly, handing out a carefully sealed envelope. Her scholar seemed to perk up at the news, shuffling from her position behind the retainer.

“Excellent, thank you, Solliven.”

She carefully plucked the letter from his claws, snorting at the elegant seal stamped in the middle, before smoothing out the missive and carefully examining it.

Monomon,

Stagways are down by order of the King. The Silver City has been closed off to outsiders to ‘test security’. Research will have to wait. Please give any messages to my retainer. He has my seal and permission to enter the City.

Have you heard from Herrah?

Lurien.

She frowned at the words. Hopefully they had already announced it, lest poor Quirrel be stuck waiting at the station for a very long time. But given the recent disarray of the Stagways... she doubted he’d be informed soon. Perhaps it would be best for her to let him know herself. She certainly needed a walk anyway; this simply gave her an excuse to pry herself away from her research.

She would reply to Lurien once she returned. Herrah had most certainly not contacted her, and she couldn’t say she was surprised, not when the Gendered Child was missing. Monomon doubted that Herrah would truly wage war if the little princess did not show up, but she was certain that the Queen of Deepnest would make life for Hallownest very, very difficult. Letting out a sigh, she shook her head. Now was not the time for such musings. 

“Madame?” the scholar said in confusion as she lifted herself out of her tank and onto the floor below. The retainer seemed unsure whether he should help, and took an uncertain step forward. She waved both of them off when they approached to steady her, instead using the side of the tank to keep her upright. Slowly, her tendrils drifted to the floor, adjusting to the difference in gravity.

“Thank you for attempting to assist me, but my tentacles tend to leave a nasty sting on most bugs who touch them!” she explained, lifting one up to show the scholar the small beads dotting the underside. They looked intrigued and shuffled closer, but for their own safety, she quickly pulled it back beneath her cloak. Monomon smiled beneath her mask at the inquisitiveness.

“I’d be delighted to show you in more detail once I come back, but for now, I need to speak to Archivist Quirrel. Thank you for bringing this to me, Scholar...” she trailed off meaningfully, and the bug gave a small squeak.

“Mollis, Madame. Apprentice Scholar Mollis, under Senior Scholar Urochor.”

“You have an inquisitive mind, Apprentice Scholar Mollis! I’ll endeavour to speak to Urochor when I have the time about getting you into some actual research, rather than running around delivering paperwork!” she chuckled out, watching as the young bug stammered out thanks.

It was always lovely to see such curious minds at work, ready to discover the unknown and examine the old. But now was not the time to ponder such things.

“Please direct Solliven to a rest room if possible. I’ll hand my reply as soon as possible, but I imagine a small rest period would be appreciated,” she said, and the retainer gave a reluctant nod.

“If that is what you recommend, then indeed Madame. I thank you for your hospitality.”

“Excellent.”

Monomon floated past the scholar and Solliven, ducking into the acid lifts she had constructed for easier travel inside the Archives. Hopefully Quirrel wouldn’t be too cross, though she doubted he’d ever show it! A master of calm that bug, she thought fondly.

She stepped out of the acid and into the main foyer, smiling softly at the hubbub of scholars and apprentices rushing around, though they quickly parted to allow her through. Various greetings were tossed her way, and she answered them with a quick nod as she glided past them. And then she stopped.

Well, that was easy.

Quirrel stood in the main foyer, seemingly dazed as he fiddled with a quill and paper, though he stood at attention at the sight of her.

“Madame!”

“Hello Quirrel,” she chuckled out, floating over to greet him properly. “I heard the stag stations were shut down.”

“Oh? Oh! Yes, yes they were,” he said, voice distracted. A small seed of worry began to stir in her chest at his unusual behaviour, and she moved closer.

“Is everything alright?”

Her question seemed to snap him out of his daze, his eyes blinking rapidly as he focused his gaze back on her, embarrassment dawning on his mask.

“Oh, yes, I’m perfectly fine! I just had a run in with the strangest of bugs. Madame, you wouldn’t happen to know if there are any distant relatives of the mosskin living in the Queen’s Garden?”

Monomon hummed gently as she cast her mind back to her scrolls on genetics and the various families of Hallownest. Finally, she shook her head.

“No, I can’t say I do. Did those bugs claim to be mutated mosskin?”

He grimaced at her words.

“It seems so. They truly were strange, Madame. Hang on, let me sketch them, perhaps you can lend some more insight into this mystery.”

He hurried over to a desk, quill frantically scratching out vague silhouettes that slowly became more concrete and... familiar.

She paused.

The trio seemed very familiar indeed. She stared at them for another few ticks, before realisation slammed into her like a garpede.

Oh for fucks sake.

“Quirrel,” she said, and he gave a small noise, lifting his head to look at her. He blinked at the frigid tone, claw poised above the parchment.

“Is everything-?”

“Quirrel, come to my office. Now.”

“What?” he mumbled, voice laced with confusion, but she didn’t stay behind to see him follow.

The Pale King had ordered the Dreamers not to say anything... but Quirrel was her assistant and closest confidante, so of course she had told him about the missing Pure Vessel, Rogue Vessel and Gendered Child. Except, apparently he had either completely forgotten the drawing she had showed him of the missing bugs, or he really, really needed reading glasses. The only other option was that he was, in fact, a moron, and had somehow managed to pretend to be competent all this time.

She quickly hurried into her office, shooing Quirrel inside as she hung up a notice to not disturb her, before shutting the door tightly.

“Madame-?” he began, but she shushed him, handing over the picture that the guard who had seen the runaways in the first place had sketched. Quirrel blinked in surprise, but took it, looking over it with squinted eyes.

“Would you care to explain to me why you were drawing the Rogue Vessel, the Pure Vessel, and the Gendered Child dressed as bushes?”

“What? No, I was drawing the strange- Oh. Oh no.”

Her assistant paled, the cogs slowly beginning to turn as he pulled out his own sketch and compared it. They were silent for a moment, before he looked back up.

“Madame,” he began, “I do believe I’ve been duped.”

Despite herself, Monomon huffed out a laugh.

“That’s certainly one word for it. Where were they headed?”

“I’m honestly not quite sure. They went towards Greenpath, but I believe their ultimate goal is the Crossroads. They were originally headed towards there, but when they realised that we would have to go past the Archives, they changed their minds and ran off to Greenpath.”

“Was the princess unharmed?” she asked, and Quirrel blinked.

“Yes, in fact she seemed perfectly fine. Held an interesting conversation about the mutations of mosskin- which I’m now realising was completely made up,” he said, frowning, before shaking his head. “She didn’t seem nervous or upset, or otherwise distressed, and when she did, it appeared to be due to my presence.”

Quirrel paused, fidgeting softly as though he wanted to say more, but was unsure if he should.

“Spit it out, my dear assistant,” she finally prompted.

“Madame... could it be that she perhaps wanted to go on an adventure and dragged the Pure Vessel along?”

Monomon hummed, tentacles tapping nervously on her desk. It was a sound conclusion; especially considering the fact that Herrah’s daughter could be rambunctious and inattentive when she wished to be. If the vessel had come across her while it had been escaping, then it was very likely that she simply decided to drag it along to explore.

But what about the Rogue Vessel? Where did it come from?

There were too many questions with not enough data to allow her to reach any conclusive standpoint.

But... ultimately, it didn’t matter why they had all gone missing, not when it was paramount that they returned back to their respective homes. She could pry them all for answers later. Right now, she had a war to stop and children to catch.

“Quirrel, how quickly can you reach the White Palace?”

“...you don’t want me to go after them?” he asked hesitantly, and she shook her head.

“No, there’s no time. By now, they’re probably half-way through Greenpath. Inform the King exactly what you told me, and see if he can get a message out to Herrah that her child is unharmed,” she commanded, the beginnings of a plan starting to slot together.

“Understood, Madame. Might... I ask what you will be up to?”

Monomon smiled.

“When you have bugs you want tracked down, Quirrel, go to a Nailmaster with apprentices.”

“My queen?”

Herrah startled at the sound of Midwife’s voice, eyes blinking blearily as she tried to recall what she was just doing. Had she been looking over the weapons reports? Or the training schedule?

“Herrah, you need to rest.”

“There is paperwork that must be taken care of,” she replied coldly, shuffling through the papers as she tried to continue where she had left off. There had been reports of a nosk infestation that needed taking care of, and it would be excellent practice for the younglings.

Her heart seized suddenly. Her daughter had wanted to go on a hunt like that, sulking when she was told over and over that she was still too small. And now... perhaps she was having her first hunt after all, without the guidance of Herrah and her people. The quill she had been using snapped between her claws.

“Herrah. Exhausting yourself will not bring her home sooner,” Midwife said gently, shuffling closer to rest a claw on her shoulder, but the queen shrugged her off, turning to give her friend a poisonous glare.

“What will then, Midwife? What will bring her home? I cannot send out a search party without the Pale King seeing it as an invasion, and I certainly cannot go myself,” she hissed out. “All I can do is send out one or two measly Weavers and hope they find something concrete.”

And that was the crux of the issue. The missive had come soon after they had returned from the Mantis Village to Deepnest, declaring any party larger than three bugs an invasive force. It had finally shocked some sense into her, despite her rage at its words. Herrah was a fool, such a fool for threatening the Pale King with war. Had she held her tongue, then perhaps she could have sent out her own forces to find her child. The bugs of Deepnest were hunters, and if anyone could quickly find the missing vessels and the Gendered Child, then it was them. Except she had been unable to curb her fury, and had given the King enough reason to believe her threat.

Herrah pushed herself away from her desk, unable to stare at the documents a moment longer.

“What have I done, Midwife? She is still so young, barely able to lift her needle... You must think me an awful mother, to abandon my daughter thusly,” she whispered hoarsely.

“No, Herrah, I could never think that. You are doing as much as you can under such conditions. It has only been a cycle and a bit. She is your daughter, I have no doubt that she is terrorising the bugs of Hallownest as we speak. The Pure Vessel-”

“Gods, don’t remind me. What if it truly did break and decide to take my daughter as retribution?”

Midwife scoffed, and placed several claws on Herrah’s own.

“I truly doubt it would do such a thing, my queen. It adores your daughter. She will be safe under its watch,” she soothed, and Herrah closed her eyes. Exhaustion sunk into her chitin, and she sucked in a shuddering breath.

Were it not for the infection, for her people, for Midwife pulling her back to her duties, then she would have left the moment she heard the news to seek out her child. And yet all she could do was attempt to make feeble alliances with bugs that would not assist her beyond the minimum, and hope for her daughter’s swift return.

“I pray to the First Mother that you are right, Midwife,” she murmured gently, and the claws tightened.

“I often am, my queen.”

A startled laugh escaped her thorax, and she opened her eyes to look at her friend properly.

“Thank you, my dear friend, for lifting my spirits.”

The sound of a bell echoed within her study, and Herrah bolted to the door, wrenching it open. A small Weaver stood before her with a piece of parchment clasped within their claws, and hope rose within her chitin.

“Queen Herrah, a message for you from the White Palace,” the Weaver explained.

“I see,” she muttered, taking the missive from their outstretched hand, thanking them softly as she turned back to Midwife, eyes scanning the contents. Annoyance and anger welled up at the words, but she forced herself to calm.

“Good news?” her friend asked, and Herrah scoffed.

“That depends. Does an invitation to tea with the Pale Queen count as good news?”

Midwife blinked, before shrugging.

“That depends,” she parroted. “Perhaps you can use it to garner goodwill from the Lady and request for a search party of Deepnest bugs to be allowed?”

Herrah hummed at the suggestion, turning it over in her mind.

It was certainly a good idea, and although the idea of sitting around doing nothing while her daughter continued to be missing was infuriating, it was an excellent diplomatic move. She had always had a better relationship with the Pale Queen than the King, and perhaps if she was civil enough... she could finally get things done.

“Midwife, would you mind retrieving a messenger Weaver? I do believe I have an invitation to accept.”

Her friend chuckled, and gave a nod.

“Of course, my queen. But please do rest when you can.”

“I will try,” Herrah said, and the door closed, leaving her alone. Exhaustion tugged at her eyes, begging her to finally sleep, but she blinked it away. She could sleep once her reply was suitably courteous.

She would find her daughter soon. She just had to win the political game first.

Chapter Text

“You did what?”

The Pale King looked at his wife in horror, desperately hoping he had misheard her words. Instead, she levelled him with an unimpressed look.

“I invited Herrah for tea,” she said slowly, enunciating every word so that he clearly understood what she was saying. He dearly wished he didn’t.

“But- why? I thought you would be meeting in a neutral place, or continue correspondence through letters?”

She didn’t even blink, instead turning back to her carving. She had been insistent on making toys for the Pale Vessel and the Rogue Vessel to enjoy when they returned, much to his eternal frustration.

“Because, my dear Wyrm, the situation cannot remain as it is. Telling her she can’t even send a search party out? For her own daughter? You may have sent out the Great Knights, but even they have their own duties to attend to. Ogrim and Isma closed off the Silver City, and found nothing in the Waterways. Dryya did not find any sign of the children in my Gardens or the Wastes. Ze’mer and Hegemol are still patrolling the upper levels, but have reported nothing out of the ordinary. Face it, my love. We need Herrah.”

“She said she would declare war!”

“No, she threatened to declare war, there’s a distinct difference, dear.”

By the ancient ones, his wife was insane. And yet, she was happier than he had seen her be in a long while. Ever since the news of the Pure Vessel’s desertion broke, she had been borderline giddy. He had known their relationship had... broken down somewhat, yet he hadn’t truly understood the extent of it. She had still loved him, but it was distant and fragile, and he did not doubt that she would eventually leave, unable to take the weight of their actions anymore. But now... unless he colossally messed up, it was not a future he could see. He could not deny his relief at that.

Finally, he huffed out a sigh, and sat beside her.

“Very well. Though please keep her at a distance,” he begrudgingly conceded, and she let out a light chuckle.

“Not to worry love, I’ll make sure she doesn’t throttle you.”

He watched her nimble claws whittle away at the chunk of wood, carefully shaping it into a figure that one could play with. He blinked.

“Is that Dryya?” he asked incredulously, and she hummed in affirmation.

“It is! I figured that dear Barkley and Leif would appreciate having something to play with!”

Wyrm could not stop himself from choking.

“Barkley? Who in the name of the ancients is Barkley?!”

“The Rogue Vessel, keep up dear.”

“No, no, I draw the line, Root, we are not naming a child of ours Barkley! Or Leif!”

She sent him a sly smile.

“So you admit they are our children?”

He let out a strangled sound. Because that was the crux of the issue, the unspoken dungbeetle in the room. The two vessels were apparently fully capable of thought and free will, and undoubtedly his and Root’s children. But this was not a conversation he would have now, not with the arrival of Herrah looming over his head.

“I thought you liked Caerwyn? And if we must go for a plant name, then would Chloris not be more suitable? Besides, what if they’ve given themselves names already? Would that not make this moot?” he deflected, and from Root’s disappointed glance, she had noticed his avoidance of her question. Thankfully however, she did not decide to pick at it further, instead sighing softly and continuing to carve.

“Then we call them by their chosen names. They have endured enough discomfort, and I only seek to gift them the affection they have so oft been denied.”

Ah, that was a definite dig, and he shuffled uncomfortably.

“Yes, well,” he blustered, “don’t coddle them too much. They’re not used to it, after all.”

Wyrm immediately winced. That was definitely the wrong thing to say. His wife's pale eyes grew frosty, and the frown on her mask only hinted at her true fury.

“I will coddle them as much as I please, Wyrm,” she said coldly, and he deflated.

“Of course, dearheart. I... misspoke. I would expect nothing else from you.”

She gave an unimpressed hum, but did not shove him away from her or otherwise show her displeasure. She did use more force than perhaps was necessary in carving, and he counted his blessings that she hadn’t decided to strike him instead. She would be well within her rights.

“Don’t you have retainers to harass?” she muttered after a while, and he quickly stood up. He knew a dismissal when he saw one, and he did not wish to further anger his wife. Wyrm cleared his throat.

“Yes, I do need to go over this cluster’s infection report from Lurien, and I’m sure you wish to prepare for Herrah.” He paused for a moment, unsure of what else to say, before finally settling on an apology.

“I truly am sorry, Root. My words were callous.”

“Yes,” she said quietly, “they were. I am well aware of my own failings as a parent. Is it truly awful that I wish to compensate? Do they not deserve some comfort? Should they not both be indulged? How long was the Rogue Vessel alone, left to rot with the-?”

She cut herself off, unable to speak any longer, and his soul ached at her words. He desperately tried to search for some words of comfort, but came up with nothing, instead simply placing a loving claw on her own. Root sniffed softly, but allowed his touch, her larger hand curling gently around his fingers.

They were silent for a moment, simply letting themselves grieve and regret. Finally, Root withdrew, placing her carving inside her craft basket.

“Let Herrah send a search party, Wyrm. I will speak to her and encourage her to stand down.”

She did not beg or plea. It was a simple request, a statement made in full confidence that he would eventually concede. But nonetheless, he couldn’t stop his grimace.

“It is not that simple,” he muttered, running his hand over his mask. “Several people heard her declaration, if they saw a large amount of Deepnest bugs then there would be chaos. They are already on edge as it is, and I am doubtful of my ability to maintain the peace should things get out of control.”

“Come now, you know that is easily solved by a declaration of peace. Do you fear Herrah’s desire for retribution against the vessels- against our children?”

He sighed, letting himself sag against her.

“You did not see her fury, my love. I truly thought she would attempt to murder me right then and there. If you are unable to convince her of the Vessel’s innocence, then I fear she would seek to hand out her own punishment onto them.” he explained quietly.

Root hummed at his words, the gentle vibration soothing him as his thoughts raced through his mind.

“I will speak to Herrah, as one mother to another. I know her, Wyrm. She will agree. When she does, you will come and ask for a peace declaration in return for a search party. Then, you will send Lurien a missive, and he will tell the Silver City the news. There will be no war, my dear. And our children shall be returned safe and sound.”

“And the Infection?” he whispered. “All of my planning, all of our sacrifices... for naught. I know you suggested speaking to her, but she would never listen to a word I have to say. My foresight is leading me in circles, showing me futures that collapse just as quickly as they appear, and I wonder... is there any hope of succeeding?”

Root stilled, every branch and leaf on her body seeming to freeze at his words. Her eyes were fixed on the carved toys she had been making, each placed into her craft basket with the love and care she so desperately wished to bestow upon children of her own.

Finally, she broke the silence.

“Such thoughts bring no merit. We have to succeed, Wyrm,” she said strongly, turning to look at him. “We must. If not for us, then for our children, all of them.”

She paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before speaking up again, voice quiet and solemn.

“We have tried your godly solutions, and they have not worked. Perhaps it is time for us to use an earthly approach.”

The Pale King shut his eyes at her words, desperately trying to reach a future that could offer some other advice or assistance. But there was nothing except a smear of time and possibilities, each fading away and being replaced before he could even glance at them. There was no other option.

“Very well,” he conceded. “Once the children are returned... I will call the leaders to the Palace for a meeting. It is time we were frank with our subjects. But that will have to be arranged later. Talk to Herrah, if you think you can convince her. I have reports to look at.”

He left the room quickly, carving a path through the flood of retainers standing in the hallway and ignoring their bows and reverent mutters. He wasn’t fleeing, he told himself as he entered his study. He truly did have work to do. Work that could chase away the looming shadow of his failures, of the inevitable meeting he would have to call together, of his Kingdom’s fate.

Wyrm let himself get lost in the stacks of paper, eyes skimming over quarterly costs and progress reports, not quite daring to touch the infection rate for this cluster yet. Eventually, after hours of signatures and corrections, he knew he had to look at it. Steeling himself, he grabbed the report, and looked over it.

INFECTION REPORT, SILVER CITY: Fourth Cluster

CYCLE ONE

53 new infections

17 deaths

TOTAL INFECTED: 183

CYCLE TWO

36 new infections

24 deaths

TOTAL INFECTED: 195

CYCLE THREE

9 new infections

2 deaths

TOTAL INFECTED: 202

CYCLE FOUR

3 new infections

1 death

TOTAL INFECTED: 204

CYCLE FIVE

0 new infections

0 deaths

TOTAL INFECTED: 187

He looked over it again. And again.

Wyrm scrambled, claws snagging this cluster’s infection reports for the Crossroads, for the Wastes, for every other area, and found the same thing. The first two cycles were normal, but something changed on cycle three, causing the rate to plummet until there was nowhere else to go but down. Giddiness leapt up in his throat, and he let out a hysterical laugh.

The infection rate had completely halted. Not only that, but the amount of bugs infected was going down without any deaths.

Something was curing them.

“Eat my excrement, you fluffy piece of garbage!”

Root watched carefully as her fellow Queen arrived in the Palace Stagway, standing close by to welcome her guest. Usually they did not bother with such formalities, their friendship having grown strong enough to require no proper greeting or ceremony. But with the recent tension and the threat of a conflict looming over their heads, Root decided it would be best to follow the formal rites. Herrah stepped off from the carriage, her mask displaying no sign of emotion, before she approached.

“Herrah, it is good to see you, despite the circumstances,” Root said, and the Queen of Deepnest tipped her head forward in acknowledgment.

“Indeed. I thank you for the invite. We have much to discuss,” she replied, voice betraying nothing. Root nodded.

“That we do,” she murmured, “come, my friend. Let us go to the tea room.”

They walked to the Palace in silence, neither of them having brought any attendants, and Root imagined that Herrah was preparing for the approaching conversation. She certainly was, carefully constructing arguments and requests that would solve the threat of war. Were she alone, then Root would have sighed. She had never enjoyed politics, and her kind was not well-versed in the art, instead relying on family and clan-heads to solve issues. Herrah however, for all her disdain of bureaucracy, was an absolute master of it.

She had to be to survive the hostility from Hallownest.

The hallways were quiet, the only sound coming from the murmurs of the ever-present retainers. They bowed as the two Queens walked past, before skittering out of sight, having been ordered to stay well away from the meeting room the two of them would have tea in. Finally, they reached the room, and Dryya stood by the door, opening it for them. It had been the only compromise her personal guard would accept, and Root knew she would hear more grumblings from Dryya about her decision to speak with Herrah alone later. But it was necessary. They needed to speak privately, frankly, and without any perceived threats from an unknown entity.

The two of the glided inside, and Herrah immediately wandered to her usual spot at the table, sitting down carefully. Root followed, her robes swishing softly against the floor as she took her own place.

The door shut with a soft click.

They were alone.

“Tea?” Root asked, lifting up the steaming pot. “It’s a special blend from Piones, shipped by the Rometrus family.”

“Trading with competitors?” Herrah said drily, well aware of the Scorstinger’s rival silk production, but she accepted a cup regardless.

“Only in goods that we can’t readily obtain. Your fabric is certainly superior in quality however. Were war to come, then the loss of Deepnest’s weavers would truly be felt.”

And so, the first move was played.

Herrah hummed at her words, watching the steam rise from the fragrant tea.

“Deepnest is aware of the advantages that come from trading with a kingdom such as Hallownest, and would regret a breakdown of trade agreements as well. The crystals from Seacrest truly do not compare,” she replied, carefully reaching out to pluck a pastry from a plate of various treats. She slipped the morsel beneath her mask, and Root relaxed, recognising the gesture as one of diplomacy.

Herrah did not bare her teeth to eat. This discussion would not be one of threats and aggression.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Root said, taking a sip of her tea. “The Kingdom of Hallownest is aware of the slight we caused against the Kingdom of Deepnest, and we would hope to rectify this wrong.”

“What does the Kingdom of Hallownest offer?”

“A cessation of the restrictions on Deepnest civilians and full clearance for a search party. This would come with conditions, however.”

“Such a boon would be favourable, though the restrictions raise some curiosity,” Herrah replied mildly, and Root nodded, tugging out the papers that would officially declare the terms.

“The conditions are very simple: we ask for a formal declaration of peace, and request that the Kingdom of Deepnest does not raise their weapons against the Hollow Knight or the Rogue Vessel.”

Herrah went very still, her eyes blinking carefully as they watched her.

“You ask that we show mercy to the being that stole my daughter away?”

“I ask for mercy to my children.”

They stared at each other unblinkingly, eyes sizing the other up as they tested the waters in their minds, wondering just how far they would go. But before an argument could break out, Herrah sagged.

“My fury for your child fled when my reason returned, Root. So I accept your terms,” she murmured, and Root let the tension bleed out from her body, head bowed.

“Thank you,” she breathed out, handing the documents over, and the other queen nodded wearily. Herrah scanned them over, carefully noting every sentence and hidden meaning, before relaxing further.

“By the Mother, look at us. I never wished for this to happen, my friend. My declaration of war was hasty and disproportionate to what had occurred. I hold no ire towards you. Your husband however...” she trailed off, eyes narrowed, and Root could not fault her for her distrust.

“I understand. If you wish, you can conduct all dealings with me and my court. But this cold war must end. Your child is dear to my heart as well, and I wish only for our children to grow together as siblings, unfettered by the biases of their parents.”

Herrah’s eyes closed.

“Such a relationship would truly be ideal,” she said carefully, “but I cannot trust the Pure Vessel with my daughter just yet.”

Root nodded sympathetically, unable to argue against her plight.

“We can discuss these matters once the children are returned back to their homes,” she offered, and Herrah softened, bowing her head.

“I would be grateful to do so. Was there anything else you wished to discuss? With your permission, I would hope to start a search party for my child.”

“Oh, of course, of course! Please, go ahead, and-!”

A loud banging sound from the hallway interrupted her, and the two queens whipped their heads towards the source of the noise. Root blinked at the muffled shouts from Dryya, noting how Herrah shot up from her seat, eyes narrowed.

“-can’t go in there... private-!”

Someone yelled back, and there was another crash, before the door swung open, smacking into the wall with a loud crack.

Barely a second later, Monomon’s assistant burst in, Dryya clinging to his back and trying to bite him. His headscarf was skewed as he looked wildly around, barely seeming to notice his attacker. Instead, at the sight of the Queen of Hallownest and the Queen of Deepnest staring at him defensively, he relaxed.

“Oh good,” he said with strained cheer, “you’re both here. That makes things a lot easier. The Vessels and the Gendered Child have been spotted in -ow, stop that- in Fog Canyon, and should now -why do you have teeth- be on their way to Greenpath. My mistress presumes that -for fuck’s sake!- that they’re headed towards the Forgotten Crossroads, and has called for Nailmaster Sly to track them down.”

With a grunt, he threw himself backwards to dislodge Dryya. Her guard let out a shriek, and scrambled off, launching herself towards the table and knocking the teapot over.

From the hallway, the Pale King’s voice echoed.

“Eat my excrement, you fluffy piece of garbage!”

Root shut her eyes, and took a deep breath.

At least it was good news, she thought.

“No,” Hornet said as they walked through Greenpath, “absolutely not.”

Ghost gave a silent grumble, and tried to gesture, but their sister was having none of it.

“I don’t care if it’s more discreet, I’m not going through Crystal Peak!” she exclaimed, violently shoving a bush to the side from her position on Hollow’s shoulder.

Ghost’s taller sibling looked at the shrubbery with sympathy, carefully giving it a pat, before continuing onwards, ignoring the two squabbling on their shoulders.

The siblings were getting close to the Crossroads, and had decided to pass the time discussing possible routes. Hornet was adamant that they could traverse the Blue Lake, but Ghost vehemently disagreed, instead arguing that going through Crystal Peak to reach the Resting Grounds would be safer and keep them out of sight. Hornet did not like the idea.

“It’ll be full of miners!” she pointed out, arms looped around one of Hollow’s horns. Ghost shrugged at her words, and mimed putting on things. They could just disguise themselves as rocks if needed. They sincerely doubted that the miners would notice, not if they were all as fixated as- as Myla. They ducked their head against Hollow’s other horn, taking a moment to gather themself. Hornet noticed the mood change, and was quiet until they composed themself again.

Ghost gestured again, and Hornet sighed.

“Look, let’s reach the end of the Crossroads first, and then we can decide. If it seems like we can’t go through the Blue Lake, then we’ll go through Crystal Peak. Happy?” she conceded, and Ghost nodded. Hollow gave a happy chuff, and continued to meander through the grassy paths, until they finally reached the entrance to the Crossroads.

Hornet let out a shuddering breath.

“This is it. The final stretch,” she murmured, and Ghost nodded solemnly.

Soon they would reach the Resting Grounds and could ask the Seer about the Radiance. Soon this would all end. A shiver of excitement ran through their body, and they clutched Hollow’s horn with trembling fingers.

They were all silent as Hollow traversed into the Crossroads, too wound up to speak. Ghost marvelled at how... loud the Crossroads were. Before they had been mostly silent, with only the tapping of the infected breaking the quiet. But now, they could hear murmurs of traveller’s, the exclaims of merchants, the grinding sound of wheels against the dirt.

Ghost was very used to death. They had wandered through an empty kingdom, filled with the lifeless husks of those long gone, with only a handful still clinging on to the glory of days past.

This... was not like that. It was vibrant and bright, loud and joyful, and if they could cry, then Ghost believed they would.

Life was wonderful, they thought. Absolutely wonderful.

Hornet twitched suddenly.

“We’re being watched,” she hissed, and Ghost froze. Hollow stumbled slightly, but otherwise showed no sign of hearing her, even as they carefully scanned their surroundings.

“Get to the Market Hall, then head down,” Hornet said urgently, “maybe we can lose them in the crowd.”

Hollow nodded imperceptibly, waiting for both of them to latch on tightly. Ghost waited with baited breath, watching for any sign of a follower.

Something scuffed against the dirt, and they whipped their head around, startling at the sight of a young looking bug on the floor.

They locked eyes. Hornet blinked. Hollow tensed.

“As... As the apprentice of Nailmaster Sly, I order you to stop!” The bug cried out, waving their wooden nail at them.

“You are a moron, Mato,” someone hissed, and an identical bug crawled out. Ghost stiffened at the words, unable to look away. Mato’s brother stood up, and cleared his throat.

“By the orders of Monomon the Teacher, I, Nail Apprentice Oro, hereby take you into custody!”

While Ghost stared at Mato, Hornet and Hollow gave each other a look.

“No,” she said drily, “absolutely not.”

“I told you that wouldn’t work,” a third voice said quietly, and another brother stepped forward, watching them with half-lidded eyes.

And Sheo lurched forward.

Chapter Text

When Monomon had come by and asked for his services in capturing some wayward children, Sly knew it would be an excellent learning opportunity for his young students. They were progressing well, certainly, but at the end of the day, they were still teenagers who had yet to go through their adult moulting. Discipline and failure were things they only vaguely understood, their youth lending them a confidence that had yet to be overturned. Monomon’s request was a perfect opportunity to test their scouting and apprehending skills.

They would undoubtedly run into trouble. The Pure Vessel had been personally trained by the Great Knights, and no-one knew what abilities the Rogue Vessel may have. Monomon had explained how the Kingsmoulds had noticed it running with the Pure Vessel in the Ancient Basin as they escaped, but its origins were still unclear.

But it wasn’t his job to investigate such matters. No, his job currently consisted of watching his students and stepping in when they needed help.

From his position in a hidden cranny, Sly carefully surveyed the situation below. He stifled a chuckle when Mato tripped out of his hiding position. He made a mental note to focus on patience and evasion techniques for him. What Mato lacked in natural skill he more than made up with enthusiasm. Oro’s reprimand and hostile declaration had Sly shaking his head. Oro was so eager to prove his worth to everyone around him, and it made him far too confrontational and intense. Sly knew he’d have to go over diplomacy again.

He blinked curiously as the eldest brother stepped forward. Sheo was everything a Nailmaster would hope in a student. He held an innate talent for the nail, and was a patient student. He took every lesson to heart, and utilised it to the best of his ability. He would be an excellent Nailmaster. But Sly knew his student would not last as one. He held no passion for the craft, and did it out of duty to his brothers.

It was disappointing, but Sly would not change Sheo’s course. He had to discover his path by himself, without the interference of his master.

Sly refocused his attention on the scene below, taking in the swift movement of Sheo. He was the only one with an iron nail, much to the chagrin of his younger brothers, but he was the only one who could wield it efficiently. The Pure Vessel darted to the side to dodge, and the princess and the Rogue Vessel clung to its horns for dear life. With a yell, Oro ran forward, trying to swipe at the Pure Vessel’s legs with his wooden nail. Sly’s eyes narrowed as the Vessel stumbled backwards, its gait uneven and sloppy, as though it suffered from an injury. The princess yelped out something, waving a comically oversized needle threateningly, but the other Vessel shook its head.

Clutching its smaller cargo under its arms, the Pure Vessel turned to flee, sprinting towards the Market Hall. Mato started after them, but Sheo held him back, while Oro grumbled.

“-need to split up...” Sly caught him saying, and he smiled approvingly. With a slight hup, he jumped down, landing right beside the brothers. Mato and Oro startled, but Sheo simply nodded.

“Very astute, Apprentice Sheo,” Sly said, “at this time of the day, the Market will be fairly busy. The runaways are most likely banking on the crowd disorientating you, before escaping in the chaos. Splitting up could solve this, but what issue would you then face? Mato.”

The youngest brother twitched at the sudden address, but narrowed his eyes in thought.

“The Vessel was quite quick... so catching up perhaps?” he offered, and Sly hummed in response.

“Yes, that could be issue, but not the only one. Oro?”

“They have a proper nail, and we don’t,” he said mulishly, glaring at his brother’s iron nail. Sly gave a sigh.

“Close, but not quite. Sheo?”

“It would be one on three,” he replied clearly, ignoring his brothers’ glances. His master nodded in approval, and gestured in the direction the runaways had gone.

“Exactly. So, while it was a good idea to split up, you will unlikely be able to apprehend them. As Mato said, they are quick, and they do indeed have weapons, like Oro noticed. So, what course of action should we take?” he asked. 

The brothers blinked at his words, carefully thinking it over, before Mato suddenly beamed.

“We track them!”

Sly couldn’t stop his grin.

“Exactly, Apprentice Mato! They are not inconspicuous, and so, they will be sloppy in their haste to get away. This short lesson should have given them enough time to believe they have escaped our pursuit, so I do believe it is time to hunt them down,” he said cheerfully, and his apprentices scrambled into position. “Well then, boys. Follow me, and we shall hunt.”

“Yes, Master!” they replied in unison, excitement clear in their voice.

He watched the brothers fondly, giving each of them a nod before darting forward, watching how they stumbled after them. As the entered the vertical Market Hall, Sly turned to them.

“Listen and watch your surroundings closely. What do you hear? What do you see?”

Mato and Oro looked at each other, before hurrying over to the market stalls, apparently deciding to pester the poor vendors for information. Sheo however, stayed by his side, and he noted how the oldest brother carefully scanned each floor. Then, he stretched out a claw.

“They went down there, to the bottom,” Sheo said softly, and Sly nodded his head.

“How can you tell?”

His student simply pointed to several vendors arguing with a guard over their collapsed stalls. One of them reached up as though describing the culprit, before pointing downwards, and Sly chuckled.

“Indeed! Mato! Oro! We know which way they went! Follow me, and quickly!” he called out, watching his other students scramble over.

They easily leaped down the floors of the Market Hall, weaving through the many stalls and bugs as carefully as possible. It wouldn’t do to have the guard on their tails as well. The group slipped into the food atrium, before heading right, ignoring the grumbles of the resting bugs around them.

“Master, why are we going this way?” Mato huffed out, craning his head to look at the opposite path.

“Because, my apprentice, that way leads to Fog Canyon. I doubt they planned to go through it again,” he explained, pleased that his student had taken the initiative to ask questions.

The youngest brother nodded eagerly, and refocused on keeping up with his master.

They sprinted through the caverns, dodging wagons and vendors, until Sly finally spotted a glimpse of red and grey. He narrowed his eyes. If he took an educated guess, then they were most likely trying to reach the tramway. But why?

He shook his head. Now was the time to focus.

“Sheo, block the path below!” he commanded, and Sheo dashed down, leaping in front of the startled trio.

“Oh come on!” the princess shrieked as the Pure Vessel screeched to a halt, almost knocking her and the other Vessel off its shoulders. Sheo took a stance, daring the runaways to come closer.

The Rogue Vessel watched them with careful eyes, before tugging on the taller being. It nodded, and with a leap, it scrambled up the wall and into the Station Hall. Sly cursed under his breath.

“Follow! Block the entrances in the Hall!”

He darted upwards, sprinting as quickly as possible. The Vessel was fast, yes. But Sly was faster. With years of expertise, he tore past the three runaways, leaping up to block the upper entrance. He watched with a trained eye as Sheo blocked the bottom path, while Oro took position by the path towards the tram, and Mato stood above the entrance to the tram way.

“It’s over,” Sly said softly. “There’s nowhere to go.”

The princess snarled, while the Vessels traded worried looks. Finally, the Rogue Vessel gave a pointed stare to the Gendered Child.

“No,” she hissed out, “I said no!”

It turned to the other Vessel. For a moment, they simply looked at each other. Then, the princess huffed.

“Fine! Fine!”

And with that, the Pure Vessel darted into the mineshaft to Crystal Peak, as the Rogue Vessel jumped off, blocking Sly and the others from following. Sly sighed. Did they really think that would stop-

Its head snapped upwards, mask seeming to crack open. A loud, piercing shriek filled the air, the sound of it releasing shockwaves of energy as the surroundings rumbled in response. The Rogue Vessel darted backwards, just as the beams supporting the mineshaft snapped. Rocks and debris began to cascade down, filling up the entrance and blocking anyone from going after the runaways.

Sly darted down, grabbing his apprentices and yanking them away from the collapsing tunnel. The brothers groaned at the wreckage, talking amongst themselves. Sly let them talk as he carefully examined the debris, going over possible paths to go after them in his mind.

That had been a clever, if dangerous trick. He would have to be more careful around the Rogue Vessel. But how could he go after them? He could try to cut them off in Crystal Peak, but the mines were a labyrinth, and without knowing exactly where they were going, a search would most likely be futile.

“Ah... Master?”

Why would they go into the mines? Did they mean to escape to Dirtmouth through the second exit? Or were they headed deeper down?

“...Master?”

If they were going down, then would it be better to head to the Resting Grounds? He could set up an ambush-

“You’re certainly in deep thought, Nailmaster Sly,” a low voice interrupted, and he whipped around, Nail in his hands.

He blinked.

“Ah,” he said lightly. “This is certainly a surprise.”

Herrah the Beast stared down at him, seemingly unimpressed. Her... retainer seemed more amused, though that was probably because her mask seemed to be permanently fixed in a grin. He cast an eye towards his apprentices who seemed to be stuck in a mixture of awe, uncertainty, and terror. Someone else cleared their throat, and Sly peered around the large form of Deepnest’s Queen.

The Pale King stood gracefully besides Herrah, claws tucked neatly inside his robes. Sly wondered if he should bow. He didn’t want to bow. Should he bow?

Rolling his limbs back, Sly stood up straight.

“Well, your majesties. You’ve caught us in a predicament, I’m afraid,” he explained neutrally, watching the Pale King tilt his head regally.

“How so, Nailmaster?”

His heart pounded in his chest, and he blinked slowly, trying to keep himself calm.

“The Vessels and the Princess escaped through a mineshaft heading towards Crystal Peak. The Rogue Vessel managed to cause the entrance to collapse with some sort of... shriek. I have come to a standstill on how to proceed.”

The group was silent for a moment, and Sly tried to carefully shuffle towards his boys.

“Shriek? They shouldn’t be able to-?” the Pale King muttered, and Sly shrugged. The Queen of Deepnest rolled her (many) eyes.

“You can have a crisis later. Midwife,” she said, turning to her retainer, “could you burrow through the rocks and tail them?”

The retainer chuckled.

“Of course, my queen. With ease.”

Midwife scuttled forward, eying up the collapsed tunnel curiously. Then, her mask parted, revealing row after row of razor sharp teeth, before sinking into the rocks as though it was soft fungus. Mato let out a gasp, and Sly quickly reached out to pat his student’s shoulder. Oro was as stiff as a board, while Sheo seemed... wary. Sly couldn’t blame them.

With a wriggle, Midwife disappeared into the rocks, leaving behind a small tunnel as she went. Sly swallowed.

Oh those poor bastards, he thought, they have no idea what’s coming for them.

“Go, go, go!” Hornet chanted, as Hollow sprinted down the steadily collapsing mineshaft. Ghost knew they were going to be yelled into oblivion later, but how were they supposed to know that their Abyss Shriek had somehow become more powerful? Resolving to test it at a later time, Ghost continued to cling on to their sibling for dear life.

It wasn’t until they pushed through into the actual mines that the shaking stopped, and Hollow tentatively slowed down. The siblings turned to look at the damage caused, and Hornet winced visibly.

“Well,” she said carefully, “at least they won’t be able to follow us easily.”

Hollow released a grumble, eying up the debris unhappily.

“I can’t believe Ghost managed to wrangle us this way anyway.” Hornet muttered, and Ghost leaned forward to tap her mask affectionately. “Yes, yes, I love you too. Now what?”

They shrugged, before pointing further into the mines, the sound of pickaxes hitting rock drifting out towards them. If they wanted to reach the Resting Grounds, then they would have to go deeper. Hornet would not be pleased, but it was safer than swimming in the lake. True to their expectations, their sister let out a loud sigh.

“Fine, fine. But we should let Hollow rest for a moment. You ran like crazy!” she said in awe, turning to their taller sibling. A chuffing sound seemed to escape from their chest, and they shuffled awkwardly.

Ghost bounded forward, and bumped their masks together, trying to convey their appreciation. Without Hollow, Sly and the... the others would have certainly caught up.

(Unbidden, the young faces of the Nailmasters popped up, and a tangled knot of... something rested in their chest. This Mato was not their Mato, and probably never would be.)

Hollow reached over to stroke Ghost’s mask, having noticed the sudden mood change, and the smaller sibling shook their head. Not now.

Perhaps not ever.

Instead, they tugged Hornet over, and collapsed against Hollow, who easily wrapped their arms around the both of them. Ghost let themself cling to their siblings, basking in their warmth and presence as they steadfastly refused to look further into roiling emotions in their body.

The siblings indulged in the embrace for only a few moments, before hauling themselves upwards. They had closed off this entrance, yes, but it was only a short walk away from the main entrance, and Ghost did not think Sly would give up easily. Behind them, a scraping sound could be heard, and Ghost wondered if they were trying to dig through. Surely not? It was probably just more rocks coming loose, they decided, pushing the thought out of their mind.

As they walked, Hollow tilted their head downwards, and made a picking up motion, but Hornet shook her head.

“You’ve carried us long enough. We can walk for a bit at least,” she explained, and their taller sibling gave an understanding nod.

They wandered deeper into the mines, the clinging sound of miners working growing louder and louder, until they spotted the first few. Ghost marvelled at how different the mines were, spotting safe passage ways where before only chasms and spikes remained. How long had Hallownest been in stasis before they arrived?

The miners looked up curiously at their arrival, but otherwise seemed uninterested, instead returning their focus back onto their work. Ghost wished they could ask Hornet if she knew why they were so indifferent. Maybe they could find a way to ask later, they thought as they entered into a breakroom. Ghost twitched in surprise at the bench in the corner, and took in the room they were in.

It looked so different to the dark and dangerous room they had wandered through the first time around. Shaking their head, they refocused on making their way through the mines. Hornet was quiet, blinking and flinching every so often, though she would shrug off their attempts to ask if she was fine.

“Just nervous,” she explained softly. “And all the mining makes my sensitivity go haywire.”

Ghost nodded in understanding, and gave her an affectionate pat. She let out an amused huff, but did not push them away.

Finally, they came across a sign with the words ‘Crystallised Mound’ carefully etched into it, and Ghost bounced excitedly. They tugged at their siblings and pointed in the direction of the sign, waving happily.

“That way?” Hornet asked, and they nodded, turning to walk to the exit.

A soft skittering sound echoed above the rhythmic clanging of the pickaxes, and Hornet froze. Hollow tilted their head in a silent question, but their sister gritted her teeth.

“She wouldn’t...”

The sound grew louder, a slow rhythm of swishing that seemed to get nearer and nearer. The grinding of rock made Ghost snap their head towards the opposite wall, and they watched in horrified fascination as a crack began to spread through the densely packed bedrock.

The sound stopped suddenly, but none of them moved.

“I think,” Hornet said quietly, “that my mother’s agents may have caught up with us.”

The wall burst open like a popped pustule of infection, and Hollow scooped up the two of them to protect them from the exploding debris. Ghost blinked as the dust began to settle, eyes catching on the silhouette of... something.

Something big.

“Oh my, oh my,” a gentle voice said, “you’ve gotten into quite a predicament, dear child.”

Midwife’s mask cut through the dust like a nail, the ever present grin seeming to gleam in the dim light of the mines. Hornet audibly swallowed.

“...I can explain.”

Midwife chuckled, and slithered closer, eying the group up curiously. Hollow gripped them tighter, torn between fleeing and letting their sister keep talking.

“Of course you will, child. You’ll have plenty of time to talk in your room, because I do hope you know that you are grounded until you go through your third moult.”

Hornet started to protest, but her caretaker quickly shushed her.

“Well then, what do you have to say for yourself? You’ve caused quite the incident, I hope you know,” she scolded, and their sister shrunk.

“It was important,” she mumbled out, and Midwife tutted.

“Important or not, you three are coming back with me immediately. Your mother is worried sick, and your... creator isn’t much better,” she said, turning to Ghost and Hollow. She looked at them carefully, taking in the differences between them.

Hollow shook at her words, clinging on to Ghost and Hornet even more tightly. Ghost dug their claws into their siblings cloak. What would happen if they went back? Hornet would be safe, but Ghost?

Hollow?

They swallowed, before wriggling out of their sibling’s grip. They let out a distressed huff, but Ghost ignored them, instead coming forward to stand in front of their siblings.

“Oh? Do you have something to say, Rogue Vessel?” Midwife asked, voice full of amusement.

Ghost glanced back at Hollow and Hornet, who stared at them in confusion and worry.

Ghost hadn’t realised before that Hornet and Hollow weren’t the only ones they brought along to the past. There had been others during that battle with the Radiance. Beneath their chitin, the void began to stir, the clamour of their siblings growing stronger and stronger.

They knew what they had to do.

And so, Ghost Shrieked.

Chapter Text

When she had followed them into the mines, Midwife had expected a very specific outcome. She would find the trio, stop them from going any further, and immediately take them into her custody. The Gendered Child might whine and complain that her adventure was cut short, but would acquiesce if she nagged her enough. The two Vessels would be harder, but if they had followed the little princess this far, then with luck, they would follow her back as well. If the Pure Vessel tried to put up a fight, well, she was happy to take it on.

Midwife was a bug that could eat Garpedes without hesitation. The Pale King’s creations would be no challenge.

That was what she had expected.

Given the trouble they had caused so far, she was a fool to think it would go smoothly.

When she finally found them, she scolded the little princess, and watched the two Vessels carefully. The Pure Vessel clutched the Gendered Child tightly to its chest, trembling at the mention of the Pale King. Yet neither of them moved until it became clear that Midwife would not leave without them. But it was not the Pure Vessel that challenged her.

When the Rogue Vessel stepped in front of the other two protectively, she wanted to laugh. It was no taller than the Gendered Child, its mask far too big for its childlike body, and it wielded a stick that was longer than itself. She immediately discarded it as a threat.

Perhaps, in retrospect, she should have been more wary. She should have listened to the warnings of the Nailmaster. But she was the Midwife, the Terror of Deepnest. What could it have done? And so she looked at it, and grinned.

“Oh? Do you have something to say, Rogue Vessel?”

It looked at the other two, before turning to her, almost resigned. She watched, slowly tensing up as its mask began to drip a thick black liquid, carefully crafting a mouth on an otherwise blank visage.

For a moment, there was silence.

And then the mouth opened, and screamed.

Void exploded from it in a shockwave, flinging a cloud of heavy liquid that clung to every surface, and Midwife flinched backwards. The grating noise seemed to physically force her away as it echoed within her very exoskeleton, static beating against her chest like fists. But she forced herself to stay upright upright, claws clinging to steadily splintering rock, and she turned her gaze upon the creature that kept on screaming and screaming. She watched in distant horror as things began to crawl from the viscous liquid the Vessel continued to spew, shaping them into familiar figures that twitched and trembled.

They looked like the vessels, she realised.

Her eyes darted over to Herrah’s daughter, who clung to the Pure Vessel and watched the Vessel with terror. Midwife knew she had to get her out of here. The Vessels could stay for all she cared, but the child went with her. The shakiness settled into determination, and she tensed, ready to strike.

A blobby shade crawled towards Midwife, and she darted forward, tearing it to shreds with her claws, unwilling to take any chances. As it disintegrated, a wail filled the air, and its siblings turned to her, tiny hands outstretched. The static grew louder, and thick tendrils began to form from their childlike bodies, desperately trying to reach her. She swung her hind body at the approaching figures, watching with grim satisfaction as they were crushed beneath her weight.

“Child!” she called out, dodging a flash of black. It splattered against the wall, and she had to force herself not to look. “Child!”

Something grabbed Midwife’s carapace, and she snarled, trying to shake it off, but it clung on like sticky honey. The Gendered Child looked at her, mouth seemingly open as she cried out something, but the scream of the Vessel drowned her out. More and more shades coalesced, unwilling to let her go now that they had her, and Midwife thrashed, desperate to break free as her vision began to fade.

And then, there was nothing.

Midwife awoke to inky blackness, the darkness having no start and no end as it surrounded her like a vice. She hissed, but the sound died the moment it left her, leaving nothing but utter silence.

True silence.

It was not the silence of the mines, where the clinging sound of pickaxes remained. It was not the silence of Deepnest, made out of the scuttle of legs and murmur of voices.

This silence was made out of nothing but despair, and it seemed to slowly choke her as it kept her still.

And then, slowly, as though being carved from stone, a set of eyes appeared, watching her ever so carefully.

Apology.

The feeling of being crushed disappeared, and Midwife gasped, sucking in air. Nothing had been spoken, but she could feel the intent of it so clearly she could almost believe it had been said out loud.

Regret.

“I should hope so,” she said without thinking, and immediately, the void surrounding her seemed to shift into something... cowed.

Somehow, she thought disbelievingly, it seemed like a child. Perhaps then, she had to approach it like one. Shifting her limbs into a non-threatening position, she tilted her head.

“What is this all about then?” Midwife asked, and the void burbled in what was undeniably pride.

Help!

“The Vessel?”

A wave of love and affection crashed into her, stealing her breath away as it surrounded her in thick waves.

Sibling, sibling, sibling!

Midwife choked, and the feeling subsided, immediately being replaced with regret and worry. She took a moment to gather herself before speaking again.

“Please... be careful,” she croaked out, and the feeling immediately turned to agreement. Whatever it was, it was certainly not malicious. That much was apparent. Curious, she decided to test her luck.

“May I leave?”

Mournful, but determined rejection filled the space.

Midwife frowned.

“Just as you wish to help your sibling, I must assist someone as well,” she tried to explain, but the feeling grew stronger.

She grumbled softly.

“I’m not going to hurt them, you know.”

Overwhelming doubt flooded her, and she shuddered.

“I am duty bound to protect the little one, the Gendered Child,” she bit back, and the doubt faded slowly.

Help? Sister?

That was... one way to put it, she supposed. The Pale King had indeed created the Vessels, so in some way, they were his children.

“Sister? She’s- I suppose technically she is.”

Curiosity filled the air, and Midwife sighed, unsure of how to proceed.

“I am one of her caretakers. Her mother is desperately worried, you see. Your sibling has caused quite a conundrum.”

The curiosity lingered, an unspoken request for more details. Suddenly, Midwife noticed that more eyes had appeared within the void, each of them carefully focused on her. What in the name of the First Mother was this thing?

“Look, it really is quite complicated. How about this; you let me free, and I will not go after them just yet. I will instead return to her mother and tell her that the child is safe. Then, we will all follow them,” she suggested. A pulse of uncertainty went through her, and she twitched.

But suddenly, there was agreement.

Help sister, it seemed to whisper, and she nodded.

“Yes. I simply wish to help. So do her mother and father, no matter how useless he is.”

Father? Father? Father?

The inquisitiveness almost bowled her over, forcing her to tense her limbs.

“Yes,” she gritted out, “her father. Your creator.”

For a moment, there was nothing. The eyes looking at her seemed empty, and she wondered if she was frozen in time.

And then the void was filled with nothing but rage and grief, echoing over and over and over until she was forced to curl up into a ball. The twisted sorrow and despair burrowed deep in her mind, and she could see nothing but the eyes in the void, glaring at her with such hatred and accusation that she doubted she would leave alive.

No Voice! No Voice! No Mind, no Will!

Midwife clutched at her head, trying to block out the increasing crescendo, but it was no use. It was as though the sound had wormed its way into her very soul.

We suffer! We suffer! We Suffer! Their scream tore through the void, bursting with such anguish that she couldn’t hold back a sob.

“Forgive me,” she tried to choke out, “I do not know anything.”

At the sound of her voice, the rage seemed to spike up, before receding into a soft background hum, leaving only an aching sorrow behind. Cautiously, she looked up, swallowing at the shades that now surrounded her.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound escaped her. None of them moved, locked in a voiceless stalemate that she could not comprehend. And slowly, the void began to fade, the dim light of the mines shining like a beacon. Midwife shut her eyes, the sudden glare too much after being trapped in darkness for so long. When she finally opened them, the void was gone, leaving no trace behind save for the lingering emotion that seemed to pulse with every heartbeat.

Apology. Apology. Apology.

For a moment, Midwife did not even dare to breathe, her body aching from how tense she kept her limbs. Then she turned, and headed back the same way she had entered. She did not think. She did not speak.

All she knew was that the Pale King had much to answer for, and one way or another, she would force the truth out of him.

Hornet was trembling, Hollow noted distantly, their arms holding her even tighter. They could not blame her. They were trembling as well. Hollow had only been somewhat aware of their sibling’s fight against the Radiance, but this... this went beyond what they had seen.

In front of them, a sphere of void encased their pursuer. Ghost stood close by, mask hidden from their view, but Hollow would not be able to forget the sight they had seen. The eyes that had clung to their sibling’s mask, the stream of void that fell from their eyes- Hollow shuddered, and Hornet gripped on even tighter.

“Ghost?” she finally croaked out, and their sibling’s head cocked to the side, not yet turning to face them. For a moment, it was quiet, before Hornet forced herself to speak again.

“Will she be okay?”

Ghost nodded slowly. Tension leaked from Hornet, and she let out a relieved sigh.

“Thank you. She is... dear to me.”

Ghost did not move, and Hollow cast a glance to their sister. Her brow was furrowed in worry, and her claws tugged against their cloak in a silent request to move closer. Hollow obliged, slowly approaching their unmoving sibling.

“Can you look at me? At us? We aren’t- we won’t hurt you,” Hornet pleaded softly. They were trembling, Hollow realised, and their heart dropped.

Did their sibling believe that they would hate them? That they would cast them away in disgust?

A mournful huff escaped their chest, and with shaky legs, they stepped forward, claws outstretched to grab their sibling. They flinched away at the touch, but Hollow did not stop until they were tucked into their arms. Hornet did not hesitate to wrap herself around them, burying her head into their cloak.

“It’s okay, Ghost. I promise. We love you, no matter what,” she murmured like a mantra, and Hollow nodded their agreement. Their sibling held on tightly, and Hollow could feel something wet leak onto their cloak. Hornet seemed to notice as well, as she gently placed her claws on their mask.

“Can we see you?”

Ghost shuddered at the words, twitching every so often, but they did not flinch away. Slowly, Hornet lifted their head up, until their mask stared at both of them. Hollow locked their gaze with a multitude of eyes, watching as Void dripped from them like tears.

“Oh Ghost,” Hornet breathed out softly, reaching up to wipe the tears away. “You did what you had to.”

A silent hiccup seemed to escape them as they leaned into her touch, and Hollow could not stop themself from holding their siblings tighter. Had Ghost been carrying this burden all along? Hollow cursed their inability to speak and reassure their smaller sibling. But Hornet, clever, sweet Hornet, always knew when to voice the thoughts they could not say.

“I’m so sorry, Ghost. That must have been hard to carry with you.”

There were unshed tears in her eyes, and it struck Hollow just how young she truly was. She was a child who had grown up so quickly just to survive, who still held such love for her siblings despite the hardships she endured. And even when faced with the chance to stay with the mother she had lost long ago, she had chosen to follow her siblings.

A silent keen escaped their chest, and they bent over, cloak covering their younger siblings from view. They knew they could not protect her from what had happened in the future, but they had to protect her now.

“Hollow?” Hornet whispered softly, voice muffled by their cloak, and they forced themself upright again. She looked up at them with concern, and even Ghost had lifted their head to make sure they were alright. The eyes on their sibling’s mask had begun to close and disappear, the tears evaporating into nothing, and Hollow let out a heavy sigh. They tilted their head towards the path they needed to follow, hoping their siblings could see their regret at breaking up this moment. But they were so close, and if Hollow wanted to protect their siblings, then they had to finish what had been started.

Hornet blinked, but nodded, a watery smile on her face.

“No, no, you’re right, Hollow. We’re almost there. Ghost?”

She turned to face them, and they leaned forward, bumping their mask against hers. She let out a shaky giggle.

“I guess that’s your agreement then,” she said.

With a final squeeze, Hollow let go of their siblings. Hornet stood up straight, even as the hand clutching her needle trembled imperceptibly. But they knew it was not out of fear anymore, but rather, it was anticipation. Ghost stared straight ahead, eyes keenly focused on the path before them. They were close. So close.

Letting out one last huff, Hollow straightened their spine, determination buzzing through their limbs. Soon, they would be at the Resting Grounds.

Hollow would make sure their siblings finally had a happy ending. No matter what.

When Midwife burst out of the tunnel in a cloud of dust, Herrah feared the worst. Had the Vessels attacked her? Had they turned hostile towards the Gendered Child? Was her daughter safe? But before she could open her mouth, Midwife turned to the Wyrm, fangs bared in hostility.

“What did you do?” she hissed out, and Herrah narrowed her eyes, claw reaching out to grab her friend. The moment her fingers brushed against her carapace, Midwife flinched, rearing backwards to her full height as her mask unlatched in warning.

“Midwife,” Herrah said, voice ringing out in the silence that had befallen the group. “What happened? Is my daughter safe?”

Her friend shuddered, a mixture of terror and rage blazing from her eyes.

“Yes. The Vessels view her as their sister. She is not and will not be harmed.”

Relief flooded through Herrah, the ever present knot of worry in her chest loosening slightly, but she could not relax just yet. With cool certainty, she looked at Midwife directly.

“Then what has caused you to turn your fangs on your Queen?”

Midwife’s mask shut with a snap, and she lowered herself down in a fluid movement.

“Fear, my Lady,” she hissed out, “fear and fury from what I learned within the mines.”

With a smooth twist, her friend turned her attention back onto the Pale King.

“I ask you again, Worm, what did you do?”

The Pale King tilted his head ever so slightly, regarding Midwife with detached curiosity.

“You will have to be clearer, I’m afraid,” he said softly, and the centipede let out a harsh scoff. Her body swayed back and forth, and for a moment, Herrah wondered if she was going to attack the King.

“Midwife,” she called out, stepping forward to touch her once again. This time, she did not flinch away from her touch, but Herrah could still feel the nervous tension in Midwife’s exoskeleton.

Silence lingered within the group for a moment, waiting cautiously for Midwife to explain herself. With a careful eye, Herrah watched the way her friend’s eyes darted back a forth, the instinctive clenching and unclenching of a mask that was desperate to open, and she wondered just what the hell she had seen.

And then, with a low and trembling voice, Midwife spoke:

“No mind. No will. No voice. But they suffer still.”

The Pale King reeled backwards, eyes wide in shock and terror.

“Where did you hear that?” he whispered, and Midwife laughed.

“Where do you think?”

The Pale King was shaking, Herrah noticed, still confused. His light fluctuated between glaring white and dim grey, seeming to reflect the turmoil that roiled within his mind.

“Would you care to explain to the rest of us?” she asked lowly, watching the way the King twitched at her words. Midwife glanced back at her, before giving a slow nod.

“I found them all together in the mines. They were about to head down the path to the Resting Grounds when I stopped them. The Gendered Child was fine, and seemed comfortable in the arms of the Pure Vessel. But then the Rogue Vessel stepped forward.

“Sly was right. They can scream. But they did more than just collapse a tunnel.”

Midwife had begun to tremble, and Herrah tightened her grip on her carapace, desperate to lend her old friend some comfort.

“What did it do?” she encouraged gently, and Midwife released a shuddering breath.

“It released a swarm of shades, each similar in shape and size to the Vessels. They trapped me within a sphere of void, and spoke to me through thoughts and feelings. At first, they were apologetic, but kind. They were children,” the last word was hissed out suddenly, slicing through the air. The Pale King hid his face in his hands.

“Please,” he mumbled, “please, no more.”

“They were children,” she repeated again, words choked with grief. “But when I mentioned you, Pale King, they changed. Why, Wyrm, did they fill the air with anguish? Why did they release such sorrow and rage? Why, Pale King? Why?

“What did you do to them?”

Her voice echoed within the cavern, seemingly sinking into the foundations of stone surrounding them. Herrah did not move as dust trickled from the ceiling, instead standing her ground as she bore into the Pale King with her gaze.

“Where did the Vessels come from, Wyrm?” she finally asked.

The Pale King did not reply for a while, shoulders trembling in grief and self-loathing. And then, another voice cut in.

“They are our children,” Root said softly, limbs reaching out to pull her husband close.

“You would sacrifice your own grub?” Midwife spat out, and Root let out a cold laugh.

“What would you have done, Midwife of the Deep? Faced with a collapsing kingdom, with the knowledge that the only way to save your people was by sacrificing your children to the void below, hollowing it out into nothing more than an empty husk, what would you have done?”

“They were never empty!” she roared out. “You chose to see them as empty, forced them to be empty! You were a coward!”

“We did what had to be done,” Root hissed back, tears dripping down her face. “If we had seen them as true children, then we would have faltered. We did falter! And we will live with that knowledge forever, we will live knowing that every child we sacrificed was living and alive! But my children are out there now, and I want them! I want my children back!”

She was weeping by the time she finished, the sound echoing loudly across the cavern, and Herrah looked away, fangs clenching. Midwife looked as though she had more to say, but stayed silent when Herrah shook her head. Blinking harshly, the Queen of Deepnest swallowed.

“What now, then?”

At her words, the Pale King shifted, claws gripped tightly around his wife. His eyes shone with regret and unshed tears, but he stood up straight despite it.

“Now,” he rasped out, “we go after the children.”

And what could Herrah do other than silently agree?

Chapter Text

Peering down the seemingly bottomless pit Ghost was certain would take them all to the Resting Grounds, Hornet wondered if the time travel hadn’t scrambled their mind in some way.

“And this will take us straight to the Resting Grounds,” she said disbelievingly, unable to ascertain anything in the darkness below. “Are you sure we won’t... well. Go splat?”

Ghost nodded encouragingly, but she just knew that they were laughing at her trepidation. Hollow seemed unfazed by their imminent leap of faith, but she couldn’t stop her own concern. She did not have the body mass or strength to swing herself down to safety, and while Ghost had the uncanny ability to throw themself from large heights without suffering injury, she doubted Hollow’s weight would afford them the same boon.

Unless more void-y gruzshit was going to be used.

...She really hoped there wasn’t going to be more void-y gruzshit. 

“So, we just... jump,” she said flatly, and Ghost nodded again, giving her mask a pat.

After me, they carved into the rock. Will catch you.

“Both of us?”

They gave her a thumbs up. There was no hesitation, no doubt in their body. They believed they would catch her and Hollow. She just had to trust them. Her eyes flicked over to her taller sibling, who kept glancing back down the tunnel they came from, and she knew that she was wasting their time.

“Fine,” she breathed, “fine. When should we jump after you?”

Ghost held up a hand, showing her three fingers.

“Three minutes?”

They shook their head.

 “...Three seconds?” she said weakly, and they nodded. Oh by the First Mother, no.

They reached out and gave her hand a squeeze.

Trust me, they seemed to say. She let out a shuddering sigh.

“Okay. Okay. Three seconds. You got that Hollow?” she called to her sibling, who gave her a slow nod. “Right then. Let’s do this.”

Ghost gave her one last squeeze, before letting go and heading to the ledge. They held up three fingers again, and she gave a shaky nod. And with her confirmation, they jumped.

One.

Two.

Three-

She shrieked as Hollow scooped her up and threw them off, her stomach flipping at the sudden drop. Wind rushed past her mask, and a small desperate part of her screamed at her to get her needle, to swing to safety-

Void flooded her vision as they landed, the viscosity of it immediately halting their fall without splattering them against the ground. Hollow kept their grip on her, and she clung onto them just as tightly. For a moment, she wondered if Ghost had trapped them like they had with Midwife, but slowly, the void receded.

Ghost peered at both of them, jumping up and down in excitement when they saw they were both unharmed.

“What,” she hissed out, “was that?”

Her smaller sibling shrugged, and made a complicated gesture with their hand. She supposed that was their way of saying it was too hard to explain, and she reluctantly acquiesced.

“Fine then, keep your secrets,” she mumbled, and Hollow let out a huff of laughter. She wriggled out of their grip, trying not to flush at the obvious difference in height. But before she could grumble any further, she found her gaze caught by their surroundings. Ghost seemed curious as well, and they looked intently at the empty spot in the middle of the room, before pointing towards it.

She knew what was missing.

Hornet shuddered, and turned away.

Xero the Traitor would still be alive, wouldn’t he?

It was unlikely that they would cross paths again in this life, but she could not forget what had happened long, long ago. Her mother had already been sealed, and Root had left shortly before the incident. Hornet remembered Xero and the destruction he wrought. She remembered how he had stormed the palace, how he slaughtered her personal retainer before turning his weapon on her, eyes blazing orange with infection. It was through sheer luck that she had managed to escape, and that he had decided not to pursue. After all, she was not his target. But by the time he had been caught, the damage had been done.

In the aftermath of it all, when she tried to seek out her father for comfort, he dismissed her nightmares and shooed her away. Shortly afterwards, he sent her to Queen Vespa for training. A little addition to a treaty, he had said.

As though it were her fault for being scared. For being weak.

The gentle touch of Hollow’s hand on her head drew her from her memories, and she let out a choked sigh.

“He tried to kill me,” was all she said in explanation, and while Hollow did not understand, Ghost did. They looked at her with horror and grief, quickly darting over to grab her, but she shook her head.

“It was a long time ago. It won’t happen again.”

Still, neither of her siblings let go, instead clutching her even more tightly to them. We will protect you sister, they seemed to say, and she ducked her head into the warm chitin of her siblings. We will keep you safe.

She knew they would. But if she never met Xero again, then she would be happy. With one last sigh, she wriggled out of the protective grip of her siblings, instead placing her hands on her hips.

“Sulking about it now won’t change anything. You know what will? Finding the bug that will help us. Now up!” she demanded, emulating the stern tone of Midwife. She stifled a giggle at the way Ghost sprang to attention, giving her an exaggerated salute. Hollow was slower, still peering at her with concern, but she waved them off.

Now was not the time. She had survived despite Xero’s attempts, despite the world’s attempts, and that was the important part. Hollow let out a silent huff, but finally relaxed, a reassuring claw resting on her mask for a few moments before retreating.

Hornet smiled and let the comfort wash over her. Ghost gave the two of them another thumbs up, and despite herself, Hornet gave one back.

Her sibling seemed to beam at the gesture, twirling around on the spot in glee. Hollow shook behind her, the strange sound she’d come to associate with them laughing spilling out of their chest.

“Yes, yes, I’m the best sister ever. Now come on!” she commanded.

Ghost nodded, gesturing with a claw for Hollow and Hornet to follow them, before scurrying off deeper into the Resting Grounds. As she followed, she couldn’t help but realise how... unchanged the Grounds were. The graves were still intact and there were signs of visitors leaving flowers and baubles behind for the dead, but other than that, the atmosphere was identical to the Resting Grounds of the future.

She had very rarely visited, unable to look at the monument that proudly praised her mother’s sacrifice.

A sacrifice that didn’t work. A sacrifice made in vain.

Still, there was familiarity in the graveyard around them, and it was unsettling and comforting at the same time. She did shudder as they passed the empty spot where the monument was meant to be constructed though. Ghost seemed unsettled as well, slowing down to grasp at Hollow’s cloak.

Their sibling let them cling without complaint, instead reaching down to pat them lovingly on the horns. The gesture appeared to reassure Ghost and they sped back to the front, swiping at Hornet as they passed. She let out a low hiss, but decided not to retaliate. She would bide her time before striking. She was an apex predator after all, patience and hunting was in her-

Something tugged her backwards and she flinched, only to realise it was Hollow keeping her from slamming into the stone steps leading up to the Spirit’s Glade. She blushed before nonchalantly brushing a stray speck of dirt from her cloak, ignoring the grin that Ghost was sending her way.

“Thank you,” she said primly to Hollow, who patted her head gently in reply.

Apart from the tapping of their feet against stone, the walk up was silent, nervous anticipation beginning to build.

This was it. This was the chance they had to change everything. Her mother would be able live. Hollow would be free. Ghost would be a child.

She would finally breathe.

Ghost waited for them by the small doorway opposite the Spirit’s Glade, body uncharacteristically still. For a moment, none of them moved. Then, Ghost tilted their head.

Hornet sucked in a breath.

“Let’s do this.”

And with a bravery she could not quite feel, she knocked on the door.

The silence that followed was almost agony, and Hornet could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Hollow reached down to hold her hand, while Ghost grabbed the other. She couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

Slowly, the door creaked open, and the face of a moth peered out.

“Apologies, I am not accepting unscheduled- Ah.”

The moth swallowed, turning their head slightly to look inside their abode, before looking back at them.

“Seer?” Hornet asked hesitantly, and the moth jerked.

“Ah, yes, though please, call me Lepitera,” she replied, slipping out from the doorway and blocking the entrance. “I did not expect your arrival.”

“Then you know why we’re here?”

Lepitera grimaced.

“Yes, but please know that I am working on it. I would prefer to find a peaceful solution, and while she is incredibly stubborn, I think I finally managed to convince her to rethink things.”

Hornet could feel herself gaping. Her siblings, on the other hand, were as still as statues.

“What?” she whispered.

Lepitera blinked, and then paled.

“Oh dear.”

And with those words, Ghost sprang to life, ducking past the moth and shoving the door open. Lepitera let out a startled cry, claws nervously reaching out to stop them, but it was too late. The door hit the wall with a bang, and a gentle glow radiated from within.

Then, the shrieking began.

The room was bright, far brighter than the dim light of the Resting Grounds Ghost noticed. It was evidence, but they needed more, and crept closer to the bundle of golden light on the bed.

“Lepitera?” a voice croaked out from beneath the sheets. “Did you shoo the peasants away?”

Ghost remained silent as they approached, and something began to shift on the bed.

“Lepitera?” the voice called out again, more nervous.

They waited, claw tightening around their stick.

And slowly, a fluffy head peeked out from the covers.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Ghost watched with absolute glee as the Radiance’s face paled in terror, mouth hanging open in shock.

They lifted their stick, and she bolted, an unintelligible shriek escaping her body.

“Get out, get out, get out-!” the being that was once the Radiance screamed, feathers flying haphazardly as they leapt after her, getting in a few jabs with their stick. They scoffed behind their mask, instead lunging forward to smack her with their shoddy weapon, delighting in her desperate cry as it hit a sore spot.

They didn’t know why the Seer had let the Radiance stay here, why she was letting her recover, but Ghost wouldn’t stand for it. They had felt the way their sibling trembled at the mere notion of being close to her, and they would not let Hollow’s terror continue. Ghost lunged forward again, trying to get in a particularly nasty hit, but the Radiance dodged.

Hornet appeared at that moment yelling out a battle cry, swiping with her oversized needle at the threat to their sibling. The goddess yelped and skidded away, ducking as their sister’s needle came flying at her face.

With a speed that was surprising considering her wounds, she scrambled up a bookshelf, knocking down tinctures and potions as she went.

“Lepitera!” she squawked. “Lepitera, I command you to help your goddess and get this thing away!”

The Seer must have come in at some point, and she slowly tried to approach them.

“I understand how this looks, little vessel, but rest assured, everything is under control,” she tried to tell them, but Ghost ignored her. Instead, they let the void gather on the mask, letting a shriek build up.

Having been on the receiving side of it enough to know what was coming, the Radiance screeched in fear, lobbing a book at them. If they possessed the ability to cackle then they absolutely would have. But before they could unleash a torrent of void at her, a hand clamped down on their mask, fingers stiff and trembling.

Ghost looked up at their taller sibling, wondering why they had stopped them. But no answer came. Hollow carefully scooped Ghost and Hornet up, tugging them away from the bookshelf to the other side of the room.

“Thank you, Pure Vessel. I understand this is a shock, but please, let me speak,” the Seer pleaded.

“Why?” Hornet’s voice cut through, sharp and hateful. “You give sanctuary to the enemy, our enemy, who has caused nothing but torment and grief wherever she goes.”

The Seer sighed.

“I know. I know, little protector. And she will be brought to justice, that I can assure you. But not at the end of a blade.”

Ghost wanted to scream. What other justice was there for a being that had tortured their siblings, that had trapped them in a rotting tomb, that had caused their friends to slowly lose their minds to her orange lies? She deserved death, they wanted to yell. She deserved to die so that she could never harm their family again.

But before they could wriggle free, Hollow tightened their grip around Ghost. And all at once, the fight left them.

Because this wasn’t about Ghost. This was about Hollow. Ghost and Hornet had been wronged, yes, but it was Hollow who deserved to decide the Radiance’s fate.

Hollow, who had spent so, so long fighting her, who had upheld their duty until they finally cracked, who had looked death in the eye and welcomed it because it meant they could finally rest.

If anyone held the right to decide, then it was Hollow.

Ghost gripped their sibling tightly, and bumped their mask against their own. Hollow did not move, but some of the tension seemed to escape. Hornet shuffled closer as well, hand reaching up to grasp Hollow’s cloak comfortingly. Finally, their sibling lifted their head and looked at their tormentor.

The room was silent, and Ghost wished they knew what their sibling was thinking.

“She can do no harm,” the Seer finally said, voice breaking the silence. “Her power is much diminished, and even now she must draw the current infection back to herself in order to heal. She cannot harm anyone anymore.”

Ghost looked to the Radiance, and saw no opposition, no denial or lie. She was no longer a goddess.

“How certain are you?” Hornet asked softly, her voice hiding steel. This time, it was the Radiance who spoke.

“Lepitera does not lie. I am... diminished. A shadow of myself. Your little void monster made sure of that. And even if I did regain my power, it would... it would be a very, very long time. Your wyrm’s kingdom is safe,” she spat out, eyes glaring hatefully at the siblings.

But before she could say anything else, the Seer flicked the Radiance. The former goddess flinched backwards, a furious scowl on her face as she opened her mouth to yell, but the Seer simply gave her a look. Ghost couldn’t help but watch in fascination as all the fight left the Radiance. A soft sound escaped her, and she looked away.

“Louder,” the Seer said firmly, and the Radiance tensed.

“I apologise.”

“Come again?” Hornet asked. Her eyes were harsh, and allowed no escape.

“I apologise! To your... sibling,” the Radiance grit out, and while it certainly wasn’t freely given, the apology at least seemed to be genuine.

Hollow continued to stare at their tormentor, body as still as stone. And slowly, they shook their head.

“They do not accept,” Hornet explained. “None of us do.”

Ghost perked up, ready to fight, but Hollow held up a hand and gestured for something to write with. The Seer, Lepitera, quickly stood up and grabbed a quill and parchment, carefully handing it over. Hollow carefully lowered their siblings, giving them a soft look before grabbing the utensils.

Please don’t attack, they seemed to say.

For a moment, only the sound of a quill scratching paper filled the room. Then it stopped, almost hesitantly, before continuing again until Hollow seemed to finish. They gently put the quill down as their fingers ran across the paper.

Then, they turned it over.

I do not forgive you. But if you say you will stop the infection, then you are no enemy of mine, and this will be the last time we face each other.

I only ask that we never see each other again.

No-one spoke. The Radiance stared at the note, before looking at Hollow. Ghost wanted to hiss at her, wanted to chase her off, but held back. This was between them, they reminded themself. Right now, Hollow only asked for their comfort and presence. They could defend themself.

Finally, the Seer nodded.

“That is a fair request, and one I will personally see to. In return, I beg of you to keep her presence a secret. Let her atone with me,” she said softly. Ghost and Hornet bristled, but ultimately turned to their sibling instead.

“It’s your choice, Hollow,” Hornet added, voice gentle. Ghost squeezed their cloak reassuringly. Hollow let out a soft chuff and set down the paper, using their free hands to stroke both of their masks lovingly. Then, they looked back to the moths.

Slowly, Hollow nodded, and raised one fist to their heart. A knight’s agreement. A promise.

They would keep this secret.

And like that, it was over.

The Infection would not return. The Radiance would repent.

The future was safe.

The siblings left in a hurry after that, unwilling to spend another moment with their former enemy. It wasn’t the outcome Ghost had wanted, but it was the outcome Hollow needed. And that was enough for Ghost.

They had tried to keep it together. They had tried so, so hard. And in some way, they had succeeded. They had faced their enemy, had rejected her apology, and had gained the freedom of their kingdom.

It was over.

The Pure Vessel had succeeded.

And Hollow finally began to bawl.  

Chapter Text

Their approach to the tram was near silent. Wyrm didn’t know whether to be thankful for it or to desperately wish for someone, anyone, to speak up and say something. Midwife had not stopped glaring at him since leaving the mines, her smiling visage full of nothing but vitriol and absolute hatred.

And yet, he could not fault her for it. He had always known that if... when the truth of his actions was revealed, then he would be regarded in disgust and horror. However, his Root had been right. What else could they have done at the time? Try to negotiate with a half-mad god? Evacuate the entire kingdom and wander through the Wastes? Ask for other bugs to sacrifice their own children?

No. No, Root and Wyrm had known that they could ask no other. They would pay the price for their desperation, would be willing to do so, despite the gruesome acts needed to create a vessel. For his kingdom, for the people he had sworn to protect, Wyrm had willingly buried his children in the soil of the Abyss, letting the void seep into the pristine shells until the tiny beings inside were more Void than bug.

They were gods, after all. They could handle such loss. But that did not mean that they held no regret, no grief, no rage over their actions. In the early days, before he had sealed the eggs into the Abyss, Root had pleaded with him to give her at least one of the eggs. Just one, she begged, just one child for them to raise.

It took everything within him not to crumble and give in. But he had managed to harden his resolve.

Better to break her heart now than later, when she realised that her chosen egg would not - could not - hatch without the embrace of the Void, he reasoned. Either way, she would lose the child she wanted to have.

There were no children in those eggs, he told her bluntly. Only lifeless vessels.

The void would carve out the Soul of the eggs, would nest and root in their little bodies until they were hollow and cold. The beings that hatched were not children, he told himself, watching those tiny little vessels stumble out of the eggs he had created with Root. They were lifeless, he repeated as their little masks glinted in the soft light he provided against the darkness of the Abyss before they went tumbling back down into the void. They had no mind, no soul, no will. They could not feel pain, he said over and over, ignoring the pain in his Soul as he heard the crunch of masks shattering against the cold uncaring ground of their birthplace.

They were not children.

Perhaps if he repeated it enough, he would believe it himself.

While Wyrm purposefully blinded himself to the truth, Root had turned away from any mention of the vessels, refusing to even look at the Pure Vessel after it- they ascended. She had almost crumbled the first time she saw them, eyes tearing up as she stared at her husband with an unspoken plea. He had to turn her away yet again.

“It is empty,” he reminded her gently. “It is no child. If you feel tempted to coddle it as one, then perhaps it would be best if you stepped away from it.”

For a moment, it had seemed as though she would argue, as though she would put an end to this farce, this lie they continued to tell themselves-

But ultimately, she let her eyes flutter shut, and agreed.

For the good of the kingdom, they told themselves. To safeguard the future for their subjects.

And so she had avoided the vessel as much as possible. The moment they wandered into the same room as her, she would leave, head held up high and eyes looking through the being that could have been raised as their child.

Empty, he had told himself over and over while he watched the little vessel grow and grow. No mind, no will, no thoughts, he insisted, even as he sat beside them in a rare moment of peace, their gaze undeniably full of adoration.

He had forced himself to look away, to forget and pretend that there was nothing there, just as Root did whenever the vessel needed to approach her.

The Midwife had been correct; they were both cowards. But what else could they have done? How could they look at that child, that precious, dutiful child, and bring themselves to accept that they were not as empty as thought? That they were going to sacrifice them for the sake of Hallownest, a plan that only would work if the vessel was empty? A plan that they had already sacrificed so much for?

It was safer to pretend, safer for them, safer for the kingdom.

But oh, how cruel it was to the vessel, to the children he had tossed down into the Abyss and watched as they shattered themselves for the sake of a father who could never show love towards them. Even now, after having his failures thrown into his mask, Wyrm was still unable to tease out the tangled web of emotions he felt towards the vessels. He had done what he had thought was right, despite the truth of the matter.

He had done the duty of a monarch. But not a father.

Never a father.

Not even with the Gendered Child, his daughter, the only child he had openly accepted as his own up until now. Root often pushed him towards her, trying again and again to get him to talk and interact with her, but- he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He loved his child, but he could not stop the burn in his chest whenever he saw her. It was far easier to run off and avoid the young girl, despite the way her face fell every time he did so. He knew Root resented him for it, that she hated how he ignored and squandered the daughter he was lucky enough to have, the daughter she wished was hers. But no matter how much he tried, he could not ignore the fact that he was going to rip her mother away from her, that he was going to be the cause of endless grief and sorrow for her, that he would hurt her over and over until she finally looked upon him with nothing but scorn and hatred.

Wyrm loved his daughter, and that was precisely why he stayed away from her. Better she hate a distant figure than someone she trusted, someone she loved. It was easier to digest than the simple fact that he did not think he could stand to watch his daughter fall apart knowing who exactly caused her misery.

He already was going to have to look one child in the eyes as he sacrificed them. Was it truly so terrible that he did not want to do it again?

Wyrm truly was selfish, in the end.

But now... things had changed, yet again. He could not keep his distance, not when the future he had once seen swam and twisted into something else before his eyes. Not when he stood to lose everything due to his own apathy and blindness.

If, after this, his children wished to never see him again, then he would personally ensure that they could have a place of comfort and safety as far away from him as possible. But right now... Wyrm had to try. For Root and her desire to be a mother. For the Gendered Child who he pushed away without fail, unable to look at her and see beyond what could have been. For the two surviving vessels who deserved a loving home and rest, who deserved an apology, some sort of remorse and regret for what had happened to them.

For what he did to them.

“Wyrm,” Root called out softly, her gentle voice forcing him from his thoughts. “The tram is here.”

He blinked, and gazed up at the gleaming metal of the carriage, wondering how he had missed the shuddering groan of its arrival.

“Indeed,” he murmured, and his wife stepped closer, placing a steady hand on top of his shoulder in a show of support.

He absentmindedly patted it with his own claws, before carefully climbing onto the tram and sitting down. The silence in the carriage was heavy with tension, and he couldn’t help but observe the other two members of the group.

Midwife had finally turned away from him, instead choosing to look outside the tram window. She had never held a high opinion of him, and now he was sure that what little respect she may have had for him was forever destroyed. She would not openly attack him while with her queen, but he made a mental note to keep an eye out for any future missives that could hold a trap. It wouldn’t kill him, but it could seriously injure a servant. He must have been too obvious, as her eyes swivelled around to look at him, a sneer blooming on her face as her mask clicked with a desperate desire to unlatch and attack.

He quickly looked away, instead focusing on Herrah.

The mother of his child’s gaze was firmly fixed on the way in front of them, just as it had been since the truth was revealed. They were not friends, and never would be, but she undeniably understood his choice as a ruler. They were beholden to something beyond their own will and desires, held the lives of thousands in their hands, and knew that the line between ruin and safety was far more unstable than most would think.

She knew very well what sacrifices had to be made for her people, just as he did.

With a tiredness he knew he would never escape, Wyrm turned to look out the window, watching the kingdom he had built up pass by.

Soon, he told himself. Soon it would be over. And everything would be well again.

“Do you feel any better?”

Hollow tilted their head slightly to get a better look at their sister, careful not to wake up the sleeping bundle of Ghost that had tucked themself into Hollow’s side. Hornet herself had not moved since plonking herself in their lap and holding them until their wheezing sobs calmed down. Slowly, they nodded, letting out a soft huff as she wriggled further against their chest.

“I’m glad,” Hornet said simply. “I know it hasn’t been easy. Well, none of this has been easy. For any of us. But... it’s over now. All that’s left is...”

She grimaced, and Hollow nodded solemnly.

Parents.

“You know, we, ah... could technically meet them back at the palace? Go the long way around? There’s no need to wait for them here, is there?”

They laughed silently, reaching up with their free hand to tap her mask in light-hearted reprimand. She sighed loudly, letting herself go loose and floppy.

“Yes, yes, you’re right. No use delaying the inevitable and all that. I just... I’m scared, Hollow.”

Small little claws began to pluck absentmindedly at their dirty cloak, and Hollow waited for their sister to continue, listening to the distant sound of scraping.

“It’s just... what comes now? We won. You won! But... what if nothing changes? What if Midwife lied about father being worried about you and Ghost? What if-?” she muttered nervously, voice carefully rising with each fear, and they knew they had to stop this.

Gently, they raised a hand, and Hornet immediately fell silent.

Hollow could not speak. They could not tell her that whether or not their father’s mind had changed, it did not matter. They could not reassure her that they would not leave again. They could not reveal to her that the same fears raced through their mind over and over again.

But what they could do was cup her mask and touch it with their own. Perhaps some complications would still remain. Perhaps they would still have to fight in order to finally live. But these were things to worry about later. Not now.

Hornet let out a soft hiccup, claws digging deeper into their cloak.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

The sound of shuffling caught their attention, and they looked down to see Ghost reach out to snag both Hornet and themself.

It will be alright, they seemed to say. We have fought a God and won. We will make it be alright.

Hornet giggled.

But despite the relieved air, something kept Hollow on edge.

The scraping grew louder, loud enough that their sister furrowed her brow, whipping her head around to find the source of the noise.

“I think... that might be our cue to get going,” she murmured, and Ghost nodded, body twitching with every sound.

Hollow reached down and grabbed Hornet’s shoulder, their instincts screaming at them to be careful, to tuck their siblings away and keep them safe. But aside from the scraping, nothing was wrong.

Something glinted, and Hollow tried to yell, tried to move out of the way, but they had seen it too late, and instead-

“Ghost!”

Their sibling leapt forward, letting the silver blade skid across their arm. Void began to sluggishly leak from the wound, and Hollow stumbled forward, trying to grab onto them, but another blade came flying.

“There!” Hornet shrieked, wielding onto her needle with furious determination, but Hollow shook their head, void pumping through their body with fear and desperation. Their siblings were not big enough for a fight. They had to retreat, they had to-

The ground seemed to split open as something sharp clawed its way through the dirt, the edges gleaming in the low light of the Resting Grounds. Hollow grabbed Hornet and yanked her away from the scene, body tensing in preparation to flee.

“Ah... there you are, princess. You’ve made several people very, very worried with your disappearance. But... you know what they say...” a deep voice said, and slowly, a bug stepped out of the tunnel, his large serrated horns glinting dangerously. “One bug’s worry is another bug’s gain.”

Rulka, fourth brother of the Mantis Lords, gave them a crooked smile.

Hollow gripped onto their sister even harder, shoving her behind them, but a razor sharp claw forced them to dodge. Two other mantises seemed to have accompanied their lord, and while one of them darted behind the siblings to block the way, the other one charged towards Hollow yet again. Ghost howled and tried to stagger forward, ignoring the void that leaked from their arm, but Rulka didn’t even hesitate in slamming Hollow’s smaller sibling away. Hornet shrieked as they clattered against the floor, a loud cracking sound echoing through the cave. And despite their training, despite all their skills and abilities- Hollow flinched.

And the mantis struck, claw swiping at their mask before something heavy landed on them, strong limbs holding them down and making sure they couldn’t move. And all of a sudden they weren’t in the Resting Grounds, but in the Black Egg, chains keeping them still even when the pain made them want to die, even when the infection bubbled up beneath their carapace like a blistering wound, their mind slowly decaying as harsh laughter rang out over and over again.

In the back of it’s mind, they could hear someone screaming.

“Let them go! Let them go, let them go! Hollow! Hollow! Ghost! I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you-!”

A deep voice simply tutted.

“That’s no way a princess of Hallownest should be acting, is it? Come now, you should be grateful to your saviours. Your safe return is valued very highly, don’t you know?”

The young girl continued to scream, and it could feel an urgency rise up beneath their carapace, but... why? It was in the Black Egg. It could not move. Could not speak.

Could not will.                  

All it could do was hang there and listen to the steady drip of its void seeping out of its body, until She was finally gone.

But... hadn’t they won? Hadn’t they succeeded in their duty? They had done well. The Radiance was gone, and they... they were free.

So why couldn’t they move?

“Now then, why don’t you come with us, little princess, and we’ll make sure you’re returned home safely,” the voice continued to croon. “After, of course, your parents pay your ransom. Oh, sorry, I meant reward. A nice slice of Deepnest land would be much- augh!”

Hollow heard small footsteps run towards them, as tiny little hands reached out to shake them.

“Hollow, Hollow get up, Ghost needs us! The silk won’t stop them for long, please! Ghost! Ghost, please, please wake up!”

“Shut her up,” the deep voice said, and Hollow felt the child be yanked away, her loud shrieks suddenly muffled and quiet, until all that remained was the sound of faint sobbing and thrashing.

That was... possible? It could try to leave?

Almost automatically, it felt themself wiggle, trying to escape the cold chains that kept them immobile, and slowly, light began to return to their mind and their surroundings.

A brown sack was wrapped tightly around a child of red, while two large bugs kept her still. In the distance, a small figure lay broken on the floor, mask cracked in two. Rage flooded their chest with an intensity that scared them, because how could they feel something so strong, what would father think-?

“That was a stupid move, little wyrmling. Just for that... well, I don’t think your Vessel will be waking up anytime soon. Either of them.”

And everything went dark.

There was not much that could frighten Root. She had seen kingdoms rise and fall, had stood unyielding as time continued to march on, had watched as madness slowly spread through her home until all that remained were drastic measures to finally fix an ancient wrong.

Root had thought that things would finally get better. But as she looked at the vessels slumped on the ground, masks visibly cracked, she wondered where it had gone so wrong.

They had reached the Resting Grounds. There was nowhere left for their children to run, they could finally talk, could finally fix this mess, and she had been so excited, so happy, and then-

Void pooling like ink on the floor. A tiny little vessel with their mask almost split in two as they reached out with a trembling claw, while the Pure Vessel lay unmoving a short distance away. Their children. Her children. Cracked and bleeding and broken like wooden toys, tossed away before she could reach them.

Root screamed. She threw herself onto the floor, uncaring of the void and dirt as she pulled that tiny little child into her lap, desperately focusing her Soul on the wound. In the distance, she could hear Wyrm choke as he stumbled to their other child, their brave Hollow Knight.

Herrah’s rage was noticeable, but Root could not care, not right now, not as her child was dying before she could even meet them.

“Come on, darling,” she whispered hoarsely, tendrils cradling the little vessel close. “You’re going to be alright, your mother is here.”

The Midwife was yelling something, and she could hear her husband reply, voice hurried and strangled, but the words rushed past her. The crack wasn’t sealing. The void had slowed down into a soft drip, leaking like tears from her child’s face. Despite the pain they must have been in, the child was still awake and aware. Their tiny claw reached up to touch their face, and Root tried not to sob.

“No, no, sweetheart, save your strength, be still now.”

They ignored her, and instead dipped a finger into the wound, letting void pool onto the digit. And then, they began to write on her robe.

M a n t i s  L o r d

Suddenly, Herrah was by her side, and she gripped onto her robe, her gaze burning first into the writing, and then the child.

“Did they take my daughter?” she asked softly.

Root’s child nodded, and Herrah blinked.

“I see,” she said. “Thank you, small one. Midwife! Wyrm!”

As quickly as she had come, the other queen swept away from her side, and Root clutched the little one close to her chest, before shuffling over to her other child.

The Pure Vessel’s wound was nowhere near as deep, but they remained unresponsive, even as she poked and prodded at them with her Soul.

“They’ll wake up soon enough,” she muttered to herself, “and so will you, and then we will find your sister, and you will all be grounded until I can be sure none of you will ever scare me again.”

The vessel stayed still.

Root swallowed.

Carefully, she unfolded her smallest child from her clutch, and as she moved, something fell, clattering to the ground.

Only half of a mask looked back at her.

No, she begged. No, no, not now, not after all this time.

Root reached down, grabbed the other half of the mask that lay in the dirt and desperately wiped it off. She could fix this. They would be alright. Both of them would, all of them would-

She felt something shift beside her and she whipped around to look at the Pure Vessel, awareness slowly seeming to creep back into their otherwise empty gaze.

“Child?” she whispered. They shuffled again, before suddenly lurching forward, panic clear on their mask as they reached out to their sibling.

A muffled sound seemed to escape their chest, and Root tried not to sob.

“Don’t worry, dear one, it will be alright. We will fix this, don’t worry-”

But her words did nothing to soothe her other child, their keening slowly growing louder and louder as streams of void dripped from their eyes.

Her heart broke. At the sound, her husband hurried over, visibly blanching at the sight of one distressed child, and the other... wounded.

They were just wounded. That was all.

“Root,” he said quietly, and she shook her head, holding out their smallest child.

“Fix them,” she pleaded. “You can do it, yes? Please. Please, Wyrm, I beg of you.”

Wyrm swallowed and gingerly took the other vessel from her grasp, and Root let herself reach forward and cradle the Pure Vessel to her chest.

“Your father will make it all better, my child, I promise,” she muttered, carefully rocking them back and forth as they sobbed.

Light shone from her husband, but she ignored him instead whispering reassurances and sweet words to her other child. Everything would be okay. It would. It had to be.

“Root.”

No. No, if she didn’t look, then everything would be fine.

“Root, look.”

The Pure Vessel squirmed, pulling away from her embrace, and she tried not to tug them back, to keep them close to her where nothing bad would ever happen again, but-

She had to look.

Carefully, she turned.

And the little mask was whole, eyes drooped in sleep, and Root couldn’t stop her strangled sob, throwing herself at her husband and the child tucked in his robe. With one tendril, she yanked her other child close, arms desperately clutching her family as tightly as possible.

Her children. Her family.

They were finally safe.

They were safe.

Chapter Text

Hornet had been angry before. It was hard not to be angry when living in a kingdom left to decay as a result of her sire’s mistakes; when she visited her mother’s plinth and saw nothing but waste.

What else was she meant to feel when she looked at the world and could only see the failures of adults who could have done better, who should have done better, but didn’t? Who gave up and resigned themselves to leaving their children to sweep up the ashes and wait for death to take them as well?

So yes, Hornet was familiar with anger, even when she swallowed it down in favour of survival.

This, however, was not anger.

Anger did not come close to the incandescent rage that burned her chitin and boiled her blood as she clawed and tore at the sack restraining her, howling and shrieking for the world to hear her. A heavy fist came down and struck her through the cloth, and pain exploded across her mask, but she refused to be quiet, and instead forced her voice out even louder, her too-small body shivering from the scorching wrath that bubbled inside her.

She would kill them.

She would kill them.

Every bruise, every crack, every drop of her siblings’ void that had been spilled; it would pale in comparison to what she would do to them.

How dare they?

Hornet had killed before. She had killed infected travellers skittering through the Crossroads, had killed wounded explorers begging for death, had killed her own kin when testing them. The fighting itself may have been exciting enough to make her giggle, but when her blade finally struck true and felled her foe, she felt no joy or sorrow. Just grim acceptance. It was just another duty left to her.

Just another responsibility.

This was anything but.

She would make them pay. She would string them up and make them suffer tenfold for every ounce of pain they inflicted upon Ghost and Hollow.

And she made sure her soon-to-be victims knew it.

“By the blade, make her be quiet!” hissed out their leader, and another fist struck her from behind.

Her eyes swam from the force of it, and she couldn’t stop her prolonged scream from choking off as she gasped for air. Her throat ached from overuse, and greedily grasped onto her forced respite, but the rest of her roiled with nausea and pain.

Damn this stupid body, she thought. She had dealt with far worse, but this soft, small body hadn’t experienced any pain beyond mere scrapes and bruises.

“You are a strong little fighter, sweet spider, but you are becoming tiresome very quickly. And when I find someone tiresome, they end up in places they shouldn’t,” Rulka chided, and a hand grasped one of her horns through the sack, delicately tilting her head this way and that.

And then he began to squeeze.

Hornet shrieked in agony as something cracked, pain surging down her mask and into her head. With desperate claws she reached upwards, trying to pry the oppressive grip around her horn off and away, but Rulka only laughed at her attempts.

“See?” he said cruelly, tightening his fist one last time before finally letting go. “Not a good place to be in.”

Hornet tried to blink away the tears gathering in her eyes, but every blink only caused more pain. Gingerly, she went to touch the affected horn, and choked as her fingertips ran along a thick crack down towards her mask’s eye socket. Blood had already begun to well up within the fissure, and she didn’t have to see to know that her mask was covered in blue liquid, while the fabric keeping her contained greedily drank up what it could.

The mask she was so proud of, had kept clean and whole even at the height of the infection, was broken. Mutilated. She trembled within her cage, whether from shock or pain or rage, she didn’t know.

But she couldn’t give up now. She had to keep going, had to keep fighting. If not for herself, then for her siblings. For her mother. For Root. And perhaps even for her sire.

“Take her to the planned location. I must rejoin my sisters. The king and his folk will undoubtedly have questions, and I will need to be present to... inform them of the situation. Should they be open to negotiation, then you will be given a signal. Should there be nothing, then... well. Toss her in and see how long the grub survives. If nothing else, it will be amusing to watch.”

“Yes, my lord,” his followers echoed.

The bag jostled violently as she was handed over from one bug to another, and she had to swallow down a scream of pain as the movement jerked her broken horn. Instead, she sucked in a shuddering breath, and tried to focus on the sway of the bag as her captors began to move again. One set of feet began to tap away, the sound gradually fading as Rulka left her with her remaining captors.

Despite his size, despite his demeanour, Mantis Lord Rulka was not a violent man. Oh, he indulged in bloodshed and the clashing of blades just like any mantis, but when you were born the weakest of a clutch, when you knew you would have to claw and fight to prove your worth, you learned a few tricks.

To the mantises, the Tribe was everything. The Tribe meant strength, protection, meant food and shelter and a safe place to raise children. It meant family. But there were conditions, needs that had to be met before you could be a true member of the Tribe. Strength, loyalty, and honour balanced against pragmatism, violence and isolationism.

If you refused to keep up, you would be exiled. If you hoarded and refused to provide, you would be cut down. If you did not tend to the sick and weak of the Tribe, then you would not be tended to when your own weakness set in.

A system of tradition and pragmatism.

A system that had to change, in Rulka’s opinion. He knew his sisters shared it, and they had made steps to improve, to expand and develop their Tribe in their way, but it was not enough. Not when they were being cornered on all sides by forces far bigger, far stronger than them.

The Sealing of the Pure Vessel and the Dreamers would have levelled the playing field. Without a queen, Deepnest would slow down, their alliance with Hallownest hanging by tenuous threads. The princess would inevitably be rejected by her people once she was grown, the hands of the Pale Court shaping her into something too foreign, too weak, too similar to her sire rather than her dam.

For Deepnest, it would spell disaster. For the Tribe, it would grant relief.

Their treaty with the Pale King granted them sovereignty in return for protection. Tension between the kingdoms would ensure this.

But with the retreat of the infection, with the continued presence of Queen Herrah in Deepnest, the power had shifted. This time, it was very much not in the Tribe’s favour. The union that had granted both Deepnest and Hallownest a princess was no longer a point of weakness, but a very real and severe threat.

What leverage would the Tribe have, without Deepnest’s hostility? What would they want to offer to a king who refused to fight their Lords to prove his strength? A king they only begrudgingly acknowledged through trade agreements and treaties, but held no respect or loyalty towards. After all, strength begot respect, respect begot alliances, and alliances would provide safety.

His sisters had viewed the infection as proof of Hallownest’s weakness, and were determined to win the inevitable war of attrition that would occur between the Pale King and the Forgotten Light. But Rulka saw an opportunity. Use the infection to strengthen their position, to cement their own power and value without being under threat of assimilation or destruction.

The Tribe was not one for expansion. They had not left their place of settlement since the very first members arrived in the kingdom that would become Hallownest several Eras ago. Nor were any of them interested of moving beyond their corner in the Fungal Wastes.

Rulka had never been very alike to his kin. Not when he had been a young girl, and not when he had grown into the man he was today. Oh, he respected the traditions, and did so with love and eagerness. He had, after all, slaughtered his daughter’s sire shortly after her conception, despite the tradition falling out of favour over the rotations. But the stagnation of his Tribe was not one he could uphold, not anymore.

The solution was, in his opinion, very straightforward.

The fall of one Tribe would mean the end of them as they knew it, but if there were two? Not only would it strengthen their position in the politics of Hallownest, it would also enable the Tribe to trust and rely on an ally with their interests in mind.

He had planned to wait for the sealing before broaching the topic with his sisters, having already selected an excellent patch in the so-called ‘Queen’s’ Garden where he could lead a section of his warriors to settle and develop. They would be able to flank Deepnest, and as the hostilities rose, the King would see the wisdom of allowing a second Tribe to form.

Had it gone to plan, it would have been perfect.

But it hadn’t. The infection had receded, and with it, his hope for a straightforward and simple solution to solidify his Tribe’s position without needless bloodshed and death.

And so, he had looked elsewhere for a bargaining chip. He would lose favour, would be declared honourless, but he was not without his contingencies. The disappearance of the princess simply made things... easier.

Rulka was not a violent bug. He never said he was not a cruel one.

And this was a fact his sisters knew well as they looked at him in shame and horror.

“You have doomed us,” Melka hissed, claws curled around his thorax and pricking into the soft flesh beneath.

“We could have bargained,” Dalka cried, stabbing her nail into the ground over and over in rage and anguish.

Holka, their oldest sister, simply remained silent as she stared into his face, eyes blank and face neutral. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm.

“I imagine simply killing you and handing you over to the king would solve nothing.”

Rulka chuckled hoarsely, even as his middle sister’s grip around his throat tightened.

“Correct as always, Holka. You can either cooperate, or I implicate all of us. And then no-one wins, dear sisters. Not our tribe, not the king, and not the little grub who suffers more for every moment you stall.”

Holka did not blink.

“Were she to die, it would be within their rights to demand the head of your daughter. What is stopping me from simply offering her blood to the King and Queen?”

It was a clever move, had he not already planned for it, and so he smiled.

“Compared to the princess, Tulka’s blood would not suffice. Heir to the Tribe she may be, but her dalliance with the Grey Knight has weakened her position,” he explained, unable to disguise his own disgust at his daughter’s company, and Melka growled, mouth opening to say something, but Holka lifted a hand.

“Your manoeuvre will cost us hostility and hatred, even if it succeeds. Should the grub be returned alive and unharmed, should the King and Queen accept your terms, then it would be done through gritted fangs and broken treaties,” she murmured.

“I have planned for such an eventuality-,”

The tip of his sister’s blade sank between the plates of his chitin, not quite skewering him but piercing the flesh enough to bleed. Rulka grunted, pain flaring, but kept as still as possible as his eldest sister finally looked at him with emotion in her eyes.

There was nothing but acceptance.

“The death of the princess is tragic and needless. But we will not enter your scheme. We will have nothing to do with this,” she said, twisting her blade further into his body, before turning to their sisters.

“Lord Melka, I want the head of every mantis under Traitor Rulka’s command. Lord Dalka, gather the children and eggs and protect them. I will remain with the Traitor until the Hallowian and Deepnest delegates arrive to demand answers.”

“Yes, Lord Holka,” they echoed, and the claws around his thorax disappeared as Melka left without a backwards glance.

Rulka huffed out a pained laugh.

“So, you plan to let the girl die, sister? Do you believe that Herrah the Beast will accept the heads of myself and my command as sufficient reparations?”

“Perhaps not, brother. Perhaps the Wyrm and the Beast shall work in tandem to slaughter us all. Or perhaps they will listen to us when we bow and beg,” she replied without any inflection, reaching down to dig her claws into the wound she was making. Rulka grunted, but continued to stay still.

“You would show such weakness to an unworthy king?” he asked, mouth curling into a frown.

For the first time in many rotations, Lord Holka of the Mantis Tribe laughed.

“Oh, Rulka. My poor, traitorous brother. You always did deride deference unless it served your own interests. Is it truly so surprising for me to do the same? Yes, I will bow and beg and plead with the Wyrm and the Beast for leniency, offering you and your command without hesitation. And when I do, you will tell them everything.”

“I will do no such thing.”

Holka lifted him with ease, claws and blade sinking in even further as she pulled him into a mockery of an embrace.

“How regrettable. One of us shall have to produce a new heir. It is a pity, Tulka would have made a good leader.”

And for the first time since he had made his move, Rulka stumbled.

“Her Grey Knight-,”

“-cannot protect her from the wrath of the Tribe. Tell me, brother, did you truly believe only you would bear the brunt of the blame? For every life you have put at risk, they will take a piece of her in return. Every mantis you pulled into this scheme of yours, every egg and grub you have carelessly disregarded for the sake of territory, every wound and death that will occur because of you... they will take it from Tulka. Piece by piece, limb by limb, until all that is left are the scraps we can feed to the hatchlings.”

Holka’s voice was even and uninterested, as though she was talking about an unimpressive meal she had partaken in, and not the fate of her niece. Of his daughter.

Rulka was not a violent bug. Nor was he a kind one.

But he loved his daughter.

The solution was, in both his and Holka’s opinion, very straightforward.

Despite the simmering rage, Hornet stayed silent this time, the pain in her skull enough to make her feel violently ill, and a part of her was afraid that if she opened her mouth to scream again, all that would come out would be bile and sick. The sack already stank of blood; she would not suffer the smell of vomit on top of it if she could avoid it.

The mantises tasked with keeping her secure did not speak either, serious and efficient in their duty, and so she continued to sway back and forth in silence as she waited for them to reach their destination.

The cloth was thick and her head was in enough pain to dull any outside sound, but there was a gentle roar in the distance that seemed to drift into her makeshift prison. For a moment, terror seized her. Were they going to throw her into rushing water?

Swimming was not something most bugs could do, let alone one as small as her, and even if she hadn’t been trapped in a sack, then she’d still be hard-pressed to survive. Falling into water was a death sentence in almost every case, and Hornet doubted she would be any different.

Fear began to grip her then, even as she tried to stamp it down. But her body was young and reacted instinctively to a danger that could not be fought against. Angry tears sprang up in her eyes, mixing with the sluggish bleeding of her cracked mask, and all at once, the frustration, rage, grief and pain was too much for her.

Hornet tried not to sob too loudly in her prison, anger and disgust at her weakness threatening to swallow her up, but she was just so tired.

She wanted her mother. She wanted her siblings.

She wanted her father.

The roaring grew louder, even muffled as it was, and Hornet tried to still her shaking limbs and pounding heart. If she had to die, then she would do it as dignified as possible, she thought, ignoring the tears and blood streaked across her face.

She was the daughter of Hallownest, princess to two kingdoms, and she would not go quietly.

Except the rush of sound morphed as they grew closer, changing from the general cacophony of noise associated with water, and instead diversifying into voices. Tons and tons of voices, cheering and shouting and jeering.

No, she thought with growing horror. He wouldn’t. They wouldn’t-!

“We have a new contestant for your master,” a voice rumbled, and the soft clicking beneath his words told her it was one of her mantis captors. “With enough geo to encourage you to sign her up to the hardest trial.”

“Well now,” an affable voice replied, “that’s an unusual situation. Normally we don’t allow that sort of thing.”

“Will you take her or not?” the other mantis asked, voice gruff and irritated.

“Let me see your... volunteer first.”

The way ‘volunteer’ was said with amusement made it clear that the entry master of this cursed establishment was fully aware of her unwillingness to cooperate.

Light suddenly flooded her blurry eyes as the sack was opened, and she tried to shoot out, claws and fangs bared to attack. She had barely managed to sink her teeth into the bug reaching in to observe her before one of the mantises roughly grabbed her broken horn, yanking her back. She shrieked and trembled from the harsh pain, while the bug she attacked took a step back. Despite the injury she had caused, they did not seem to care. Instead, they carefully appraised her, eyes clear and curious, but empty of any pity or horror. They looked her up and down, tutting at the sight of her appearance, before giving the mantis holding her a nod. Her head throbbed in agony as they shoved her back into the sack, and she could barely cling on to lucidity as the bugs keeping her captive began to talk.

“Sure, she has some grit. But she’s damaged, and that won’t make for a good fight,” the entry master pointed out, but they didn’t sound like they were going to refuse her. No, their statement was a signal for negotiation. As though she was nothing more than a sack of fruits to be sold at the market.

One of the mantises clicked irritably.

“She’s been trained professionally. Despite her size, she’s skilled.”

“Skill means nothing if she blacks out from pain half-way through a fight. I’ll put her in the Trial of the Conqueror for half the offered geo,” the entry master bargained.

“Not good enough.”

“Then take it up with the Master himself,” they said snippily. “Geo is all well and good, but the people want a fight, not an execution. She’s liable to keel over dead the moment I send her into the Trial of the Warrior, let alone the Trial of the Fool.”

There was silence for a moment, before one of her captors grunted.

“A third of the geo, we dunk her in a hot spring, and you send her into the Trial of the Conqueror.”

“Deal. I’ll take the geo upfront, if you so please,” the entry master said, and she heard the clink of coins being handed over. “Excellent. Hot spring is down below, and if she gets loose and is killed by a disgruntled competitor, then you won’t get any refunds from me.”

“Understood.”

And just like that, she was moving again, and she couldn’t stop the swell of fear and anger in her chest.

The Colosseum. They were going to make her fight in the Colosseum.

If she were at full strength, if she were in her older body, if she had been in any situation other than this, it would have been child’s play. But stuck as a child, with a cracked mask and what was probably a concussion?

She would not stand a chance.

But she would try.

They kept Hornet in the sack when they tossed her into the hot spring, and she had to struggle to keep the instinctive panic at bay. The warm water was anything but a balm, even as it healed the worst of her injuries, and the constant threat of drowning was enough to make it a terrifying experience. And then she heard shouting, an argument that she could barely catch before the fabric containing her was ripped open and dim lights danced in front of her eyes.

She coughed and gasped, spitting out water as she tried to pretend the tears on her face were droplets of water instead. Someone was holding her by the scruff of her tattered dress, shaking her like an unruly mosscreep, and she clawed at her new captor’s arms, rage steadily building up. They barely flinched, and instead continued to shout at the mantises standing by the hot spring.

“-interrupting our well-deserved rest with some whelp-!”

“-put her down if you want to fight another battle, you-,”

She didn’t care to listen to the rest of the argument. Right now she was full of soul and rage, mostly healed, and free from the sack.

Now was the time to run.

This small body was unpractised, but she had known how to form soul-threads at this age before, had even been considered a prodigy amongst her peers in Deepnest. So it was easy to focus, to ignore the dull throb of pain that still lingered in her mask and head, and instead tear and shred and force them to free her-!

Razor sharp threads of soul whipped around her, slicing into the bug holding her with ease, and they dropped her with a roar of pain. One of the mantises tried to lurch forward, but she pushed more soul into her deadly cocoon of silk, forcing it further and further before it caught delicate flesh and ripped.

Shouts and screams began to fill the cavern, and she darted through her tangled web of silk into the mayhem, twisting her soul just so until thorns sprouted from her threads and formed a secure barrier between her and anyone who might cause her harm. Someone tried to reach in anyway, and she hissed, tangling a section into a razor sharp saw-blade that tore through their arm in a spray of warm blood.

The Pale Court had done their best to tame the princess they called savage, but they often forgot that her father had willingly domesticated himself for his kingdom. He had once been a Wyrm, and while he had done his best to leave that past behind, there were still whispers of the destruction a single one of them could cause. Of the wastelands they would leave behind on a whim. They lived, breathed, bled violence.

The Pale King had sealed that part of him away willingly, but it was impossible to fully suppress the instincts that would ensure the survival of yourself and your progeny. And when you mixed that hidden cocktail of violence with the pragmatic ruthlessness of the people of Deepnest, well...

The child that spawned from such a union would be a well of destruction hidden away, seemingly mortal and soft to those around her until otherwise needed.

And right now, Hornet needed.

Needed to escape, needed to find her siblings, her mother, her father, her family, needed to make sure nothing could harm them-!

And with the laser focus of a predator aware of a threat, Hornet cut her way through the cavern to freedom. It was not gleeful. She didn’t giggle. This was pure survival, a ruthless method to ensure her freedom and life. She clawed her way up to the outside, bathed in blood and holding a needle made of pure light in her tiny claws, the crack in her broken mask gleaming with silver thread.

She would survive. She would protect. She would keep her people safe.

The Daughter of Hallownest had ascended.

Chapter Text

“What a curious fate to befall a distant daughter.”

Hornet gasped, eyes flinching open at the sound of a dry rasping voice. Her head ached, her body burned, and something deep inside her Soul howled with fury and despair.

“More Wyrm than Weaver, more Weaver than Wyrm, and now neither and both and beyond.”

Pale silver filled her vision, gleaming threads forming a hazy figure before her, and she tried to focus on her surroundings. Her attempt was quickly rebuffed by pain, and she swallowed a whimper at the way it wormed through her mask.

“Who are you?” she croaked out, and the figure chuckled.

“A long lost relative, perhaps. A daughter chained and forgotten, called towards the suffering of her kin, and the curiosity of her ascension.”

Hornet squinted through the agony, and she thought she could make out a bit more of the figure before her. She was tall, taller than most Hallowian bugs, garbed in shining white, but she couldn’t see much more than that.

“Do not forget yourself, distant daughter,” the voice said gently. “Wyrm, weaver, queen, god- those are desires beyond your own.”

The pain spiked again, stronger this time, and she was forced to shut her eyes once more, unable to stop a cry from escaping her mouth. The being let out a mournful sigh at her agony.

“It is beginning, distant daughter.”

She felt something start to cover her, soft and cool, and the pain began to recede. But as it ebbed away, the memories began to return. The Radiance, the mantises, her siblings-

And the Higher Beings who dared to hunt them down.

Rage began to stir, and the soft material covering her began to stiffen, forming a thick shield between herself and the world that threatened to harm what was hers.

“I hope you remember, distant daughter. Remember what was wanted for you, and what you are, who you were, before-,”

The cocoon cut off any further words. But that was alright.

The Daughter of Hallownest held no need for paltry assurances from an interloper. She doubted it was important anyway.

Thistlewind had planned for many things when they left their mother and set off on their pilgrimage through Hallownest.

They had stood at the top of Hallownest’s Crown and prayed for their people’s Forgotten Lady, had scaled the rocky ledges of the Howling Cliffs, and had meditated by Unn’s Lake and sparred with Her devoted followers. They had snuck into Deepnest to pay their respects to the Weavers, had pushed through the Royal Sewers to find the most peaceful, if dangerous grove, and had traded pieces of their kit for mouthfuls of honey from the Hive. They had interacted with bandits and travellers alike, had put down mindless bugs infected with the plague, had scaled mountains and squeezed through caverns. And now they were here, at the edge of the Kingdom, for their final journey before heading home. And certainly, it had been fairly straightforward, despite some difficulties.

The ash was easy enough to deal with, and they could handle the blood-thirsty warriors seeking a fight on their way to the Colosseum with their eyes closed. Treacherous drops into acid and the most violent aspids they had ever come across were slightly more difficult, but they had prevailed. After their journey, they had believed there was little that would make them pause.

Their mother always tutted and said they liked to tempt fate with dangerous statements, and they had stubbornly replied that most of their misfortunes were the results of coincidences and inexperience.

Perhaps there was more truth to their mother’s words than they believed.

Standing face to face with a child bathed in red and white, eyes glinting with a feral sort of power as a nail made of pure silver thread was held expertly in tiny claws, Thistlewind began to concede that maybe, just maybe, their mother had been right. Just as they had that thought, the child’s body began to grow, black carapace splitting to reveal six additional gleaming limbs, and they fought to keep very still.

They were fairly certain they had just witnessed the birth of an infant God.

Her mask tilted towards them, and despite themself, they kneeled. Infant or no, there was no reason to irritate a God who already seemed highly unstable.

“Greetings, Higher Being,” they spoke reverently, eyes trained on the ground below. They felt Her approach, silver light beginning to leak below their feet, and they dared not move.

“You have wings,” She stated, voice ringing out like the sound of a web being plucked as a harp. 

“Yes, Higher Being,” they agreed.

“I shall have use of them.”

Thistlewind tried their hardest not to flinch. Was She to tear them from their body? They really did not want that to happen, though there was nothing they could do if that was Her decision. Fighting against a God was akin to fighting against a natural disaster.

“How may I serve, Higher Being?” they asked, despite their trepidation.

“You shall bring me to my kin. They require me,” She declared, urgency in Her voice that they hadn’t heard before, and they spotted Her chelicerae flare beneath her mask.

Relief ran cool beneath their carapace. She wasn’t to tear their wings off then, but to use them as transport. Perhaps it would be humiliating for anyone else, but their mother had brought them up to fear and revere the Gods of old and current.

Then Her words settled properly in their mind.

There were more of Them? More Godlings running around Hallownest? What events had Thistlewind missed during their travels?

“Will you answer the Daughter of Hallownest’s call?” She suddenly spoke again, and they realised they had not accepted Her demand. They immediately stumbled to accept.

“Of course, Higher Being!”

They heard Her move again, a claw reaching down to lift up their chin. They tried to avert their eyes, but Her grip was firm.

She didn’t say anything, only staring at them with silver eyes as though weighing their very Soul in Her mind, before finding them satisfactory.

“Treachery will be rewarded with pain,” She finally said, words ringing out like a bell as a promise settled into their Soul.

“I would expect nothing less, Higher Being.”

Her eyes narrowed, and they had the distinct feeling She was displeased with them.

“You shall cease using such a useless epithet.”

They immediately scrambled to think of another title for Her. She had called Herself Hallownest’s Daughter. Had there not been rumours of the Pale King dallying with the Beast of Deepnest? Did they stand before the result of their coupling? Yet surely neither of them would dare to take their eyes off their beloved offspring? However, she had also emerged from the Colosseum. What was the reason for it? Had she been kidnapped? Or was she there as a test of strength? They did not know.

Bugs were not meant to know the designs of Gods.

“Yes, Red Daughter.”

There was a faint air of hesitation at the name, but She did not command them to use a different title. Instead, She tilted Her mask again, peering at them expectantly.

“You will need to carry me.”

Thistlewind hesitated. They would indeed need to carry Her in their arms, as they would be unable to fly otherwise, even if it would be more dignified to have Her on their back. They straightened slightly, before awkwardly holding their arms out to lift Her. She did not flinch or hiss at their touch, and instead let them pick Her up like a child, legs dangling over their arms as the rest of Her limbs reached up to wrap around their neck.

“My siblings are near, but so are their progenitors. You will need to be fast.”

“I will go faster than I have ever gone, Red Daughter,” they promised, and She looked at them.

“You will be well-rewarded for your service,” She said solemnly, before adding: “Thank you.”

Thistlewind couldn’t help but widen their eyes. A God, thanking them.

“I am ever at Your service, Red Daughter,” they said quickly. “Where should I take You?”

Her head tilted down slightly, but they could spot Her chelicerae peak out from beneath Her mask, as though warning Her unseen enemies of her incoming wrath. They could only be thankful Her ire was not directed at them.

“The Watcher’s Tower,” She hissed out. “That’s where my siblings are held. And that’s where I shall free them from their accursed birth.”

The smaller Vessel would not stop staring at him.

Wyrm shuffled uneasily, and both Lurien and Root lifted their gazes at the movement, both looking at him with annoyance before they turned back to their patients. Root had been able to fix most of the smaller Vessel’s wounds, but it- they were still in a far too fragile state. The Pure Vessel in contrast was less battered, but Root insisted on bringing it- them (them) to the Silver City for Lurien to look over.

Watcher he may now be, but he had been a leading medic for most of his life prior to his election.

Herrah and the Midwife had split off from them shortly after the Pure Vessel had revealed who had stolen their daughter, and he sorely wished they had allowed him to join. And yet, Herrah and Root had refused.

“This is a matter for Weavers,” the Queen of Deepnest had declared with a hiss, eyes glinting in hostility, and he had bristled at her blatant threat.

“She is my daughter as well,” he argued back, and her fangs had flared at him as she reared back to make herself larger than she already was.

Her insolence had been enough to spark a primal fury he had tucked away long ago, his too-small body twitching with the urge to destroy, but Root’s voice cut through the hostility like a sharp nail.

“Enough,” Root had declared. He turned to look at her, eyes catching on the smaller Vessel cradled like a babe in her arms, and the anger at Herrah fled immediately at the sight. In contrast, as the rage dwindled, the desire to join Herrah grew even stronger.

He did want to find his missing daughter. He did. His very Soul still bristled with fury and violence at the mere thought of his daughter being hurt, the deep possessiveness every Wyrm held gnawing deep inside his carapace every moment she was not in his sight.

But he also didn’t want to look at the Vessels either.

Not when the proof of their corruption (their sentience) stared at him with wide eyes and a trembling body.

“I have need of you here, Wyrm. The small one requires medical attention, and you are the only one who can provide relevant information about the Void and the details of our children’s creation.” She hesitated on the last word, sudden uncertainty clear in her voice, but she was Queen for a reason, and quickly gained her bearings to continue. “Herrah and the Midwife are more than capable of rescuing the Gendered Child without you.”

She was right of course. Given the injuries the smaller Vessel had sustained, they would require a far more in-depth examination than whatever meagre healing they had managed, and Root would not be able to recognise what was abnormal and what was simply the nature of their birth. 

And so it had been decided. Wyrm and Root would head to the Silver City with the Vessels for Lurien to look over, while Herrah and the Midwife confronted the Mantis Tribe and retrieved their stolen daughter.

The journey back to the Silver City had been near silent. He had forgotten Dryya’s presence entirely during the debacle, until she forged ahead of them to gather her fellow Knights and clear the way to prevent any city bugs from gawking at their King and Queen. The Pure Vessel had looked as though they very much wished to join Dryya, but Root kept a firm grip on their shoulder, uncaring of the dirt and debris covering their formerly pristine pauldrons.

“We’ll get you and your sibling all fixed up,” she promised them over and over, voice quivering with unspoken emotion, “and then everything will be perfect.”

Both Vessels had shared a look at that, and there was a distinct air of disbelief and uncertainty in that momentary glance. Neither looked convinced. Shock rippled from his wife at the action, though Root gave no indication of noticing anything amiss.

Wyrm could not swallow his surprise as well as she did. Instead, something unpleasant vibrated beneath his shell, and he quickly looked away, unwilling to think about it any longer.

(No mind to think.)

He shuddered, feeling quite sick all of a sudden.

Wyrm managed to ignore most of his nausea by the time they arrived at Lurien’s tower, the bug himself waiting worriedly for their arrival at the door. His hands twisted nervously, and the moment he had spotted them, he immediately went over to fuss at his patient. He had given only the barest of greetings to his King and Queen, before immediately firing rapid questions about the state of the Vessel and their injuries.

It was a far cry from the usual reverent bug Wyrm had come to know, but Lurien had always prized efficiency. It was no small wonder he got along with Monomon, and had there not been bad blood between the two of them, he was fairly certain Lurien and Herrah would have gotten on wonderfully as well. It was probably best for his sanity that they were not friends.

“Come inside,” Lurien had demanded, eye roving over both Vessels. “Dryya gave me the gist of the situation. She mentioned a cracked mask, and in that case, we have no time to waste.”

“They appear dazed,” Root added as they followed him inside, “and while their mask fused back together, they are sluggish and keep leaking Void.”

Despite his professionalism, Lurien flinched at the mention of the Void. It was no surprise; Wyrm had kept most knowledge of Void a secret, and any discussion or attempts at research outside of his own had been quickly shut down and silenced. To hear the Queen speak so openly of it would have been a shock.

The Dreamers and the Five Great Knights had not known the full truth of the Vessels’ creation (birth), and Wyrm had purposefully kept it that way. They knew the Void was involved, but not the extent. He knew that most of them believed the Pure Vessel to be an automaton similar to the Kingsmoulds, though far more advanced and developed than any of his previous creations.

Herrah had been the exception, though he doubted even she had known the complete truth before the Midwife’s outburst. He knew he would pay for it dearly later, once their daughter was safe.

Admirably, Lurien had quickly pulled himself together, and led them up into his tower, where a makeshift ward had been set up. His butler squeaked at the sight of them, but remained just as professional as he approached with a tray of tools and bandages. Curiously, there was even a bottle of Soul on the tray, and Wyrm could barely swallow his curiosity at its origin.

Root lay the smaller Vessel onto a cot, tendrils weaving nervously around her body as she continued to talk to Lurien. The Pale Vessel was still firmly in her grasp, even as she manoeuvred them onto a chair, their mask blank in a familiar way. Their head turned slightly, and their eyes met for a moment.

Agony burst beneath his shell, searing pain scorching his very insides as a suicidal desperation crashed against his Soul. He wanted to die. He wanted to die so very desperately, but he could not move, could not flinch, even as his arm rotted off his body and sweet infection wormed its way inside his chest, thick pustules bursting through his mask and snaking down his throat, forcing him to scream-

Wyrm grunted as the vision faded.

The Pure Vessel was no longer looking at him, gaze instead focused on their- sibling. He did not know whether to be relieved, or to demand answers, though he had an inkling he already knew what he saw.

The nausea from before returned.

His plan had always been destined to fail.

It truly had been doomed, hadn’t it?

They had been doomed.

Tarnished by an idea, by the love he could not deny, but pretended was nothing more than a creator’s pride. Doomed by their own father and his damnable love.

A folly that would have set his kingdom to ruin while delivering his child into eternal agony.

His eyes caught on the smaller Vessel, who continued to stare at them with no discernible emotion. No vision appeared as their eyes met, and he did not know whether to laugh or cry. This child too, had been doomed by him. Discarded and forgotten.

He never would have met them, if not for the Pure Vessel’s rebellion.

Another child lost.

They paid no attention to the prodding of Lurien, or the soft words of Root. They didn’t even look at their sibling. The smaller Vessel just stared at him. And he could not help but stare back.

Their horns were so different to that of the Pure Vessel, two short nubs rather than the three prongs he was used to. Their mask was less angular as well, though that could have been due to youth, as he remembered the Pure Vessel’s mask holding a similar roundness before they had moulted for the first time.

Before he had forced them to moult again and again.

The nausea grew stronger at the memory.

Whatever horrors the future may have held for his child, he had been responsible for several in their past. Brutal training, forced moulting, the runes branded upon their shell to ward off infection and strengthen their still soft body-

And beyond that, the psychological terror they must have gone through every day, knowing their impurity but hiding it, desperately trying to be perfect, to be pure, to be the Vessel that would save their father’s kingdom-

How could he ever make things right? How could they ever see him as a father? How could he even deserve to be a father after everything?

Wyrm could not keep looking at the smaller Vessel, eyes darting away in shame and disgust, but he could feel their gaze linger, as though they were burrowing into his shell, witnessing his very Soul, and finding him sorely lacking.

Let them, he thought. Let them see their wretched father and his cursed choices, and know that he-

Glass exploded from the window as a silver needle burst through, its gleaming point stabbing into the floor only mere inches away from his body. He flinched back, and Root immediately formed a shield of wood to protect him, thorns rising up, ready to retaliate against their attacker.

She knew just as well as him that he was not a fighter. He never had been, even in his Greatwyrm form. Granted, he could hold his own against most bugs, but he primarily relied on his inventions and magic for protection. His wife, on the other hand, was laden with far more defensive and offensive abilities, and would not hesitate to use them.

Silver thread twanged and tightened, and a small figure landed shortly after the needle, crimson cloak flaring upwards like a warning signal. Weavers’ silk danced across their body, limbs graceful and deadly, and all Wyrm could do was stare in horror at the being his daughter had become.

The Gendered Child hissed at the sight of her father and step-mother, fangs flaring out in warning, and his stomach lurched. From the corner of his eye, he could see the Vessels try and reach out towards her, but Root’s tendrils held them both back. A claw twitched and silk yanked her needle back into her grasp, its deadly point held up towards him.

Runes exploded throughout the air, bursting into powerful blasts of Soul that had him immediately diving for cover. His wife’s shield was torn to shreds, even as she grew another to protect herself and Lurien.

Silk gleamed in the dim light as it soared towards her siblings, weaving past the wood Root called forth to stop her.

“Step-daughter, Weaver-child, you must stop this madness,” she called out, voice desperate, but her words had no impact.

“There will be no stopping until my siblings are safe from you,” his daughter spat out, and she darted forward with her needle, silver light forming into a sharp point.

Metal shrieked as it collided with a nail, and Dryya stood in front of her queen, chest heaving from the backlash of colliding with an infant god.

“You have kept up with your training then, Gendered Child,” Dryya said sharply, and she brought up her nail to block another attack.

“My quarrel is not with you, Fierce Dryya,” the Child said, and before the warrior could retort, more silver threads spun into existence, honing in on the threat to restrain her and yank her out of the way.

“Release my siblings to me,” the Gendered Child, the Ascended Child, his daughter demanded. “As Hornet, Daughter of Hallownest, I will see them free.”

He could hear Root choke, and Wyrm wanted to weep at her Naming, at the epithet that proved her to have become a Higher Being, but he knew it would only cause more tension if he did not act cleverly.

“They are free, daughter,” he tried to say, tried to soothe her, but his words only seemed to only agitate her more, her threads once again rearing up to attack.

“So long as you are near them, they will never be free,” she hissed, and the hatred in her voice made him freeze. “I have seen your price of survival, and it is a cost too great if it must be borne through sacrifice of my siblings.”

The Daughter of Hallownest watched her sire rear back at her words, agony written clear in his eyes, and vicious satisfaction curled deep inside her gut. Her silk darted forward again, twisting into his gleaming robes and throwing him to the side.

He was a threat to her siblings, both him and the Pale Queen, and until they were eliminated, she could not free her siblings and save her kingdom. They would encroach on what was hers, on what she had kept safe for an Age while they disappeared and left it all to rot.

She would make a far better ruler, a better queen, a better god.

She would save her siblings and her kingdom, and they would rule together.

(She had never wanted such a thing.)

“Greater, grander…” a soft voice drifted in the back of her mind, wistful and chiding. “Weaver, guardian, queen…”

Yes, she was all three. She would be all three. She had to be all three.

She reached out with her silk, and the Pale Queen stepped forward again to defend herself and her prisoners, but the Daughter was faster. She was better, stronger, cleverer. She had to be, and so she would be.

Bindings slithered up the Queen, holding her back in the same way she had bound herself in a once certain future. The Daughter wondered why she was struggling- the White Lady had wanted this, once upon a time. She was used to running away, to forgetting and pretending, so she should simply accept her fate now, and acknowledge the true ruler before her.

(She was sat against her, warm arms encircling her as she read from a storybook. Soft laughter, a gentle voice; not her birth mother, but a mother nonetheless.)

“Those are their desires… not your own. Certainly not mine…”

Ghost and Hollow looked at her from across the room, and she could sense the damage done to them. She knew it. She knew she couldn’t trust the other Higher Beings, not with them. She was the only one they could trust. She was the only one who could keep them safe and happy. She could fix them so easily. Her silk could fix everything. She would weave voices for her siblings, would grant them the devices needed to be more, and they would be safe.

(She would be safe. That was all she had ever wanted.)

“Only if you resist them, you might see it, another hope… beyond…”

More silk flooded the room, and gently wrapped around her siblings. It was Lurien who surprisingly stood up next, body trembling as he tried to face a god, and had he not posed a threat to her siblings, then she would have acknowledged his strength. But he was easily pushed aside as well, too weak to truly stand against her.

She was gentler with him than the others. He was an ordinary bug, no fighter or higher being, and his only sin was following the wrong god.

(A friend, when she sobbed in white hallways. Gentle words, even when she was harsh to him. He did not like her mother, but he had always cherished her.)

Her siblings thrashed in the silk that cradled them, and the Daughter of Hallownest frowned. Why were they struggling? Did they not understand that she was here to save them? To protect them from the fates they had already become far too acquainted with?

A weak tendril of void lashed out against the silk keeping them safe, and she scowled. Of course. The void was controlling them, making them resist against a future of safety wrapped in silver threads.

A lullaby would calm them down.

She began to pluck at her silk, gentle music rising into the air, sweet and painful and familiar, and the void thrashed. Tears of void leaked from Hollow’s mask, and she giggled. She knew her music, her silk would make them happy.

The Daughter of Hallownest smiled.

(Stop it. She was hurting them. Stop it!)

She would secure their future. That most ancient enemy would be driven out by her silk, would fill the hollowness in her siblings and make them a part of her forever. Her sweet siblings would be whole, just like her.

(No. No, that was wrong. She did not want that. She would never want that.)

“Little Ghost, dear Hollow,” she crooned to them, arms pulling them closer to her. “Let me heal you from their marks.”

She sighed at the thin cracks on Ghost’s mask, the exhaustion in Hollow’s posture, and nuzzled against them.

“It won’t hurt,” she promised, silver threads slowly approaching their eye sockets, eager to burrow deep within and fix them.

(She had to stop this. Why wouldn’t she stop?)

“Please,” something wheezed out below her, and she threw a gaze to the pathetic monarch on the floor. “You’ll kill them. Daughter, Hornet, sweet child, you cannot do this.”

(She was sitting on his lap, watching him twist wire and soul into toys for her. When she made her own, a little spider, he had stared at it. “A gift of creation, from my weaver daughter,” he murmured, and there was love in his voice. He had kept her first design on a shelf until the palace disappeared.)

She kicked him to the side. He knew nothing. He was the one who had cursed them with this affliction in the first place. She was simply restoring them back to perfection.

(She had promised. She had promised Hollow. No more perfection.)

“You failed,” she spat out, fury once again cresting behind her chest. “You failed and left them to rot. Left me to rot, in your dying kingdom. I hold the power to right your mistakes before they occur. It is my role, as Daughter of Hallownest, my duty, and I will see it done.”

(No more duty, she had told herself. No more pointless duty.)

She turned back to her siblings who watched her with wide eyes, with excitement.

(With fear.)

“It will be alright,” she reassured them again, “everything will be alright. We’ll all be happy. I promise.”

(They were already happy. She had been happy.)

Silk once again approached their masks, silver and gleaming and perfect. The White Lady cried out something, but the Daughter would not let herself be distracted again.

She had a duty.

She let the silk fly forward.

“But to recall these words, in time so far… Will you even remember me, child? Could you…?”

A pause. The Child looked up, unable to see the expression she was making clearly, but there was love in her face.

There was love in her next words.

“A mother, before the mask… before I lay forever in duty.”

A two-pronged Seamripper flew forward, tearing through silk like it was paper.

“I believe that’s enough of that, dear daughter.”